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If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: A Gentleman - -Author: Maurice Francis Egan - -Release Date: July 20, 2020 [EBook #62712] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GENTLEMAN *** - - - - -Produced by Richard Tonsing, Chris Curnow, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - A GENTLEMAN. - - - BY - MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN, LL.D. - - ❦ - - SECOND EDITION. - - NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO: - BENZIGER BROTHERS, - _Printers to the Holy Apostolic See._ - 1893. - - - - Copyright, 1893, by BENZIGER BROTHERS. - - - - - TO - ALL BOYS WHO WANT TO MAKE - LIFE CHEERFUL. - - - - - Preface. - - -In offering this little book to that public for which it is intended—a -public made up of young men from fifteen to twenty years of age—the -author fears that he may seem presumptuous. He intends to accentuate -what most of them already know, not to teach them any new thing. And if -he appear to touch too much upon the trifles of life, it is because -experience shows that it is the small things of our daily intercourse -with our fellow-beings which make the difference between success and -failure. He gratefully acknowledges his obligation to the Reverend -editor of the _Ave Maria_ for permission to use in the last part of this -volume several of the “Chats with Good Listeners.” - - THE UNIVERSITY OF NOTRE DAME, - February 2, 1893. - - - - - Contents. - - - PAGE - I. THE NEED OF GOOD MANNERS, 9 - - II. RULES OF ETIQUETTE, 29 - - III. WHAT MAKES A GENTLEMAN, 47 - - IV. WHAT DOES NOT MAKE A GENTLEMAN, 64 - - V. HOW TO EXPRESS ONE’S THOUGHTS, 84 - - IV. LETTER-WRITING, 106 - - VII. WHAT TO READ, 126 - - VIII. THE HOME BOOK-SHELF, 144 - - IX. SHAKSPERE, 168 - - X. TALK, WORK, AND AMUSEMENT, 181 - - XI. THE LITTLE JOYS OF LIFE, 194 - - - - - A GENTLEMAN. - - - - - I. The Need of Good Manners. - - -I have been asked to refresh your memory and to recall to your mind the -necessity of certain little rules which are often forgotten in the -recurrent interest of daily life, but which, nevertheless, are extremely -important parts of education. There are rules made by society to avoid -friction, to preserve harmony, and perhaps to accentuate the immense -gulf that lies between the savage and the civilized man. But, trifling -as they seem, you will be handicapped in your career in life if you do -not know them. Good manners are good manners everywhere in civilization; -etiquette is not the same everywhere. The best manners come from the -heart; the best etiquette comes from the head. But the practice of one -and the knowledge of the other help to form that combination which the -world names a gentleman, and which is described by the adjective -well-bred. - -For instance, if a man laughs at a mistake made by another in the -hearing of that other, he commits a solecism in good manners—he is -thoughtless and he appears heartless; but if he wears gloves at the -dinner-table and persists in keeping them on his hands while he eats, he -merely commits a breach of etiquette. Society, which makes the rules -that govern it, will visit the latter offence with more severity than -the former. - -Some young people fancy that when they leave school they will be -free,—free to break or keep little rules. But it is a mistake: if one -expects to climb in this world, one will find it a severe task; one can -never be independent of social restrictions unless one become a tramp or -flee to the wilds of Africa. But even there they have etiquette, for one -of Stanley’s officers tells us that some Africans must learn to spit -gracefully in their neighbor’s face when they meet. - -I do not advise the stringent keeping of the English etiquette of -introductions. At Oxford, they say, no man ever notices the existence of -another until he is introduced; and they tell of one Oxford man who saw -a student of his own college drowning. “Why did you not save him?” “How -could I?” demanded this monster of etiquette; “I had never been -introduced to him.” - -Boys at school become selfish in the little things, and they seem to be -more selfish than they really are. Every young man is occupied with his -own interest. If a man upsets your coffee in his haste to get at his -own, you probably forgive him until you get a chance to upset his. There -is no time to quarrel about it,—no code among you which in the outside -world would make such a reprisal a reason for exile from good society. - -When you get into this outside world you will perhaps be inclined to -overrate the small observances which you now look on with indifference -as unnecessary to be practised. But either extreme is bad. To be -boorish, rough, uncouth, is a sin against yourself and against society; -to be too exquisite, too foppish, too “dudish,”—if I may use a slang -word,—is only the lesser of two evils. Society may tolerate a “dude;” -but it first ignores and then evicts a boor. - -A famous Queen of Spain once said that a man with good manners needs no -other letter of introduction. And it is true that good manners often -open doors to young men which would otherwise be closed, and make all -the difference between success and failure. This recalls to my mind an -instance which, if it be not true, has been cleverly invented. It is an -extreme case of self-sacrifice, and one which will hardly be imitated. - -It happened that not long ago there lived in Washington a young -American, who had been obliged to leave West Point because of a slight -defect in his lungs. He was poor. He had few friends, and an education, -which fortunately had included the practice of good manners. It happened -that he was invited out to dinner; and he was seated some distance from -the Spanish Ambassador,—who had the place of honor; for the etiquette of -the table is very rigid,—but within reach of his eye. Just as the salad -was served the hostess grew suddenly pale, for she had observed on the -leaf of lettuce carried to this young man a yellow caterpillar. Would he -notice it? Would he spoil the appetite of the other guests by calling -attention to it, or by crushing it? The Ambassador had seen the -creature, too, and he kept his eye on the young man, asking himself the -same questions. - -The awful moment came: the young man’s plate of salad was before him; -the hostess tried to appear unconcerned, but her face flushed. Our young -man lifted the leaf, caught sight of the caterpillar, paused half a -second, and then heroically swallowed lettuce, caterpillar and all! The -hostess felt as if he had saved her life. - -After dinner, the Ambassador asked to be introduced to him. A week later -he was sent to Cuba as English secretary to a high official there. The -climate has suited him; his health is restored; and he has begun a -career under the most favorable auspices. - -You know the story of Sir Walter Raleigh and the cloak. Sir Walter was -poor, young, and without favor at court. One day Queen Elizabeth -hesitated to step on a muddy place in the road; off came Sir Walter’s -new cloak,—his best and only one,—all satin and velvet and gold lace. -Down it went as a carpet for the Queen’s feet, and his fortune was made. - -But neither our West-Pointer nor Sir Walter would have made his fortune -by his good manners if he had not disciplined himself to be thoughtful -and alert. - -On the other hand, many a man has lost much by inattention to the little -rules of society. One of the best young men I ever knew failed to get -certain letters of introduction, which would have helped him materially, -because he would wear a tall hat and a sack coat, or a low hat and a -frock coat. Society exacts, however, that a man shall do neither of -these things. Remember that I do not praise the social code that exacts -so much attention to trifles,—I only say that it exists. - -Prosper Mérimée lost his influence at the court of Napoleon the Third by -a little inattention to the etiquette which exacts in all civilized -countries that a napkin shall not be hung from a man’s neck, but shall -be laid on his knee. Mérimée, who was a charming writer, very high in -favor with the Empress Eugenie, was invited to luncheon in her -particular circle one day. He was much flattered, but he hung his napkin -from the top button of his coat; the Empress imitated his example, for -she was very polite, but she never asked him to court again. It is the -way of the social world—one must follow the rules or step out. - -If a man chooses to carry his knife to his mouth instead of merely using -it as an implement for cutting, he is at perfect liberty to do so. He -may not succeed in chopping the upper part of his head off, but he will -succeed in cutting himself off from the “Dress Circle of Society,” as -Emerson phrases it. Apart from the first consideration that should -govern our manners,—which is, that Our Lord Jesus Christ means that, in -loving our neighbors as ourselves, we should show them respect and -regard,—you must remember that politeness is power, and that for the -ambitious man there is no surer road to the highest places in this land, -and in all others, than through good manners. You may gain the place you -aim for, but, believe me, you will keep it with torture and difficulty -if you begin now by despising and disregarding the little rules that -have by universal consent come to govern the conduct of life. One -independent young person may thrust his knife into his mouth with a -large section of pie on it, if he likes: you can put anything into a -barn that it will hold, if the door be wide enough. They tell me that in -Austria some of the highest people eat their sauerkraut with the points -of their knives. But we do not do it here, and we must be governed by -the rules of our own society. Some of you who always want to know the -reason for rules, may ask why are we permitted to eat cheese with our -knives after dinner. I can only answer that I do not know and I do not -care. The subject is not important enough for discussion. Good society -all over the English-speaking world permits the use of the knife only in -eating cheese. Some people prefer to take it with their fingers, like -olives, asparagus, artichokes, and undressed lettuce. So generally is -this small rule observed, that a very important discovery was made not -very long ago through a knowledge of it. An adventurer claiming to be a -French duke was introduced to an American family. He was well received, -until one day he tried to spear an olive with his knife. As this is not -a habit of good society, he was quietly dropped—very fortunately for the -family, as he was discovered to be a forger and ex-convict. - -You may ask, Why are olives, lettuce, and asparagus often eaten with the -fingers? I can only answer, that it is a custom of civilized society. -You may ask me again, Why must we break our bread instead of cutting it? -And why must we take a fork to eat pie, when we are permitted to eat -asparagus and lettuce with our fingers? I say again that I do not know: -all that I know is, that these social rules are fixed, and that it is -better to obey than to lose time in asking why. - -But if you should happen to be of a doubting turn of mind, accept an -invitation to dinner from some person for whose social standing you have -much respect, and then if your hostess in the kindness of her heart -serves pie, take half of it in your right hand, close your eyes, bite a -crescent of it in your best manner, and observe the effect on the other -guests. You may be quite certain that if you desire not to be invited -again to that house you will have your wish. Society in this country is -becoming more and more civilized and exacting every year; and you will -simply put a mark of inferiority on yourself in its eyes if you -disregard rules which are trifles in themselves, but very important in -their effect. - -A young man’s fate in life may be decided by a badly-written letter or a -well-written one, by a rough gesture, by an oath or an unclean phrase -uttered when he thinks no one is listening. But let us remember that -there is always some one looking or hearing; for, and this is an axiom, -there are no secrets in life. - -Emerson says, writing of “Behavior:” “Nature tells every secret over. -Yes, but in man she tells it all the time, by form, attitude, gesture, -mien, face and parts of the face, and by the whole action of the -machine. The visible carriage or action of the individual, as resulting -from his organization and his will combined, we call manners. What are -they but thought entering the hands and feet, controlling the movements -of the body, the speech and behavior?” - -Of the power of manners Emerson further says: “Give a boy address and -accomplishments, and you give him the mastery of palaces and fortunes -wherever he goes. He has not the trouble of earning them.” - -And in another place: “There are certain manners which are learned in -good society of such force that, if a person have them, he or she must -be considered and is everywhere welcome, though without beauty or wealth -or genius.” - -Cardinal Newman, in his definition of a gentleman, does not forget -manners, though he lays less stress on their power for worldly -advancement than Emerson does. Good manners are, in the opinion of the -great cardinal, the outward signs of true Christianity. Etiquette is the -extreme of good manners. A man may be a good Christian and expectorate, -spit, sprinkle, spray, diffuse tobacco-juice right and left. But the man -who will do that, though he have a good heart and an unimpeachable -character, is not a gentleman in the world’s meaning of the term, for -_with the world_ it is not the heart that counts, but the manners. You -may keep your hat on your head if you choose when you meet a clergyman -or a lady. You need not examine your conscience about it, and you will -find nothing against it in the Constitution of the United States; you -may be on your way to give your last five dollars to the poor or to -visit a sick neighbor; but, by that omission you stamp yourself at once -as being outside the sacred circle in which society includes gentlemen. -You can quote a great many fine sentiments against me, if you like; you -may say, with Tennyson, - - “Kind hearts are more than coronets, - And simple faith than Norman blood.” - -God keep us from thinking otherwise; but, if one get into a habit of -disregarding the small rules of etiquette, if one use one’s fork for a -toothpick, drink out of one’s finger-bowl, reach over somebody’s head -for a piece of bread, all the kind hearts and simple faith in the world -will not keep you in the company of well-bred people. You may answer -that some very good persons blow their soup with their breath, stick -their own forks into general dishes, and—the thing has been done once -perhaps in some savage land—wipe their noses with their napkins. But if -these good people paid more attention to the little things of life, -their goodness would have more power over others. As it is, virtue loses -half its charm when it ignores good manners. It is only old people and -men of great genius who can afford to disregard manners. Old people are -privileged. If they choose to eat with their knives or with their -napkins around their necks,—a thing which is no longer tolerated,—the -man who remarks on it, who shows that he notices it, who criticises it, -is not only a boor, but a fool. Young people have no such privileges: -they must acquire the little habits of good society or they will find -every avenue of cultivation closed to them. - -The only time they are privileged to violate etiquette is when some -older person does it: then they had better follow a bad form than rebuke -him by showing superiority in manners. - -It is foolish to appear to despise the little rules that govern the -conduct of life. This appearance of contempt for observances which have -become part of the every-day existence of well-regulated people, arises -either from selfishness or ignorance. The selfish man does not care to -consider his neighbors; but his selfishness is very shortsighted, -because his neighbors, whose feelings and rights he treats as -non-existent, will soon force the consideration of them on him. - -A young man may think it a fine thing to be independent in social -matters. He will soon find that he cannot afford in life to be -independent of anything except an evil influence. If he prefers the -society of loungers in liquor-saloons or at hotel-bars, he needs nothing -but a limitless supply of money. His friends there require the -observance of only one rule of etiquette—he must “treat” regularly. To -young men who hunger for that kind of independence and that sort of -friends I have nothing to say, except that it is easy to prophesy their -ruin and disgrace. If a man has no better ambition than to die in an -unhonored grave or to live forsaken in an almshouse, let him make up his -mind to be “independent.” The world in which you will live is exacting, -and you can no more succeed and defy its exactions than you can stick -your finger into a fire and escape burning. - -Even in the question of clothes—which seems to most of us entirely our -own affair—society exacts obedience. You cannot wear slovenly clothes to -church, for instance, and expect to escape the indignation of your -dearest friends. - -In the most rigid of European countries, if one happens to be presented -to the king one wears no gloves: one would as soon think of wearing -gloves as of wearing a hat. Similarly, according to the strictest -etiquette in European countries, people generally take off their gloves -at the Canon of the Mass, and, above all, when they approach the altar, -because they are in the special presence of God, the King of heaven and -earth. How different is the practice of some of us! We lounge into -church as we would into a gymnasium, with no outward recognition of the -Presence of God except a “dip” towards the tabernacle or an occasional -and often inappropriate thumping of the stomach, which is, I presume, -supposed to express devotion. - -It is as easy to bring a flower touched by the frost back to its first -beauty as to restore conduct warped by habit. And so, if you want to -acquire good manners that will be your passport to the best the world -has, begin now by guarding yourself from every act that may infringe on -your neighbor’s right, from every word that will give him needless pain, -and from every gesture at table which may interfere with his comfort. We -cannot begin to discipline ourselves too soon; it is good, as the -Scripture says, “that a man bear the yoke when he is young.” - -Social rules, as I said, are very stringent on the seemingly unimportant -matter of clothes: so a man must not wear much jewelry, under pain of -being considered vulgar. He may wear a pin, or a ring, or a watch-chain, -if he likes; but for a young man, the less showy these are, the better. -It may be said that there are a great many people who admire diamonds, -and who like to see many of them worn. This is true; but if a young man -puts a small locomotive headlight in his bosom, or gets himself up in -imitation of a pawnbroker’s window, he may be suspected of having robbed -a bank. It is certain that he will show very bad taste. Lord Lytton, the -author of “Pelham,” who was a great social authority, says that a man -ought to wear no jewelry unless it is exquisitely artistic or has some -special association for the wearer. - -If a young man is invited to a dinner or to a great assembly in any -large city, he must wear a black coat. A gray or colored coat worn after -six o’clock in the evening, at any assembly where there are ladies, -would imply either disrespect or ignorance on the part of the wearer. In -most cities he is expected to wear the regulation evening dress, the -“swallow-tail” coat of our grandfathers, and, of course, black trousers -and a white tie. In London or New York or Chicago a man must follow this -last custom or stay at home. He has his choice. The “swallow-tail” coat -is worn after six o’clock in the evening, never earlier, in all -English-speaking countries. In France and Spain and Italy and Germany it -is worn as a dress of ceremony at all hours. No man can be presented to -the Holy Father unless he wears the “swallow-tail,” so rigid is this -rule at Rome, though perhaps an exception might be made under some -circumstances. - -In our country, where the highest places are open to those who deserve -them, a young man is foolish if he does not prepare himself to deserve -them. And no man can expect to be singled out among other men if he -neglects his manners or laughs at the rules which society makes. -Speaking from the spiritual or intellectual point of view, there is no -reason why a man should wear a white linen collar when in the society of -his fellows; from the social point of view there is every reason, for he -will suffer if he does not. Besides, he owes a certain respect to his -neighbors. A man should dress according to circumstances: the base-ball -suit or the Rugby flannels are out of place in the dining-room or the -church or the parlor, and the tall hat and the dress suit are just as -greatly out of place in the middle of the game on the playground. Good -sense governs manners; but when in doubt, we should remember that there -are certain social rules which, if learnt and followed, will serve us -many mortifications and even failures in life. - -No man is above politeness and no man below it. Louis the Fourteenth, a -proud and autocratic monarch, always raised his hat to the poorest -peasant woman; and a greater man than he, George Washington, wrote the -first American book of etiquette. - - - - - II. Rules of Etiquette. - - -The social laws that govern the Etiquette of Entertainments of all kinds -are as stringent and as well defined as any law a judge interprets for -you. It may be thought that one may do as he pleases at the theatre, in -a concert-room, or at a dinner-party; that little breaches of good -manners will pass unobserved or be forgiven because the person who -commits them is young. This is a great mistake. More is expected from -the young than the old; and if a young man comes out of college and -shows that he is ignorant of the rules of etiquette which all well-bred -people observe, he will be looked on as badly brought up. There are -certain finical rules which are made from time to time, which live a -brief space and are heard of no more. The English, who generally set the -fashion in these things, call these non-essentials “fads.” They are made -to be forgotten. - -For a time it had become a fashionable “fad” to use the left hand as -much as possible, in saluting to take off one’s hat with the left hand, -to eat one’s soup with the left hand; but this is all nonsense. Not long -ago, in New York, every “dude” turned up the bottoms of his trousers in -all sorts of weather, because in London everybody did it. Other fads -were the carrying of a cane, handle down, and the holding of the arms -with the elbows stuck out on both sides of him. Another importation of -the Anglomaniacs was the habit of putting American money into pounds, -shillings, and pence, for people who had been so long abroad could not -be expected to remember their own currency. Another pleasant importation -is the constant repetition of “don’t you know.” But they are all silly -fashions, that may do for that class of “chappies” whose most serious -occupation is that of sucking the heads of their canes, or of reducing -themselves to idiocy with the baleful cigarette, or considering how -pretty the girls think they are—but not for men. - -The rules held by sane people all over the English-speaking world are -those one ought to follow, not the silly follies of the hour, which -stamp those who adopt them as below the ordinary level of human beings. - -Let us imagine that you have been sent to Washington on business. I take -Washington because it is the capital of the United States, and, if you -do the right thing according to social rules there, you will do the -right thing everywhere else. So you are going to Washington, where you -will see one of the most magnificent domes in the world and the very -beautiful bronze gates of the Capitol, a building about which we do not -think enough because it happens to be in our own country. If it were in -Europe, we should be flocking over in droves to see it. - -Some kind friend gives you a letter of introduction to a friend of his. -You accept it with thanks, of course. It is unsealed, because no -gentleman ever seals a letter of introduction. You read it and are -delighted to find yourself complimented. Now, if you want to do the -right thing, you will go to a good hotel when you get to Washington; a -_good_ hotel—a hotel you can mention without being ashamed of it. It -will pay to spend the extra money. And if a woman comes into the -elevator as you are going up to your room,—I would not advise you to -take a suite of rooms on the ground-floor,—lift your hat and do not put -it on again until she goes out. You will send your letter of -introduction to your friend’s friend and wait until he acknowledges it. - -But if you want to do the wrong thing, you will take the letter of -introduction and your travelling bag and go at once to Mr. Smith’s -house. You may arrive at midnight; but never mind that,—people like -promising young folk to come at any time. If the clocks are striking -twelve, show how athletic you are by pulling the bell out by the wires. -When the members of the family are aroused, thinking the house is afire, -they will be so grateful to you, and then you can ask for some hot -supper. This pleasing familiarity will delight them. It will show them -that you feel quite at home. It will ruin you eventually in the -estimation of stupid people who do not want visitors at midnight—but you -need not mind them, though they form the vast majority of mankind. - -If you want to do the right thing, wait until Mr. Smith acknowledges -your letter of introduction and asks you to call at his house. If the -letter is addressed to his office, you may take it yourself and send it -in to him. But you ought not to go to his house until he invites you. -After he does this, call in the afternoon or evening—never in the -morning, unless you are specially asked. A “morning call” in good -society means a call in the afternoon. And a first call ought not to -last more than fifteen minutes. Take your hat and cane into the parlor; -you may leave overcoat and umbrella and overshoes in the hall. A young -man who wants to act properly will not lay his cane across the piano or -put his hat on a chair. The hat and stick ought to be put on the floor -near him, if he does not care to hold them in his hands. If he leaves -his hat in the hall, his hostess will think that he is going to spend -the day in her house. But if she insists on taking his hat from him, it -will not do to struggle for it. Such devotion to etiquette might make a -bad impression. Good feeling and common-sense must modify all rules; and -if one’s entertainers have the old-fashioned impressions that the first -duty of hospitality is to grasp one’s hat and cane, let them have them -by all means; but do not take the sign to mean that you are to stay all -day. A quarter of an hour is long enough for a first call. - -“You must have had a delightful visitor this morning,” one lady said to -another. “He stayed over an hour. What did he talk about?” The other -lady smiled sadly: “He told me how he felt when he had the scarlet -fever, and all about his mother’s liver-complaint.” - -Topics of conversation should be carefully chosen. Strangers do not want -to see a man often who talks about his troubles, his illness, and his -virtues. The more the “You” is used in general society and the less the -“I,” the better it will be for him who has the tact to use it. There is -no use in pretending that our troubles are interesting to anybody but -our mothers. Other people may listen, but, depend upon it, they prefer -to avoid a man with a grievance. - -If the young man with the letter of introduction has made a good -impression, he will probably be invited to dinner. And then, if he has -been careless of little observances, he will begin to be anxious. -Perhaps it will be a ceremonious dinner, too, where there will be a -crowd of young girls ready to criticise in their minds every motion, and -some older ladies who will be sure to make up their minds as to the -manner in which he has been brought up at home or at college. And we -must remember that our conduct when we get out into the world reflects -credit or discredit on our homes or our schools. - -If our young man is invited to luncheon, he will find it much the same -as a dinner, except that it will take place some time between twelve and -two o’clock; while a dinner in a city is generally given at six o’clock, -but sometimes not till eight. The very fashionable hour is nine. In -Washington the time is from six to eight. If the dinner is to be -formal—not merely a family dinner—our young stranger will get an -invitation worded in this way: - - _Mr. and Mrs. John Robinson - request the pleasure of - Mr. James Brown’s company at dinner, - On Thursday, June the Twentieth, - At seven o’clock._ - -Our young man should send an answer at once to this, and he must say Yes -or No; and if Mr. James Brown “regrets that he cannot have the pleasure -of accepting Mr. and Mrs. John Robinson’s invitation to dinner on June -the Twentieth, at seven o’clock,” let him give a good reason. If he have -a previous engagement, that is a good reason; if he will be out of town, -that is a good reason; but he must answer the invitation at once, and -say whether he will go or not. To invite to dinner is the highest social -compliment one man can pay another, and it should be considered in that -light. Of course if a young man considers himself so brilliant that -people must invite him to their houses, he may do as he pleases, but he -will soon find himself alone in that opinion. It is not good looks or -brilliancy of conversation that gains a man the right kind of friends: -it is good manners. Conceit in young people is an appalling obstacle to -their advancement. You remember the story of the New York college man -who was rescued from drowning by a ferry-hand. The latter expressed his -disgust with the reward he received, and one of the college man’s -friends asked him why he had not done more for his rescuer. “Done more?” -he exclaimed,—he considered himself the handsomest man of his -class,—“Done more! What could I do? Did not I give him my photograph, -cabinet size?” - -If a young man is shy, now will come his time of trials. But if he keeps -in mind the few rules that regulate the etiquette of the dinner-table, -he will have no reason to fear that he will make any important mistakes. -If his hostess should ask him to take a lady in to dinner, he will offer -her his left arm, so that his right may be free to adjust her chair, and -he will wait until his place is pointed out by the hostess. He will find -it awkward if he should drop into the first seat he come to—for the laws -of the dinner-table are regularity and beauty. We cannot all be -beautiful, but we can move in obedience to good rules. It is important -that the man received in society should not cover too much space with -his feet; he ought to try to keep them together. - -A dinner—that is, a formal dinner—generally opens with four or five -oysters. The guest is expected to squeeze lemon on them and to eat them -with an oyster-fork. If one man is tempted to saw an oyster in half with -a knife, he had better resist the temptation and miss eating the oyster -rather than commit so barbarous an outrage. A guest who would cut an -oyster publicly in half is probably a cannibal who would cut up a small -baby without remorse. A man must not ask for oysters twice. - -After the oysters comes the soup. If the dinner-party is small, the soup -may be passed by guest to guest; but the waiter generally serves it. It -is a flagrant violation of good manners to ask for soup twice. It should -be taken from the side of the spoon if the guest’s mustache will permit -it, and not from the tip. Soup is dipped from the eater, not toward him. -Among the Esquimaux it is the fashion to smack the lips after every -luscious mouthful of liquid grease; with us, people do not make any -noise or smack their lips over anything they eat, no matter how good it -is. In George Eliot’s novel of “Middlemarch,” Dorothea’s sister’s -greatest objection to Mr. Causaban is that his mother had never taught -him to eat soup without making a noise. - -After the soup comes the fish. The young guest may not like fish, but he -must pretend to eat it; it is bad manners not to pretend to eat -everything set before one at a dinner. A little tact will help anybody -to do it. No dish must be sent away with the appearance of having been -untasted. It would be an insult to one’s hostess not to seem to like -everything she has offered us. And, as the chief duty of social -intercourse is to give pleasure and to spare pain, this little -suggestion is most important. - -On this point Mrs. Sherwood, an acknowledged authority on social -matters, says: “First of all things, decline nothing. If you do not like -certain kinds of food, it is a courtesy to your hostess to appear as if -you did. You can take as little on your plate as you choose, and you can -appear as if eating it, for there is always your bread to taste and your -fork or spoon to trifle with, and thus conceal your unwillingness to -partake of a disliked course.” Fish is eaten with a fork in one hand and -a piece of bread in the other. There was once a man who filled his mouth -with fish and dropped the bones from his lips to his plate. He -disappeared—and nobody asks where he has gone. If a bone does happen to -get into the mouth, it can be quietly removed. The guest who puts his -fingers ostentatiously into his mouth to take out the fish-bones he has -greedily placed there might, under temptation, actually and savagely -tilt over his soup plate to scoop up the last drop of the liquid. - -The next course, after the fish, is the entrée; it may be almost -anything. No well-bred man ever asks for a second helping of the -sweetbreads, or chops, or whatever dish may form the entrée. It is eaten -with the fork in the right hand and a piece of bread in the left. In -England it is considered ill-bred to pass the fork from the left hand to -the right; but we have not as yet become so expert in the use of the -left hand, so we use our forks with the right. A guest who asks for a -second portion of the entrée may find himself in the position of a -certain Congressman who had never troubled himself about etiquette. He -was invited to a state dinner at the White House. The courses were -delayed by this genial legislator, who would be helped twice. When the -roasts came on he turned to a lady, and in his amiable way said, with a -fascinating smile, “No, I can’t eat more; I’m full—up to here,” he -added, making a pleasant motion across his throat. It was probably the -same Congressman who, seeing a slice of lemon floating in his -finger-bowl, drank its contents, and swore that it was the weakest -lemonade he had ever tasted. - -The roast comes after the entrée. Each course is eaten slowly, because -the host wants to keep his guests in pleasant conversation at his table -as long as possible. If the host helps our young guest to a slice of the -roast, whatever flesh-meat or fowl it may be, the guest must not pass it -to anybody else: he must keep it himself; it was intended for him. This -rule does not apply to the soup and the fish and the entrées as it does -to the roast. Suppose a guest wants his beef rare, or underdone, and I -pass him the piece given to me by the host, because he knows I like it -well-done: the consequence is that the guest next to me gets what he -does not like and I get what I do not like. Another thing: Begin to eat -as soon as you are helped. Do not wait for anybody; if you do, your food -may become cold. - -The seat of honor for the men is always on the hostess’ right hand; for -the ladies, on the right hand of the host. The lady in the seat of honor -is always helped first. She begins to eat at once. There is nobody to -wait for then. The rule is that one should begin to eat as soon as one -is served. This rule may be followed everywhere, and the practice of it -prevents much embarrassment. - -After the roast there will probably be an entremets of some kind. It may -be an omelette, it may be only a salad, or it may be some elaborately -made dish. In any case, your fork and a bit of bread will help you out. -When in doubt, a young man should always use his fork—never his knife, -as it is used only to cut with, and to help one’s self to cheese. -Vegetables are always taken with the fork; lettuce too, and asparagus, -except when there is no liquid sauce covering it entirely. Lettuce, when -without sauce, asparagus when not entirely covered with sauce, are eaten -with the fingers. Water-cress is always eaten with the fingers, and so -are artichokes. A dinner ought not to last over two hours; but it may. -If our guest yawns or looks at his watch he is ruined socially. He might -almost as well thrust his knife into his mouth as do either of them. -When he gets more accustomed to the world, he will discern that people -object to a view of his throat suddenly opened to them. - -But to return to our dinner-party: If the finger-bowls are brought on, -the general custom is to remove them from the little plate on which they -stand. The little napkins underneath them are not used: these are merely -put there to save the plate from being scratched by the finger-bowls. As -usage differs somewhat here, the young guest had better watch his -hostess and imitate her. - -An ice called a Roman punch is served after the roast; it is always -eaten with a spoon. If a fork is served with the ice-cream at the end of -the dinner, the amiable young man had better not begin to giggle and ask -“What’s this for?” If he never saw ice-cream eaten with a fork before, -it is not necessary to show it. It is very often so eaten, and if he -finds a fork near his ice-cream plate, let him use it just as if it was -no novelty. To show surprise in society is bad taste; it is good taste -to praise the flowers, the china, the soup. One ought to say that he -enjoyed himself, but never to say that he is thankful for a good dinner. -It is understood that civilized people dine together for the pleasure of -one another’s society, not merely to eat. - -When the little cups of black coffee are served, our young guest may -take a lump of sugar with his fingers, if there are no tongs. Similarly -in regard to olives, he may take them with his fingers and eat them with -his fingers. One’s fingers should be dipped in the finger-bowls,—there -is a story told of a young man who at his first dinner-party put his -napkin into his finger-bowl and mopped his face. The host, who ought to -have been more polite, asked him if he wanted a bathtub. The boy said -no, and asked for a sponge. - -If our young guest be wise he will pay all possible attention to the -hostess; the host really does not count until the cigars come around. -Then let the young person beware in being too ready to smoke. He may -possibly not be offered cigars at all, but if he is, and he smokes in -any lady’s presence without asking her permission, the seal of vulgarity -is impressed on him. - -A guest to whom black coffee is served in a little cup ought not to ask -for cream. It might cause some inconvenience; it is not the custom. When -a plate is changed or sent up to our host, the knife and fork should be -laid parallel with each other and obliquely across the plate. At small -dinners, where the host insists on helping you twice, one may keep his -knife and fork until his plate is returned to him. - - - - - III. What Makes a Gentleman. - - -Cardinal Newman made a famous definition and description, both in the -same paragraph, of a gentleman. “It is almost,” he said, in his “Idea of -a University,” “a definition of a gentleman to say he is one who never -inflicts pain.” And this truth will be found to be the basis of all -really good manners. Good manners come from the heart, while etiquette -is only an invention of wise heads to prevent social friction, or to -keep fools at a distance. Nobody but an idiot will slap a man on the -back unless the man invites the slap by his own familiarity. It seems to -me that the primary rule which, according to Cardinal Newman, makes a -gentleman is more disregarded in large schools than anywhere else. There -is no sign which indicates ignorance or lack of culture so plainly as -the tendency to censure, to jibe, to sneer,—to be always on the alert to -find faults and defects. On the other hand, a true gentleman does not -censure, if he can help it: he prefers to discover virtues rather than -faults; and, if he sees a defect, he is silent about it until he can -gently suggest a remedy. - -The school-boy is not remarkable for such reticence. And this may be one -of the reasons why he has the reputation of being selfish, ungrateful, -and sometimes cruel. He is not any of these things; he is, as a rule, -only thoughtless. It has been said that a _blunder_ is often worse than -a _crime_; and thoughtlessness sometimes produces effects that are more -enduringly disastrous than crimes. Forgetfulness among boys or young men -is thoughtlessness. If an engineer forget for a _moment_, his train may -go to RUIN. If a telegrapher forget to send a message, death may be the -result; but neither of them can acquire such control over himself that -he will always _remember_, if he does not practise the art of thinking -every day of his life. It is thoughtfulness, consideration, that makes -life not only endurable, but pleasant. As Christians, we are bound to do -to others as we would have them do to us. But as members of a great -society, in which each person must be a factor even more important than -he imagines, we shall find that, even if our Christianity did not move -us to bear and forbear from the highest motives, ordinary prudence and -regard for our own comfort and reputation should lead us to do these -things. The Christian gentleman is the highest type: he may be a hero as -well as a gentleman. Culture produces another type, and Cardinal Newman -thus describes him. The Cardinal begins by saying that “it is almost a -definition of a gentleman to say he is one who never inflicts pain. This -description,” he continues, “is both refined and, as far as it goes, -accurate. The gentleman is mainly occupied in merely removing the -obstacles which hinder the free and unembarrassed action of those about -him; and he concurs with their movements rather than takes the -initiative himself. The benefits may be considered as parallel to what -are called comforts or conveniences in arrangements of a personal -nature: like an easy-chair or a good fire, which do their part in -dispelling cold or fatigue, though nature provides both means of rest -and animal heat without them. The true gentleman in like manner -carefully avoids whatever may cause a jar or a jolt in the minds of -those with whom he is cast,—all clashing of opinion or collision of -feeling, all restraint or suspicion or gloom or resentment,—his great -concern being to make every one at their ease or at home. He has his -eyes on all the company: he is tender towards the bashful, gentle toward -the distant, and merciful towards the absurd; he can recollect to whom -he is speaking; he guards against unreasonable allusions or topics which -may irritate; he is seldom prominent in conversation, and never -wearisome. He makes light of favors which he does them, and seems to be -receiving when he is conferring. He never speaks of himself except when -compelled, never defends himself by a mere retort; he has no ears for -slander or gossip, is scrupulous in imputing motives to those who -interfere with him, and interprets everything for the best. He is never -mean or little in his disputes, never takes unfair advantage, never -mistakes personalities or sharp sayings for arguments, or insinuates -evil which he dare not say out. From a long-sighted prudence he observes -the maxim of the ancient sage, that we should ever conduct ourselves -towards our enemy as if he were one day to be our friend.” - -The Cardinal’s definition of a gentleman does not end with these words: -you can find it for yourself in his “Idea of a University,” page 204. It -will be found, on examination, to contain the principles which give a -man power to make his own life and that of his fellow-beings cheerful -and pleasant. And life is short enough and hard enough to need all the -kindness, all the cheerfulness, all the gentleness, that we can put into -it. - -If a friend passes from among us, one of the most enduring of our -consolations is that we never gave him needless pain while he lived. And -who can say which of our friends may go next? He who sits by you -to-night, he who greets you first in the morning, may suffer from a -hasty word or a thoughtless act that you can never recall. - -It is in the ordinary ways of life that the true gentleman shows -himself. He does not wait until he gets out of school to pay attention -to the little things. He begins here, and he begins the moment he feels -that he ought to begin. Somebody once wrote that the man who has never -made a mistake is a fool. And another man added to this, that a wise man -makes mistakes, but _never_ the _same_ mistake _twice_. A gentleman at -heart may blush when he thinks of his mistakes, but he never repeats -them. It is a mistake made by thoughtless young people to stand near -others who are talking. It is a grave sin against politeness for them to -listen, as they sometimes do, with eyes and ears open for fear they -should miss any of the words not intended for them. The young man thus -engaged is an object of pity and contempt. Politeness may prevent others -from rebuking him publicly, but it does not change their opinion of him, -nor does it enter their minds to excuse him on the plea that he “didn’t -think.” - -It does not seem to strike some of you that the convenience of those who -work for you ought to be considered, and that unnecessary splashings of -liquids and dropping of crumbs and morsels of food is the most -reprehensible indication of thoughtlessness. - -We often forget that criticism does not mean fault-finding. It means -rather the art of finding virtues; and after any private entertainment, -at which each performer has done his best for his audience, it is very -bad taste to point out all the defects in his work: you may do this at -rehearsal, but not after the work is done; you may discourage him by -touching on something that he cannot help. A friend of mine once played -a part in _Box and Cox_, but on the day after the performance he was -much cast down by the comments in one of the daily papers. “Mr. Smith,” -the critic said, “was admirable, but he should not have made himself -ridiculous by wearing such an abnormally _long false_ nose.” As the nose -happened to be Mr. Smith’s _own_, he was discouraged. Criticism of music -especially, unless it be intelligent, is likely to make the critic seem -ignorant. For instance, there was on one occasion on a musical programme -a _ballade_ by Chopin in A flat major. The young woman who played it on -the piano was afterwards horrified to find herself described as having -sung a _lively_ ballad called “A Fat Major”! The musical critic had -better know what he is talking about or be silent. No, no, gentlemen, -let us not be censorious about the efforts of those who do their best -for us; and good-fellowship—what the French call _esprit de corps_—ought -to show itself in our manners. Anybody can blame injudiciously, but few -can praise judiciously. At college boys especially must remember that -the college is part of ourselves, and that any reproach on our _alma -mater_ is a reproach on _ourselves_. Its reputation is our reputation, -and the critically censorious student will find that, in the end, it is -the wiser course to dwell on the best side of his college life. The -world hates a fault-finder: he will soon see himself left entirely alone -with those acute perceptions that help him to find out all that is bad -in his fellow-creatures and nothing that is good. To be a gentleman, one -must be tolerant, and, above all, grateful. - -In the world outside there are many kinds of entertainment. We disposed -of the dinner-party in a preceding page. One’s conduct anywhere must be -guided by good sense and the usages of the occasion. At a concert, for -instance, the main object of each person present is to hear the music. -Anything that interferes with this is a breach of good manners. To -chatter during a song or while a piece of music is played shows selfish -disregard for the comfort of others and a contemptible indifference to -the feelings of the performer. Music may be a great aid to conversation, -but conversation is no assistance to music; and people who go to a -concert do not pay for their tickets to hear somebody in the next seat -tell his private affairs in a loud voice. There are some human creatures -who seem to imagine that they may reveal everything possible to their -next neighbor in a crowded theatre without being heard by anybody else. -There is an old anecdote, but a true one, of a very fashionable lady in -Boston who attended an organ recital in the Music Hall there. She was -supposed to be an amateur of classical music, but her reputation was -shattered by an unlucky pause in the tones of the organ. The music -ceased unexpectedly, and the only sound heard was that of her voice, -soaring above the silence and saying to her friend, “We FRY ours in -LARD.” Her reputation was ruined in musical circles. One goes to a -concert or an opera to listen, not to talk. It is only the vulgar, the -ostentatious, the ignorant, that distinguish themselves in public places -by a disregard of the rights of others. To enter a concert-room late and -to interrupt a singer, to enter any public hall while a speaker is -making an address, is to excite the disapproval of all well-bred people. -Sir Charles Thornton, for a long time British minister at Washington, -was noted for his care in this particular: he would stand for half an -hour outside the door of a concert-room rather than enter while a piece -of music was in progress. - -Weddings, I presume, may be put down under the head of entertainments. -The etiquette of the assistants is very simple. A wedding invitation -requires no answer: a card sent by mail and addressed to the senders of -the invitation, who are generally the father and mother of the bride, is -quite sufficient. It is unnecessary to say that it is not proper during -a marriage ceremony to stand on the seats of the pews in order to get a -good look at the happy pair. A tradition exists to the effect that a man -during a wedding ceremony once climbed on a confessional. It is added, -too,—and I am glad of it,—that he fell and broke his neck. But there is -no knowing what some barbarians will do: watch them on Sundays, chewing -toothpicks, standing in ranks outside of the churches, and believing -that the ladies are admiring their best clothes. - -My list of entertainments would be incomplete without the dancing party. -St. Francis de Sales says of dancing, that a little of it ought to go a -great way. Society ordains that every man shall learn to dance; but if -he can talk intelligently, society will forgive him for not dancing. -Dancing, after all, is only a substitute for conversation; and, properly -directed, it is a very good substitute for scandal, mean gossip, or the -frivolous chatter which makes assemblies of young people unendurable to -anybody who has not begun to be afflicted with softening of the brain. - -Public dances—dances into which anybody can find entrance by paying a -fee—are avoided by decent people. A young man who has any regard for his -reputation will avoid them; and as nearly every young man has his way to -make in the world, he cannot too soon realize how the report that he -frequents such places will hurt him; for, as I said, there are no -secrets in this world,—everything comes out sooner or later. - -It is no longer the fashion for a young man to invite a young woman to -accompany him to a dance, even at a private house. He must first ask her -mother. This European fashion has—thank Heaven!—reached many remote -districts of late, where young people hitherto ignored the existence of -their parents when social pleasures were concerned. The young girl who -doesn’t want the “old man to know” had better be avoided. And in the -best circles young women are not permitted to go to the theatre or to -dances without a _chaperon_,—that is, the mother or some elderly lady is -expected to accompany the young people. This, of course, makes trips to -the theatre expensive; but the young man who cannot afford to take an -extra aunt or mother had better avoid such amusements until he can. - -As to whether you are to take part in the round dances or not, that will -be settled by your confessor: I have no right to dictate on that -subject. But if you are invited to a dance, pay your respects to your -hostess _first_, and say something pleasant. You must remember that she -intends that you shall be useful,—that you shall dance with the ladies -to whom she introduces you, and that you shall not think of your own -pleasure entirely, but help to give others pleasure by dancing with the -ladies who have no partners. In a word, you must be as unselfish in this -frivolous atmosphere as on more serious occasions. When the refreshments -are served, you must think of yourself last. If you want to gorge -yourself, you can take a yard or two of Bologna sausage to your room -after the entertainment is over. A young man over twenty-one should wear -an evening suit and no jewelry at a dance. Infants under that age are -supposed to be safely tucked in bed at the time the ordinary dance -begins. - -At a dance or at any other entertainment no introduction should be made -thoughtlessly. If a gentleman is presented to a lady, it should be done -only after her permission has been asked and received. And the form -should be, “Mrs. Jones, allow me to present Mr. Smith.” A younger man -should always be introduced to an older man, one of inferior position to -one of superior position. If you are introducing a friend to the mayor -of your city, you ought not to say, “Let me introduce the Mayor to you.” -On the contrary, the form should be “Mr. Mayor, allow me to present my -friend Mr. Smith.” - -On being introduced to a lady, it is not the fashion for a man to extend -his hand,—for hand-shaking on first introduction is a thing of the past. -If the lady extends her hand, it is proper to take it; but the -pump-handle style is no longer practised, except perhaps in some unknown -wilds of Alaska. After a man is introduced to a lady and he meets her -again, he must not bow until she has bowed to him. In France the man -bows first; in America and England we give that privilege to the woman. -An American takes his hat entirely from his head when he meets a lady; a -foreigner raises it but slightly, but he bows lower than we do. In -introducing people, we ought always to be careful to give them their -titles, and to add, if possible, the place from which they come. If Mr. -Jones, of Chicago, is introduced to Mr. Robinson, of New York, the -subject for conversation is already arranged. We know what they will -talk about. If the wife of the President introduced you to him, she -would call him the President; but if you addressed him, you would call -him “Mr. President,” as you would address the mayor of a city as “Mr. -Mayor.” Mrs. Grant was the only President’s wife who did not give her -husband his title in introductions: she called him simply and modestly, -“Mr. Grant.” - -An English bard sings: - - “I know a duke, well—let him pass— - I may not call his grace an ass, - Though if I did, I’d do no wrong— - Save to the asses and my song. - - “The duke is neither wise nor good: - He gambles, drinks, scorns womanhood; - And at the age of twenty-four - Is worn and battered as threescore. - - “I know a waiter in Pall Mall, - Who works and waits and reasons well; - Is gentle, courteous, and refined, - And has a magnet in his mind. - - “What is it makes his graceless grace - So like a jockey out of place? - What makes the waiter—tell who can— - The very flower of gentleman? - - “Perhaps their mothers!—God is great! - It can’t be accident or fate. - The waiter’s heart is true,—and then, - Good manners make our gentlemen.” - - - - - IV. What Does Not Make a Gentleman. - - -We have touched on the etiquette of dress and of entertainments; and now -I beg leave to repeat some things already said, and to add a few others -that need to be said. - -A young man cannot afford to be slovenly in his dress. Carelessness in -dress will prejudice people against him as completely as a badly written -letter. He will find himself mysteriously left out in invitations. If he -applies for a position in an office or a bank, or anywhere else, where -neatness of dress is expected, he will get the cold shoulder. A young -man who wears grease spots habitually on the front of his coat, whose -trousers are decorated with dark shadows and the mud of last week, whose -shoes are red and rusty, and who hangs a soiled handkerchief, like a -flag of truce, more than half out of his pocket, will find himself -barred from every place which his ambition would spur him to enter. You -may say that dress does not make the man. You may call to mind Burns’ -lines to the effect that “a man’s a man for a’ that;” a piece of silver -is only a piece of silver, worth more or less, until the United States -mint stamps it a dollar. The stamp of your character and the manner of -your bringing up give you the value at which the world appraises you. - -I recall to mind an instance which shows that we cannot always control -our dress. There was a boy at school who was the shortest and the -youngest among three tall brothers. He never had any clothes of his own. -He had to wear the cast-off suits of the other brothers, and it was no -unusual thing for his trousers to trip him up when he tried to run, -although they were fastened well up under his shoulders. This unhappy -youth was the victim of circumstances; if he made a bad impression, he -could not help it. But he was always neat and clean, and he never put -grease on his hair or leaned against papered walls in order to leave his -mark there. He never saturated himself with cologne to avoid a bath; he -never chewed gum; he was never seen with a dirty-yellow rivulet at -either side of his lips, which flowed from a plug of tobacco somewhere -in his gullet; and so, though he was pitied for the eccentricities of -his toilet, he was not despised. - -In a country where we do not have to buy water there is no excuse for -neglecting the bath. The average Englishman talks so much of his bath -and his tub, that one cannot help thinking that the Order of Bath is a -late discovery in his country, although we know it was instituted long -ago. Every boy ought to keep himself “well groomed;” to be clean outside -and in gives him a solid respect for himself that makes others respect -him. It is like a college education: it causes him to feel that he is -any man’s equal. But one with a sham diamond in his bosom, or cuffs that -he has to shove up his sleeves every now and then to prevent them from -showing how dirty they are, can never feel quite like a man. - -We Americans have reason to be proud of the decay of two arts which -Charles Dickens when he wrote “American Notes” found in a flourishing -condition,—the art of swearing in public and the art of tobacco-chewing. -When Dickens made his first visit to this country he was amazed by the -skill which Americans showed in the art of tobacco-chewing. The -“spit-box,” the spittoon, the cuspidore,—which is supposed to be an -elegant name for a very inelegant utensil,—seemed to him to be the most -important of American institutions. We who have become accustomed to the -cuspidore do not realize how its constant presence surprises foreigners. -They do not understand why the floor of every hotel should be furnished -with conveniences for spitting, because no country except the United -States is infested by tobacco-chewers. Charles Dickens was severe on the -prevalence of the tobacco-chewing habit. He was roundly abused for his -criticisms on our public manners. No doubt his censure was well founded, -for the manners of Americans have improved since. To Dickens it seemed -as if the principal American amusement was tobacco-chewing. He found the -American a gloomy being, who regarded all the refinements with dislike, -and whose politeness to women was his one redeeming feature. Dickens -admitted that a woman might travel alone from one end of the country to -the other and receive the most courteous attention from even the -roughest miner. And this is as true now as it was then. There are no men -in any country so polite to women as Americans; and in no other country -on the face of the earth is the sex of our mothers so publicly -respected. This chivalric characteristic, which Tom Moore tells us was -the most brilliant jewel in the crown of the Irish, “When Malachi wore -the collar of gold,” is now an American characteristic, and -distinctively an American characteristic. So sure are the ladies of -every attention, that they take the reverential attitude of men as a -matter of course. They no longer thank us when we give up our places in -the street-car to them, or walk in the mud to let them pass; and it is -probably regard for them that has caused the American to cease to flood -every public place with vile tobacco-juice. - -There was a time when the marble floors of our largest hotels were so -spotted with this vicious fluid that their color could not be -recognized, when the atmosphere reeked with filthy fumes, and many a man -bit off a large chunk of tobacco between every second word. It was his -method of punctuating his talk. He expectorated when he wanted to make a -comma and bit off a “chew” at a period; he squirted a half-pint of amber -liquid across the room for an interrogation-mark, and struck his -favorite spot on the ceiling to mark an exclamation. But we are not so -bad as we used to be. George Washington, whose first literary effort was -an essay on Manners, might complain that we lack much, but he would find -that the tobacco-chewer is not so prominent a figure in all landscapes -as he formerly was. - -The truth is, that American good sense is putting an end to this dirty -and disgusting habit. There was a time when a man was asked for a “chew” -on almost every street corner. But this was in the days of the Bowery -boys and of the old volunteer fire-departments, when strange things -occurred. It is related that an English traveller riding down Broadway, -some time about the year 1852, found that the light was suddenly shut -out of his left eye. He fancied for an instant that his optic nerves had -been paralyzed. He was relieved by the sound of an apologetic voice -coming from the opposite seat. It said: “I didn’t intend to put that -‘chew’ into your eye, sir. I was aiming at the window when you bobbed -your head!” And the thoughtful expectorator gently removed the ball of -tobacco from the Englishman’s eye! - -That could hardly occur now. Chewers do not take such risks, or they aim -straighter. For a long time the typical American, as represented in -English novels or on the English stage, chewed tobacco and whittled a -wooden nutmeg. The English have learned only of late that every American -does not do these things. - -If foreigners hate this savage practice, who can blame them? How we -should sneer and jeer at the English if, in ferry-boats, in horse-cars, -in public halls, pools of tobacco-juice should be seen, and if perpetual -yellow, ill-smelling fountains sprung from men’s mouths. How _Puck_ -would caricature John Bull in his constant attitude of chewing! How -filthy and barbaric we would say the British were! We should speak of -it, in Fourth-of-July orations, as a proof of British inferiority. But -we cannot do this, for the English do not chew tobacco,—and some of us -do. - -It is a habit that had better be unlearned as soon as possible. It is -happily ceasing to be an American vice, and with it will cease the -chronic dyspepsia and many of the stomach and throat diseases which have -become almost national. Many a man, come to the years of discretion, -bitterly regrets that he ever learned to chew tobacco; but he thought -once that it was a manly thing, and he learns when too late that the -manly thing would have been to avoid it. Some of you will perhaps -remember a fashion boys had—I don’t know whether they have it now—of -getting tattooed by some expert who practised the art. What pain we -suffered while a small star was picked in blue ink at the junction of -the thumb with the hand!—and how proud we were of a blue anchor printed -indelibly on our wrists! But a day came when we should have been glad to -have blotted out this insignia with thrice the pain. And so the day will -come when the inveterate tobacco-chewer will wish with all his heart -that he had never been induced to put a piece of tobacco into his mouth. -It is one of those vices which has an unpleasant sting and which is its -own punishment. It is unbecoming to a gentleman; it violates every rule -of good manners,—the spectacle of a young man dropping a “quid” into his -hand before he goes into dinner and trying on the sly to wipe off the -dirty stains on his chin is enough to turn the stomach of a cannibal. - -Going back to the subject of entertainments, let me impress on you that -it is your duty when you go into society to think as little of -yourselves as possible, and to talk as little of yourselves. If a man -can sing or play on any musical instrument or recite, and he is asked to -do any of these things, let him not refuse. Young women sometimes say no -in society when they mean yes; but young men are not justified in -practising such an affectation. It is not good taste to show that one is -anxious to sing or to play or to recite. If you are invited out, do not -begin at once by talking about elocution, until somebody is forced to -ask you to recite; and do not hum snatches of song until there is no -escape for your friends from the painful duty of asking you to sing. The -restless efforts of some amateurs to get a hearing in society always -brings to mind a certain theatrical episode. There was a young actress -who thought she could sing, and consequently she introduced a vocal solo -whenever she could. She was cast for the principal part in a melodrama -full of tragic situations. The manager congratulated himself that here, -at least, there was no chance for the tuneful young lady to try her -scales. But he was mistaken. The great scene was on. A flash of -lightning illumined the stage. The actress was holding a pathetic -conversation with her mother as the thunder rolled. The mother suddenly -fell with a shriek, struck dead. And then the devoted daughter said, -“Aha, mee mother is dead! Alas, I will now sing the song she loved so -much in life!” And the young lady walked to the footlights and warbled -“Comrades.” - -She _would_ and she did sing, but I am afraid the audience laughed. I -offer this authentic anecdote as a warning to young singers that they -should neither be hasty nor reluctant in displaying their talents. A man -goes into society that he may give as well as gain pleasure. The highest -form of social pleasure is conversation; but conversation does not mean -a monologue. Good listeners are as highly appreciated in society as good -talkers. A good listener often gives an impression of great wisdom which -is dispelled the moment he opens his mouth. Mr. Gladstone was charmed by -a young lady who sat next to him at dinner; he concluded that she was -one of the most intelligent women he had ever met, until she spoiled it -all by saying, with effusion, “Oh, I love cabbage!” - -A young man should neither talk too much nor too little, and he should -never talk about himself unless he is forced to. Madame Roland, a famous -Frenchwoman, who perished during the Reign of Terror under the -guillotine, said that by listening attentively to others she made more -friends than by any remarks of her own. “Judicious silence,” the author -of “In a Club Corner” says, “is one of the great social virtues.” A man -who tries to be funny at all times is a social nuisance. Two famous men -suffered very much for their tendency to be always humorous. These were -Sydney Smith and our own lamented S. S. Cox. Sydney Smith could not -speak without exciting laughter. Once, when he had said grace, a young -lady next to him exclaimed, “You are always so amusing!” And S. S. Cox, -one of the most serious of men at heart and the cleverest in head, never -attained the place in politics he ought to have gained because he was -supposed to be always in fun. Jokes are charming things in a limited -circle, but no gentleman nowadays indulges in those practical jokes -which we have heard of. It is not considered a delicate compliment to -pull a chair away just as anybody is about to sit down; and the young -person who jabs acquaintances in the ribs, to make them laugh at his -delightful sayings, is not rapturously welcomed in quiet families. - -A young man should not make a practice of using slang, and he should -never use it in the presence of ladies. To advise a friend to “shut his -face” or to “come off the perch” may sound “smart,” but it is vulgar, -and is fatal to those ambitious young men who feel that their success in -life depends on the good opinion of cultivated people. Moreover, this -habitual slang is likely to crop out at the most inopportune times. Mr. -Sankey, of the evangelizing firm of Moody and Sankey, at a camp-meeting -once asked a devout young man if he loved the Lord. There was profound -silence until the young man, who thought in slang, answered in a loud -voice, “You bet!” - -Slang is in bad taste; and the slang we borrow from the English is the -worst of all—the repetition of “don’t you know?” for instance. “I’m -going to town, don’t you know, and if I see your friends, don’t you -know, I’ll tell them you were asking for them, don’t you know,—oh, yes, -I shall, don’t you know.” Imagine an American so idiotic as not only to -imitate the vulgarest Cockney slang, but to do it in the vulgarest -Cockney accent! There was a woman who at a dinner said, “Have some soup, -don’t you know; it’s not half nawsty, don’t you know.” - -I must remind you again not to use, in letter-writing, tinted or -ornamented paper. Let it be white and, by all means, unruled; your -envelope may be either oblong or square, but the square form is -preferable. If you have time and want to follow the present fashion, and -also to pay a compliment of extreme carefulness to the person to whom -you are writing, close your letters with red sealing-wax. Some -old-fashioned people look on postal cards as vulgar. However, it is not -well to write family secrets on these cheap forms. And if any man owes -you money, do not ask him for it on a postal card: it is against a more -forcible law than those that make etiquette. Postal cards are not to be -used except on business. Be sure to write the name of the person to whom -the letter is addressed on the last page of the letter. But if you begin -a letter with “Dear Mr. Smith,” you need not write Mr. Smith’s name -again at the end of the letter. Buy good paper and envelopes. And do not -write on old scraps of paper when you write home. Nothing is too good -for your father and mother; they may not say much about it, but every -little attention from you brightens their lives and helps towards paying -that debt of gratitude to them which you can never fully discharge. - -A young man has asked me to say something about the etiquette of cards -and calls. A man, under the American code of politeness, need not make -many calls. If he is invited to an entertainment of any kind, he should -go to the house of his host to call or leave his card. If it be his -first call, he must leave a card for each grown-up member of the family. -After that he need leave only one card. The old fashion of turning down -the corners of cards is gone out. A man’s card should be very small, -_not_ gilt-edged; it should never be printed, but always engraved or -written, with the address in the left-hand lower corner. A man may write -his own cards. In that case he must not put “Mr.” before his name. But -if he has them engraved, the present usage demands that “Mr.” must -appear before his name. If he has been at a party of any kind, he must -call within a week after it, or he can send his card with his mother or -sister, if they should happen to be calling at his host’s within that -time. A man’s card, like his note-paper, ought to be as simple as -possible. Secretary Bayard’s cards always bore the plain inscription, -“Mr. Bayard.” Sciolists and pretenders of all kinds put a great number -of titles on their cards. Corn-cutters and spiritists and quacks of all -sorts are always sure to print “Professor” before their names, but men -who have a right to the title never do it. Be sure, then, to have a -neat, plain card, well engraved. It costs very little to have a plate -made by a good stationery firm; and a neat, elegant card, like a -well-written letter, is a good introduction. It symbolizes the man. -Daniel Webster’s card was simply “Mr. Webster,” and it expressed the -man’s hatred for all pretence. A gentleman should never call on a young -lady without asking for her mother or her _chaperon_. And he should -never leave a card for her without leaving one for her mother. It will -not do to send a card by mail after one has been asked to dinner. A -personal visit must be made and a card left. In calling on the sons or -daughters of a family, cards should be left for the father and mother. - -It may surprise some young men to find that in the great world fathers -and mothers are so much considered. I know that there are some boys at -school who write home on any odd, soiled paper they can find, and who -write only when they want something or feel like grumbling. Their -letters run something like this: - - “DEAR FATHER: The weather is bad. I am not well this evening, hoping - to find you the same. Grub as usual. Please send me five dollars. - - “Yours,” etc. - -And, of course, their fathers and mothers go down on their knees at once -and thank Heaven for such dutiful and clever boys—that is, if you boys -have brought them up properly. But so many of our parents have been so -badly brought up. They really do not see how superior their children are -to them. They actually fancy that they know more of the world than a boy -of sixteen or seventeen; and they occasionally insist on being obeyed. -It would be a pleasant thing to form a new society among you—a society -for the proper bringing up of fathers and mothers. At present there are -some parents who really refuse to be the slaves of their children, or to -take their advice. This is unreasonable, I know, but it is true. Think -how frightful it is for a young man of spirit to be kept at college -during the best years of his life, when he might be learning new -clog-dance steps on street-corners or reading detective stories all day -long! - -It would be hard to change things now; and the fact remains that in good -society fathers and mothers are considered before their children. The -man who lacks reverence for his parents, who shows irritation to them, -who pains them by his grumbling and fault-finding, is no gentleman. He -is what the English call a cad. He is the most contemptible of God’s -creatures. Let me sum up in the famous lines which you all ought to know -by heart; they are the words that Shakspere puts into the mouth of -Polonius when his son Laertes is about to depart into the great world: - - “Give thy thoughts no _tongue_, - Nor any unproportioned _thought_ his ACT. - Be thou familiar, but by no means _vulgar_: - The friends thou hast, and their adoption TRIED, - GRAPPLE them to THY SOUL with hooks of STEEL; - But do not dull thy _palm_ with _entertainment_ - Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware - Of _entrance_ to a quarrel, but, being in, - Bear it that the opposer may BEWARE of _thee_. - - Give _every_ man thine EAR, but _few_ thy VOICE; - Take _each_ man’s censure, but reserve _thy_ judgment. - Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, - But not expressed in _fancy_; rich, not _gaudy_; - For the apparel oft proclaims the MAN. - - · · · · · - - Neither a borrower nor a LENDER be; - For loan oft loses both _itself_ and _friend_, - And borrowing _dulls_ the edge of husbandry. - This, above all: to thine _own_ self be TRUE; - And it must _follow_, as the night the _day_, - Thou canst not _then_ be FALSE to ANY MAN.” - - - - - V. How to Express One’s Thoughts. - - -Mr. Frederick Harrison, a man of letters, whose literary judgments are -as right as his philosophical judgments are wrong, tells us that the -making of many books and the reading of periodical sheets obscure the -perception and benumb the mind. “The incessant accumulation of fresh -books must hinder any real knowledge of the old; for the multiplicity of -volumes becomes a bar upon our use of any. In literature especially does -it hold that we cannot see the wood for the trees.” I am not about to -advise you to add to the number of useless leaves which hide the forms -of noble trees; but, if your resolve to write outlives the work of -preparation, you may be able to give the world a new classic, or, at -least, something that will cheer and elevate. This preparation is rigid. -Two important qualities of it must be keen observation and careful -reading. It is a pity that an old dialogue on “Eyes or No Eyes” is no -longer included in the reading-books for children. The modern -book-makers have improved it out of existence; nevertheless, it taught a -good lesson. It describes the experience of two boys on a country road. -Common things are about them,—wild flowers, weeds, a ditch,—but one -discovers many hidden things by the power of observation, while the -other sees nothing but the outside of the common things. To write well -one must have eyes and see. To be observant it is not necessary that one -should be critical in the sense of fault-finding. Keen observation and -charitable toleration ought to go together. We may see the peculiarities -of those around us and be amused by them; but we shall never be able to -write anything about character worth writing unless we go deeper and -pierce through the crust which hides from us the hidden meanings of -life. How tired would we become of Dickens if he had confined himself to -pictures of surface characteristics! If we weary of him, it is because -Mr. Samuel Weller is so constantly dropping his _w_’s, and Sairey Gamp -so constantly talking of Mrs. Harris. If we find interest and -refreshment in him now, it is because he went deeper than the thousand -and one little habits with which he distinguishes his personages. - -To write, then, we must acquire the art of observing in a broad and -intelligent spirit. Nature will hang the East and West with gorgeous -tapestry in vain if we do not see it. And many times we shall judge -rashly and harshly if we do not learn to detect the trueheartedness that -hides behind the face which seems cold to the unobservant. We are indeed -blind when we fail to know that an angel has passed until another has -told us of his passing. - -Apparently there is not much to think of the wrinkled hand of the old -woman who crosses your path in the street. You catch a glimpse of it as -she carries her bundle in that hand on her way from work in the -twilight. Perhaps you pass on and think of it no more. Perhaps you note -the knotted, purple veins standing out from the toil-reddened surface, -and then your eyes catch at a glance the wrinkled face on which are -written the traces of trials, self-sacrifice, and patience. It is hard -to believe that those hands were once soft and dimpled childish hands, -and that face bright with happy smiles. The story of her life is the -story of many lives from day to day. Those coarse, ungloved, wrinkled -hands will seem vulgar to you only if you have never learned to observe -and think. They may suggest a noble story or poem to you, if you take -their meaning rightly. Life, every-day life, is full of the suggestions -of great things for those who have learned to look and to observe. - -Mr. Harrison, from whom I have quoted already, puts his finger on a -fault which must inevitably destroy all power of good literary -production. It is a common fault, and the antidote for it is the -cultivation of the art of careful reading. “A habit of reading idly,” -Mr. Harrison says, “debilitates and corrupts the mind for all wholesome -reading; the habit of reading wisely is one of the most difficult to -acquire, needing strong resolution and infinite pains; and reading for -mere reading’s sake, instead of for the sake of the good we gain from -reading, is one of the worst and commonest and most unwholesome habits -we have.” - -In order to write well, one must read well—one must read a few good -books—and never idle over newspapers. Newspapers have become -necessities, and grow larger each year. But the larger they are the more -deleterious they are. The modern newspaper lies one day and corrects its -lies, adding, however, a batch of new ones, on the day after. There are -a few newspapers which have literary value, though even they, mirroring -the passing day, have some of its faults. As a rule, avoid newspapers. -They will help you to fritter away precious time; they will spoil your -style in the same way that a slovenly talker, with whom you associate -constantly, will spoil your talk; for newspapers are generally written -in a hurry, and hurried literary work, unless by a master-hand, is never -good work. Nevertheless, in our country, the newspapers absorb a great -quantity of literary matter which would, were there no newspapers, never -see the light. - -Literature considered as a profession includes what is known as -journalism,—not perhaps reportorial work, but the writing of leaders, -book reviews, theatrical notices, and other articles which require a -light touch, tact, and careful practice, but which do not always have -those qualities. A writer lately said: “Literature has become a trade, -and finance a profession.” This is hardly true; but some authors have -come to look on their profession as a trade, and to value it principally -for the money it brings. Anthony Trollope, for instance, whose novels -are still popular, set himself to his work as to a task; he wrote so -many words for so much money daily. This may account for the woodenness -of his literary productions. In the pursuit of art, money should not be -the first consideration, although it should not be left entirely out of -consideration; for the artist should live by his art, the musician by -his music, and the author by his books. Literature, then, should be a -vocation as well as an avocation. - -Literature, in spite of the many stories about the poverty of writers, -has, in our English-speaking countries, been on the whole a fairly -well-paid profession. Chaucer was by no means a pauper; Shakspere -retired at a comparatively early age to houses and lands earned by his -pen in the pleasant town of Stratford. Pope earned nearly fifty thousand -dollars by his translations or, rather, paraphrases of Homer. Goldsmith, -though always poor through his own generosity and extravagance, earned -what in our days would be held to be a handsome competence. Sir Walter -Scott made enormous sums which he spent royally on his magnificent -castle of Abbotsford. Charles Dickens earned enough to make him rich, -and our modern writers, though less in genius, are not less in their -power of securing the hire of which they are more than worthy. Mr. -Howells has had at least ten thousand dollars a year for permitting his -serial stories to be printed in the publications of Harper & Brothers. -Mr. Will Carleton, the author of “Farm Ballads,” has no doubt an equal -amount from his copyrights. Mrs. Hodgson Burnett, the author of “Little -Lord Fauntleroy,” easily commands eight thousand dollars for the -copyright of a novel. So you see that the picture often presented to us -of the haggard author shivering over his tallow candle in a garret is -somewhat exaggerated. - -But none of these authors attained success without long care given to -art. They all had their early struggles. Mrs. Burnett, for instance, was -a very brave and hard-working young girl; she was poor; her only hope in -life was her education; she used it to advantage and by constant -practice in literary work. The means of her success was the capacity for -taking pains. It is the means of all success in life. And any man or -woman who expects to adopt literature as a profession must _see well, -read well, and take infinite pains_. Probably Mr. Howells and Mrs. -Burnett had many MSS. rejected by the editors. Probably, like many young -authors, each day brought back an article which had cost them many weary -hours,—for literary work is the most nerve-wearying and brain-wearying -of all work—with the legend, “Returned with thanks.” Still they kept on -taking infinite pains. - -Lord Byron awoke one morning and found himself famous. But that first -morning of fame had cost much study, much thought, and, no doubt, -periods of despondency in which he almost resolved not to write at all. -Poetry does not gush from the poet, like fire out of a Roman candle when -you light it. Of all species of literary composition, poetry requires -more exquisite care than any other. A sonnet which has not been written -and rewritten twenty times may be esteemed as worthless. To-day no -modern poem has a right to be printed unless it be technically perfect. -It seems a sacrilege to speak of poetry as a profession; it ought to be -a vocation only, and the poet ought not only to be made by infinite -pains taken with himself, but born. As to the rewards of extreme -fineness in the expression of poetry, I have heard that Longfellow -received one thousand dollars for his comparatively short poem of -“Keramos,” and that Tennyson had a guinea a line. But we shall leave out -poetry in talking of filthy lucre, and consider literature as -represented by journalism, in which there is very little poetry. - -I did not intend to touch on journalism, as the work of making -newspapers is sometimes called, but I have been lately asked to give my -opinion as to whether journalism is a good preparation for the pursuit -of literature. Perhaps the best way to do this would be to give the -experiences of a young journalist first. - -I imagine a young person who had written at least twenty compositions; -some on “Gratitude,” one on “Ambition,” one on “The History of a Pin,” -and a grand poem on the Southern Confederacy in five cantos. He had been -prepared for the pursuit of literature by being made to write a -composition every Friday. These compositions were read aloud in his -class. What beautiful sentiments were uttered on those Fridays! How -everybody thrilled when young Strephon compared Ireland to “that -prairie-grass which smells sweeter the more it is trodden on”! He had -never seen such grass; he would not have recognized it if he had seen -it; but he had read about it, and when a cruel scientific instructor -asked him to give the botanical name, he turned away in disgust. His -finest feelings were outraged. This, however, did not prevent the simile -of the prairie-grass of unknown genus from cantering through all the -compositions of the other members of the class for many succeeding -weeks, until the professor got into a habit of asking, when a boy rose -to read his essay: “Is there prairie-grass in it?” If the essayist said -yes, he was made to sit down and severely reprimanded. Teachers were -very cruel in those days. - -There was another lovely simile ruthlessly cut down in its middle -age—pardon me if I digress and pour out my wrongs to you; I know you can -appreciate them. A boy of genius once said that “Charity, like an -eternal flame, cheers, but not inebriates.” After that inspired -utterance, charity, like an eternal flame, cheered, but not inebriated, -the composition of every other writer, until the same cruel hand put it -out. In those days we knew a good thing when we saw it, and, if it saved -trouble, we appreciated it. - -Somewhat later the young person attained a position in the office of an -illustrated paper. It was a newspaper which was so fearful that its -foreign letters should be incorrect that it always had them written at -home. The young gentleman whose desk was next to that of your obedient -servant wrote the Paris, Dublin, and New York letters. The correspondent -from Rome and Constantinople, who also did the market reports at home, -had some trouble with his spelling occasionally, and made a very old -gentleman in the corner indignant by asking him whether “pecuniary” was -spelled with a “c” or a “q,” and similar questions. This old gentleman -wrote the fashion column, and signed himself “Mabel Evangeline.” He -sometimes made mistakes about the fashions, but they were very naturally -blamed on the printers. To your obedient servant fell the agricultural -and the religious columns. All went well, for the prairie-grass was kept -out of the agricultural column, though some strange things went in—all -went well until he copied out of a paper a receipt for making hens lay. -He did not know then that it was a comic paper, and that the friend who -wrote it was only in fun. The hens of several subscribers lay down and -died. There was trouble in the office, and the agricultural department -was taken from him and given to “Mabel Evangeline,” who later came to -grief by describing an immense peanut-tree which was said to grow in -Massachusetts. - -Your obedient servant was asked to write leaders on current subjects. -How joyfully he went to work! Here was a chance to introduce the -prairie-grass and the “eternal flame.” With a happy face he took his -“copy” to the managing editor. Why did that great man frown as he read: -“If we compare Dante with Milton, we find that the great Florentine sage -was like that prairie-grass which—” “Do you call this a current -subject?” he demanded. “It will not do. Where’s the other one?” Your -obedient servant, in fear and trembling, gave him the other slips. He -began: “The geocentric movement, like that eternal flame which cheers, -but—” He paused. “When I asked,” he said, in an awful voice—“when I -asked you for current subjects, I wanted an editorial on the fight in -the Fourth Ward and a paragraph on the sudden rise in lard. Do you -understand?” - -Dante and the geocentric movement, the prairie-grass and the eternal -flame were crushed. The wise young person learned to adapt himself to -the ways of newspaper offices, and all went well again, until he -attempted high art. This newspaper was young and not very rich; -therefore economy had to be used in the matter of illustrations. The -great man, its editor, had a habit of buying second-hand -pictures—perhaps it was not to save money, but because he loved the old -masters,—and it became the duty of the present writer, who was then a -young person, and who is now your obedient servant, to write articles to -suit the pictures. For instance, if a scene in Madrid had been bought, -the present writer wrote about Madrid. It was easy, for he had an -encyclopædia in the office; but if anybody had borrowed the volume -containing “M” we always called Madrid by some other name, for “Mabel -Evangeline,” who said he had travelled, said foreign cities looked -pretty much alike. “Mabel Evangeline,” who sometimes, I am afraid, drank -too much beer and mixed up things, was not to be relied on, for he put -in a picture of Rome, N. Y., for Rome, Italy, and brought the paper into -contempt. Still, I think this would not have made so much difference, if -he had not labelled a picture of an actress in a very big hat and a very -low-cut gown, “Home from a convent school.” He was discharged after -this, and the present writer asked to perform his functions. Nothing -unpleasant would have happened, if a picture had not been sent in one -day in a hurry. It was a dim picture. It seemed to represent a tall -woman and a ghost. The present writer named it “Lady Macbeth and the -Ghost of Banquo,” and spun out a graphic description of the artist’s -meaning. Next day when the paper came out, the picture was “The Goddess -of Liberty crowning Abraham Lincoln.” - -It was a mistake; but who does not make mistakes? Who ever saw the -Goddess of Liberty, anyhow? If you heard the way that editor talked to -the promising young journalist, you would have thought he was personally -acquainted with both Lady Macbeth and the Goddess of Liberty, and that -they had not succeeded in teaching him good manners. It is sad to think -that mere trifles will often cause thoughtless people to lose their -tempers. - -The writing for newspapers is a good introduction to the profession of -literature, if the aspirant can study, can read good books when not at -work, can still take pains in spite of haste, and cultivate accuracy of -practice. The best way to learn to write is to write. One engaged in -supplying newspapers with “copy” _must_ write. If he can keep a strict -eye on his style—if he can avoid slang, “smart” colloquialism, he will -find that the necessity for conciseness and the little time allowed for -hunting for the right word for the right place will help him in -attaining ease and aptness of expression. - -The first difficulty the unpractised writer has to overcome is a lack of -the right words. Words are repeated, and other words that are wanted to -express some nice distinction of meaning will not come. Constant -reference to a good dictionary or a book of synonyms is the surest -remedy for this; and if the writer will refuse to use any word that does -not express _exactly_ what he means, he will make steady advance in the -power of expression. Words that burn do not come at first. They are -sought and found. Tennyson, old as he was, polished his early poems, -hoping to make them perfect before he died. Pope’s lines, which seem so -easy, so smooth, which seem to say in three or four words what we have -been trying to say all our lives in ten or eleven, were turned and -re-turned, carved and re-carved, cut and re-cut with all the -scrupulousness of a sculptor curving a Grecian nose on his statue: - - “A little learning is a dangerous thing; - Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.” - -That is easy reading. It seems as easy as making an egg stand on end, or -as putting an apple into a dumpling—when you know how. It is easy -because it was so hard; it is easy because Pope took infinite pains to -make it so. Had he put less labor into it, he would have failed to make -it live. It is true that a thing is worth just as much as we put into -it. - -Although the desire to write is often kindled by much reading, the power -of writing is often paralyzed by the discovery that the reading has been -of the wrong kind. Again, the tyro who has read little and that little -unsystematically is tempted to lay down his pen in despair. Lord Bacon -said that “reading maketh a full man, writing a ready man;” from which -we may conclude that he who reads may best utilize his stock of -knowledge by learning to write. But he must first read, no matter how -keen his observation may be or how original his thoughts are; for a good -style does not come by nature. It must be the expression of temperament -as well as thought; but it must have acquired clearness and elegance, -which are due to the construction of sentences in the good company of -great authors. To write, you must read, and be careful what you read; -and you must read critically. To read a play of Shakspere’s only for the -story is to degrade Shakspere to the level of the railway novel. It is -better to have read the trial scene in “The Merchant of Venice” -critically, missing no shade in Portia’s character or speech, no -expression of Shylock’s, than to have read all Shakspere carelessly. To -make a specialty of literature, one must be, above all, thorough. The -writings that live have a thousand fine points in them unseen of the -casual reader, and, like the carvings mentioned in Miss Donnelly’s fine -poem, “Unseen, yet Seen,” known only to God. Take ten lines of any great -writer, examine them closely with the aid of all the critical power you -have, and then you will see that simplicity in literature is produced by -the art which conceals art. That style which is easiest to read is the -hardest to write. Genius has been defined as the capacity for taking -infinite pains. - -There is a passage in “Ben Hur” which seems to me particularly -applicable to our subject. You remember, in the chariot-race, where Ben -Hur’s cruel experience in the galleys serves him so well. He would not -have had the strength of hand or the steadiness of posture, were it not -for the work with the oars and the constant necessity of standing on a -deck which was even more unsteady than the swaying chariot. “All -experience,” says the author, “is useful.” This is especially true for -the writer. One can hardly write a page without feeling how little one -knows; and if the great aim of knowledge be to attain that -consciousness, the writer sooner attains it than other men. - -Everything, from the pink tinge in a seashell to the varying tints of an -approaching thunder-cloud, from an old farmer’s talk of crops and -weather to your lesson in geology and astronomy, will help you. Do not -imagine that science and literature are opponents. For myself, I would -not permit anybody who did not know at least the rudiments of botany and -geology to begin the serious study of literature. If Coleridge felt the -need of attending a series of geological lectures late in life, in order -to add to his power of making new metaphors and similes, how much -greater is our necessity for adding to our knowledge of the phenomena of -nature, that we may use our knowledge to the greater glory of God! -Literature is the reflection of life, and literature ought to be the -crystallization of all knowledge. - -You will doubtless find that what you most need in the beginning is to -know more about words and about books. But this vacuum can be filled by -earnest thought and serious application, system, and thoroughness. It -takes you a long time to play a mazurka of Chopin’s well. It takes you a -long time even to learn compositions less important. A young woman sits -many months before a piano before she learns to drag “Home, Sweet Home!” -through the eye of a needle; and then to flatten out again _con -expressione_; and then to chase it up to the last key until it seems to -be lost in a still, small protest; and then to bring it to life and send -it thundering up and down, as if it were chased by lightning. How easy -it all seems, and how delighted we are when our old friend, “Home, Sweet -Home!” appears again in its original form! But there was a time when it -was not easy—a time when the counting of one and two and three was not -easy. So it is with the art of writing. It is not easy in the beginning. -It may be easy to make grandiloquent similes about “prairie-grass” and -the “eternal light which cheers,” etc.; but that is just like beginning -to play snatches of a grand march before one knows the scales. - -To begin to write well, one must cut off all the useless leaves that -obscure the fruit, which is the thought, and keep the sun from it. -Figures should be used sparingly. One metaphor that blazes at the climax -of an article after many pages of simplicity is worth half a hundred -scattered wherever they happen to fall. It is a white diamond as -compared to a handful of garnets. - - - - - VI. Letter-writing. - - -There is no art so important in the conduct of our modern life, after -the art of conversation, as the art of letter-writing. A young man who -shows a good education and careful training in his letters puts his foot -on the first round of the ladder of success. If, in addition to this, he -can acquire early in life the power of expressing himself easily and -gracefully, he can get what he wants in eight cases out of ten. Very few -people indeed can resist a cleverly written letter. - -In the old times, when there was no Civil Service and Congressmen made -their appointments to West Point at their own sweet will, an applicant’s -fate was often decided by his letters. There is a story told of Thaddeus -Stevens, a famous statesman of thirty years ago, that he once rejected -an applicant for admission to the military school. This applicant met -him one day in a corridor of the Capitol and remonstrated violently. -“Your favoritism is marked, Mr. Stevens,” he said; “you have blasted my -career from mere party prejudice.” - -The legislator retorted, “I would not give an appointment to any blasted -fool who spells ‘until’ with two ‘ll’s’ and ‘till’ with one.” And the -disappointed aspirant went home to look into his dictionary. - -Such trifles as this make the sum of life. A man’s letter is to most -educated people an index of the man himself. His card is looked on in -the same light in polite society. But a man’s letter is more important -than his visiting-card, though the character of the latter cannot be -altogether neglected. - -It is better to be too exquisite in your carefulness about your letters -than in the slightest degree careless. The art of letter-writing comes -from knowledge and constant practice. - -Your letters, now, ought to be careful works of art. -Intelligent—remember I say _intelligent_—care is the basis of all -perfection; and perfection in small things means success in great. In -our world the specialist, the man who does at least one thing as well as -he can, is sure to succeed; and so overcrowded are the avenues to -success becoming that a man to succeed must be a specialist and know how -to do at least one thing better than his fellow-men. - -If you happen to have a rich father, you may say, “It does not make much -difference; I shall have an easy time of it all my life. I can spell -‘applicant’ with two ‘c’s’ if I like and it will not make any -difference.” - -This is a very foolish idea. The richer you are, the greater will be -your responsibilities, the more will you be criticised and found fault -with, and you will find it will take all your ability to keep together -or to spend wisely what your father has acquired. The late John Jacob -Astor worked harder than any of his clerks; in the street he looked -careworn and preoccupied; and he often lamented that poor men did not -know how hard it was to be rich. His hearers often felt that they would -like to exchange hardships with him. But he never, in spite of his -sorrows, gave them a chance. It is true, however, that a rich man needs -careful education even more than a poor man. And even politicians have -to spell decently. You have perhaps heard of the man who announced in a -letter that he was a “g-r-a-t-e-r man than Grant.” - -Usage decrees certain forms in the writing of letters; and the knowledge -and practice of these forms are absolutely necessary. For instance, one -must be very particular to give each man his title. Although we -Americans are supposed to despise titles, the frequency with which they -are borrowed in this country shows that we are not free from a weakness -for them. You have perhaps heard the old story of the man who entered a -country tavern in Kentucky and called out to a friend, “Major!” Twenty -majors at once arose. - -You will find that if you desire to keep the regard of your friends you -must be careful in letter-writing to give each man his title. Every man -over twenty-one years of age is “Esquire” in this country. Plain “Mr.” -will do for young people—except the youngest “juniors,” who are only -“Masters;” everybody else, from the lawyer, who is rightly entitled to -“Esquire,” to the hod-carrier, must have that title affixed to his name, -or he feels that the man who writes to him is guilty of a disrespect. A -member of Congress, of the Senate of the United States, of the State -legislatures, has “Honorable” prefixed to his Christian name, and he -does not like you to forget it. But a member of the British Parliament -is never called “Honorable.” When Mr. Parnell and Mr. William O’Brien, -both members of Parliament, were here, this rule was not observed, and -they found themselves titled, much to their amazement, “Honorable.” - -Except in business letters, it is better not to abbreviate anything. Do -not write “Jno.” for “John,” or “Wm.” for “William.” “Mister” is always -shortened into “Mr.,” and “Mistress” into “Mrs.,” which custom -pronounces “Missus.” If one is addressing an archbishop, one writes, -“The Most Reverend Archbishop;” a bishop, “The Right Reverend;” and a -priest, “The Reverend”—always “The Reverend,” never “Rev.” - -Titles such as “A.M.,” “B.A.,” “LL.D.,” are not generally put on the -envelopes of letters, unless the business of the writer has something to -do with the scholarly position of the person addressed. If, for -instance, I write to a Doctor of Laws and Letters, asking him to dinner, -I do not put LL.D. after his name; but if I am asking him to tell me -something about Greek accents, or to solve a question of literature, I, -of course, write his title after his name. - -To put one’s knife into one’s mouth means social exile; there is only -one other infraction of social rules considered more damning, and this -is the writing of an anonymous letter. It is understood, in good -society, that a man who would write a letter which he is afraid to sign -with his own name would lie or steal. And I believe he would. If he -happen to be found out—and there are no secrets in this world—he will be -cut dead by every man and woman for whom he has any respect. If he -belong to a decent club, the club will drop him, and he will be -blackballed by every club he tries to enter. By the very act of writing -such a letter he brands himself a coward. And if the letter be a -malicious one, he confesses himself in every line of it a scoundrel. A -man capable of such a thing shows it in his face, above all in his eyes, -for nature cannot keep such a secret. - -Another sin against good manners, which young people sometimes -thoughtlessly commit, is the writing to people whom they do not know. -This is merely an impertinence; it is not a crime; the persons that get -such letters simply look on the senders as fools, not as cowards or -scoundrels. - -Usage at the present time decrees that all social letters should be -written on _unruled_ paper, and that, if possible, the envelope should -be square. An oblong envelope will do, but a square one is considered to -be the better of the two; the paper should be folded to fit under. The -envelope and the paper should always be as good as you can buy. Money is -never wasted on excellent paper and envelopes. It is one of the marks of -a gentleman to have his paper and envelopes as spotless and well made as -his collar and cuffs. - -A man ought never to use colored paper, or paper with a monogram or a -crest or coat-of-arms on it. If you happen to have a coat-of-arms or a -crest, keep it at home; anybody in this country who wants it can get it. -White paper and black ink should be used by men; leave the flowers and -the monograms and the pink, blue, and black paper to the ladies. It is -just as much out of place for one of us to write on pink paper as to -wear a bracelet. - -Bad spelling is a social crime and a business crime, too. No business -house will employ in any important position a young man who spells -badly. He may become a porter or a janitor, but he can never rise above -that if he cannot spell. - -In social letters or notes, one misspelled word is like a discord in -music. It is as if the big drum were to come in at the wrong time and -spoil a cornet solo, or a careless stroke ruin a fine regatta. When -dictionaries are so numerous, bad spelling is unpardonable, and it is -seldom pardoned. - -One of the worst possible breaches of good manners is to write a -careless letter to any one to whom you owe affection and respect. -Nothing is too good for your father or mother—nothing on this earth. -When you begin to think otherwise, you may be certain that _you_ are -growing unworthy of affection and respect. - -There is a story told of one of the greatest soldiers that this country -ever knew, who, though he happened to fight against us, deserves our -most respectful homage; this brave soldier was the Confederate General -Sidney Johnston. A soldier had been arrested as a traitor on the eve of -a battle. The testimony was against him; there was no time to sift it, -and General Johnston ordered him to be shot before the assembled army. A -comrade who believed in him, but who had no evidence in his favor, made -a last appeal. When the soldier was arrested, he had been in the act of -writing a letter to his father. He begged this comrade to secure it and -send it home, giving him permission to read it. The comrade read it and -took it to General Johnston. It was an honest, loving letter such as a -good son would write to a kind father. It was carefully written. General -Johnston read it, expecting to find some sign of treason there. He read -it twice; and then he said to the comrade: “Why did you bring this to -me?” - -“To show you, general,” the soldier answered, “that a man who could -write such a letter to his father on the eve of battle could not have -the heart of a traitor.” - -“You are right,” General Johnston said, after a pause; “let the man be -released.” - -He was released, and later it was discovered that he had been wrongly -suspected. He was killed in that battle. Such a son would rather have -died a hundred times than have such a father know that he had been shot -or hanged as a traitor. - -The letters we write home ought to be as carefully written as possible. -_There is nothing too good for your father or mother._ They may not -always tell you so; but you may be sure that a well-written and -affectionate letter from you brightens life very much for them. Have you -ever seen a father who had a boy at school draw from his pocket a son’s -letter and show it to his friends with eyes glistening with pleasure? I -have. “There’s a boy for you!” he says. “There is a manly, cheerful -letter written to _me_, sir, and written as well as any man in this -country can write it!” If you have ever seen a father in that proud and -happy mood, you know how your father feels when you treat him with the -consideration which is his due. Your mothers treasure your letters and -give them a value they do not, I am afraid, often really possess. If you -desire to appear well before the world, begin by correcting and -improving yourself at school and out of school. A young man who writes a -slovenly letter to his parents will probably drop into carelessness when -he writes formal letters to people outside his domestic circle. - -It is a good rule to answer every letter during the week of its receipt. -It is as rude to refuse to answer a question politely put as to leave a -letter without an answer—provided the writer of the letter is a person -you know. - -Some young people are capable of addressing the President as “Dear -Friend,” or of doing what, according to a certain authority, a young -person did in Baltimore. This uncouth young person was presented to -Cardinal Gibbons, Archbishop of Baltimore. “Hello, Arch.!” he said—and I -fear that his friends who were present wished that he were dead. - -“Dear Sir” is always a proper form to begin a letter with to anybody -older than ourselves, or to anybody we do not know intimately. And if we -begin by “Dear Sir,” we should not end with “Yours most affectionately.” -“Yours respectfully” or “Yours sincerely” would be the better form. To -end a letter with “Yours, etc.,” is justly considered in the worst -possible taste; and it is almost as bad as to begin a letter with -“Friend Jones,” or “Friend Smith,” or “Friend John,” or “Tom.” The -Quakers address one another as “friend;” we do not. Begin with “Dear -John” or “Dear Tom,” or even “Dear Jones” or “Dear Brown,” if you like, -but do not use the prefix “friend.” In writing to an entire stranger, -one may use the third person, or begin with “Sir” or “Madam.” Suppose, -for instance, you want some information from a librarian you do not know -personally. You may write in this way: - - “Mr. Berry would be much obliged to Mr. Bibliophile for Dr. St. - George Mivart’s book on ‘The Cat,’ which he will return as soon as - possible.” - -Or Mr. Berry would say: - - “SIR: I should be much obliged if you would lend me Dr. St. George - Mivart’s book on ‘The Cat.’ - - “Yours respectfully.” - -No man in decent society ever puts “Mr.” before his own name, except on -visiting-cards. There, usage has made it proper. A married lady or a -young girl always has “Mrs.” or “Miss” on her cards, and, of late, men -have got into the habit of putting “Mr.” on theirs. No man of taste ever -puts “Mr.” before or “Esq.”[1] after his own name when signing a letter. - -Footnote 1: - - The title Esq. really belongs only to those connected with the legal - profession, but republican usage has much extended it. - -Another fault against taste is a habit—prevalent only in America—of -writing social letters under business headings. Here is an example: - - J. J. ROBINSON & CO., - - New York. - - Manufacturers and Dealers in the Newest Styles - of Coffins, Caskets, and Embalming Fluids. - - Orders carefully attended to. - - All payments C.O.D. - - No deductions for damages allowed after thirty days. - -Under that heading appears a note of congratulation: - - “DEAR TOM: I hasten to congratulate you on your marriage. Believe - me, I wish you every blessing, and if you should ever need anything - in my line, you will always receive the greatest possible reduction - in price. May you live long and prosper! - - “Yours very affectionately, - “J. J. ROBINSON.” - -This is an extreme example, I admit; but who has not seen social notes -written under business headings just as incongruous? When we write to -anybody not on business, let us use spotless white paper without lines; -let the paper and envelopes be as thick as possible; and let us not put -any ornamental flower, or crest, or coat-of-arms, or any bit of nonsense -at the top of our letters. The address ought to be written plainly at -the head of our letter-paper, or printed if you will. And if we begin a -letter with “Dear Sir,” we ought to write in the left-hand corner of the -last sheet the name of the person to whom the letter is addressed. But -if we begin a letter with “Dear Mr. Robinson,” it is not necessary to -write Mr. Robinson’s name again. If a man gets an invitation written in -the third person he must answer it in the third person. If - - “Mrs. J. J. Smith requests the pleasure of Mr. J. J. Jones’s company - at dinner on Wednesday, April 23, at seven o’clock,” - -young Mr. J. J. Jones would stamp himself as ignorant of the ways of -society if he wrote back: - - “DEAR MRS. SMITH: I will come, of course. If I am a little late, - keep something on the fire for me. I shall be umpire at a base-ball - match that afternoon, and I shall be hungry. Good-by. - - “Yours devotedly, - “J. J. JONES.” - -You may be sure that if young Mr. Jones should put in an appearance -after that note he would find the door closed in his face. - -An invitation to dinner must be accepted or declined on the day it is -received. One is not permitted to say he will come if he can. He must -say Yes or No at once. The words “polite,” “genteel,” and “present -compliments” are no longer used. “Your kind invitation” now takes the -place of “your polite invitation;” and “genteel” is out of date. The -letters “R. S. V. P.” are no longer put on notes or cards. It is thought -it is not necessary to tell, in French, people to “answer, if you -please.” All well-educated people are pleased to answer without being -told to do so. The custom of putting “R. S. V. P.” in a note is as much -out of fashion as that of drawing off a glove when one shakes hands. In -the olden times, when men wore armor, a hand clothed in a steel or iron -gauntlet was not pleasant to touch. There was then a reason why a man -should draw off his glove when he extended his hand to another, -especially if that other happened to be a lady. But the reason for the -custom has gone by; and it is not necessary to draw off one’s glove now -when one shakes hands. - -But to return to the subject of letter-writing. If you are addressing a -Doctor of Medicine or Divinity, you may put “Esq.” after his name in -addition to his title “M.D.” or “D.D.” but it is a senseless custom. But -“Mr.” and “Esq.” before and after a man’s name sends the writer, in the -estimation of well-bred people, to “the bottom of the sea.” Paper with -gilt edges is never used; in fact, a man must not have anything about -him that is merely pretty. Usage decrees that he may wear a flower in -his button-hole—and Americans are becoming as fond of flowers as the -ancient Romans; but farther than that he may not go, in the way of the -merely ornamental, either in his stationery or his clothes. - -It is the fashion now to fasten envelopes with wax and to use a seal; -but it is not at all necessary, though there are many who prefer it, as -they object to get a letter which has been “licked” to make its edges -stick. - -Begin, in addressing a stranger, with “Madam” or “Sir.” “Miss” by itself -is never used. After a second letter has been received, “Dear Madam” or -“Dear Sir” may be used. Conclude all formal letters with “Yours truly,” -or “Sincerely yours,” not “Affectionately yours.” Sign your full name -when writing to a friend or an equal. Do not write “T. F. Robinson” or -“T. T. Smith;” write your name out as if you were not ashamed of it. - -Put your address at the head of your letters, and if you make a blot, -tear up the paper. A dirty letter sent, even with an apology, is as bad -a breach of good manners as the extending of a dirty hand. Answer at -once any letter in which information is asked. Do not write to people -you do not know or answer advertisements in the papers “for fun.” A man -that knows the world never does this. These advertisements often hide -traps, and a man may get into them merely by writing a letter. And the -kind of “fun” which ends in a man’s being pursued by vulgar postal cards -and letters wherever he goes does not pay. - -In writing a letter, do not begin too close to the top of the page, or -too far down towards the middle. Do not abbreviate when you can help it; -you may write “Dr.” for “Doctor.” - -Do not put a yellow envelope over a sheet of white note-paper. It is not -necessary to leave _wide_ margin at the left-hand side. A habit now is -to write only on one side of the paper; to begin your letter on the -first page, then to go to the third, then back to the second, ending, if -you have a great deal to say, on the fourth. A late fad is to jump from -the first to the fourth. - -With a good dictionary at his elbow, black ink, white paper, a clear -head, and a remembrance of the rules and prohibitions I have given, any -young man cannot fail, if he write, to impress all who receive his -letters with the fact that he is well-bred. - - - - - VII. What to Read. - - -Young people who determine to study English literature seriously -sometimes find themselves discouraged by the multitude of books; -consequently they get into an idle way of accepting opinions at second -hand—the ready-made opinions of the text-book. In order to study English -literature, it is not necessary to read many books; but it is necessary -to read a few books carefully. The evident insincerity of some of the -people who “go in” for literary culture has given the humorous -paragrapher, often on the verge of paresis from trying to be funny every -day, many a straw to grasp at. There is no doubt that some of his gibes -and sneers are deserved, and that others, undeserved, serve as cheap -stock in trade for people who are too idle or too stupid to take any -interest in literary matters. - -Literary insincerity and pretension are sufficiently bad, but they are -not worse than the superficial and silly jeers at poetry and art in the -line of the worn-out witticisms about the “spring poet” and the -“mother-in-law.” - -The young woman who thinks it the proper thing to go into ecstasies over -Robert Browning without having read a line of the poet’s work, except, -perhaps, “How They Carried the News from Ghent to Aix,” is foolish -enough; but is the man who sneers at Browning and knows even less about -him any better? The earnest student of literature makes no pretensions. -He reads a few books well, and by that obtains the key to the -understanding of all others. He does not pretend to admire epics he has -not read. He knows, of course, that the _Nibelungenlied_ is the great -German epic; but he does not talk about it as if he had studied and -weighed every line. If he finds that the _Inferno_ of Dante is more -interesting than the _Paradiso_, he says so without fear, and he does -not express ready-made opinions without having probed them. If the -perfection of good manners is simplicity, the perfection of literary -culture is sincerity. - -Among Catholics there sometimes crops out a kind of insincerity which -almost amounts to snobbishness. It is the tendency to praise no book -until it has had a non-Catholic approbation. Now that Dr. Gasquet’s -remarkable volume on the suppression of the English monasteries and -Father Bridgett’s “Sir Thomas More” have received the highest praise in -England and swept Mr. Froude’s historical rubbish aside, there are -Catholics who will not hesitate to respect them, although they did -hesitate before the popular laudation was given to these two great -books. - -When a reader has begun to acquire the rudiments of literary taste, he -ought to choose the books he likes; but he cannot be trusted to choose -books for himself until he has—perhaps with some labor—gained taste. All -men are born with taste very unequally developed. A man cannot, I -repeat, hope to gain a correct judgment in literary matters unless he -works for it. - -Mr. Frederick Harrison says: “When will men understand that the reading -of great books is a faculty to be acquired, not a natural gift, at least -to those who are spoiled by our current education and habits of life? An -insatiable appetite for new novels makes it as hard to read a -masterpiece as it seems to a Parisian boulevardier to live in a quiet -country. Until a man can really enjoy a draught of clear water bubbling -from a mountain-side, his taste is in an unwholesome state. To -understand a great national poet, such as Dante, Calderon, Corneille, or -Goethe, is to know other types of human civilization in ways which a -library of histories does not sufficiently teach.” - -Mr. Harrison is right. It is not always easy to like good books; but it -is easier to train the young to like them than to cleanse the perverted -taste of the older. The chief business of the teacher of literature -ought to be the cultivation of taste. At his best, he can do no more -than that; at his worst, he can fill the head of the student with mere -names and dates and undigested opinions. - -When the student of literature begins really to enjoy Shakspere, his -taste has begun to be formed. He may read the “Vicar of Wakefield” after -that without a yawn, and learn to enjoy the quiet humor of Charles Lamb. -He finds himself raised into pure air, above the malaria of exaggeration -and sensationalism. His style in writing insensibly improves; he becomes -critical of the slang and careless English of his every-day speech; and -surely these things are worth all the trouble spent in gaining them. -Besides, he has secured a perpetual solace for those long nights—and -perhaps days—of loneliness which must come to nearly every man when he -begins to grow old. After religion, there is no comfort in life, when -the links of love begin to break, like a love for great literature. But -this love must be genuine; pretence will not avail; nor will mere -“top-dressing” be of any use. - -Literature used to be considered in the light of a “polite -accomplishment.” A book of “elegant extracts” skimmed through was the -only means deemed necessary for the acquirement of an education in -letters. It means a very different thing now, and the establishment of -the reading circles has emphasized its meaning for Catholic Americans. -It means, first of all, some knowledge of philology; it means a critical -understanding of the value of the stones that make up the great mosaic -of literature, and these stones are words. - -A bit of Addison, a chunk of Gibbon, a taste of Macaulay, no longer -reach the ideal of what a student of English literature should read. We -first form our taste, and then read for ourselves. We do not even accept -Cardinal Newman’s estimate of “The Vision of Mirza” or “Thalaba” without -inquiry; nor do we throw up our hats for Browning merely because -Browning has become fashionable. A healthy sign of a robuster taste is -the return to Pope, the poet of common-sense, and to Walter Scott. But -we accept neither of these writers on a cut-and-dried judgment made by -somebody else. It is better to give two months to the reading of Pope -and about Pope than to fill two months with desultory reading and take -an opinion of Pope at second hand. - -In spite of the ordinary text-book of literature, the serious student -discovers that Dryden is a poet and prose-writer of the first rank, that -Newman is the greatest thinker and stylist of modern times, that no -dramatic writer of the last two centuries has come so near Shakspere as -Aubrey de Vere, and that Coventry Patmore’s prose is delightful. If all -the students of literature that read “A GENTLEMAN” have not discovered -these things for themselves, let them take up any one of these writers -seriously, perseveringly, and contradict me if they think I am wrong. - -Matthew Arnold showed long ago that, if the basis of English literature -was Saxon, its curves, its form, its symmetry, its beauty, were derived -from the qualities of that other race which the Saxons drove out. -Similarly, if the author of that Saxon epic, the “_Beowulf_,” if Cædmon -and the Venerable Bede uttered high thoughts, it was reserved for -Chaucer to wed high thoughts to a form borrowed from the French and -Italians. Chaucer saved the English language from remaining a collection -of inadequate dialects. The Teutonic element supplied his strength; the -Celtic element his lightness and elegance. Now this Chaucer was a very -humble and devout Catholic. “Ah! but he pointed out abuses—he was the -Lollard, enlightened by the morning-star of the Reformation,” the -text-books of English literature have been saying for many years. “See -what he insinuates about the levity of his pilgrims to Canterbury!” All -of which has nothing to do with his firm faith in the Catholic Church. - -Chaucer was inspired by the intensely Christian Dante and the exquisite -Petrarch, but, unfortunately, he took too much from another master-the -greatest master of Italian prose, Boccaccio. When I use the word -Christian, I mean Catholic—the words are interchangeable; and Dante is -the most Christian of all poets. - -But Boccaccio was a Christian; he had faith; he could be serious; he -loved Dante; his collection of stories, which no man is justified in -reading, unless it is for their Italian style, has attracted every -English poet of narrative verse, from Chaucer to Tennyson; and yet, -though these stories have moments of pathos and elevation, they are full -of the fetid breath of paganism. A pope suppressed them; but their style -saved them—for art was a passion in Italy—and they were revived, -somewhat expurgated. In his old age he lamented the effects of his early -book. - -The occasional coarseness in Chaucer we owe to the manners of the times; -for the English, far behind the Italians, were just awakening from -semi-barbarism. Dante had crystallized the Italian language long before -Chaucer was born. Italy had produced the precursor of Dante, St. Francis -of Assisi, and a host of other great men, whose fame that of St. Francis -and Dante dimmed by comparison, long before the magnificent English -language came out of chaos. The few lapses in morality in Chaucer are -due both to the influence of Boccaccio and to the paganism latent in a -people who were gradually becoming fully converted. But the power of -Christianity protected Chaucer; the teaching of the Church was part of -his very life, and nothing could be more pathetic, more honest than his -plea for pardon. The Church had taught him to love chastity; if he -sinned in word, he sinned against light. The Church gave him the -safeguards for his genius; the dross he gathered from the earthiness -around him. Of the latter, there is little enough. - -Chaucer was born in 1340; Dante in 1265; and Dante helped to create the -English poet. Italy was the home of the greatest and noblest men of all -the world, and these men had revived pagan art in order to baptize it -and make it a child of Christ. Chaucer has suffered more than any other -poet at the hands of the text-book makers, who have conspired for over -three hundred years against the truth. We have been made to see him -through a false medium. We have been told that he was in revolt against -the religion which he loved as his life. He loved the Mother of God with -a childlike fervor; a modern Presbyterian would have been as much of a -heretic to him as a Moslem; he was as loyal a child of the Church as -ever lived, and to regard him as anything else is to stamp one as of -that old and ignorant school of Philistines which all cultivated -Americans have learned to detest. - -The best book for the study of this poet is Cowden Clarke’s “Riches of -Chaucer” (London: Crosby, Lockwood & Co.), the knowledge of which I owe -to the kindness of Mr. Aubrey de Vere. And his works will repay study; -Mr. Cowden Clarke arranged them so that they can be read with ease and, -after a short time, with pleasure. To see Chaucer through anybody’s eyes -is to see him through a darkened glass. Why should not we, so much -nearer to him than any of the commentators who have assumed to explain -him to us, take possession of him? He should not be an alien to us; the -form of the inkhorn he held has changed; but the rosary that fell from -his fingers was the same as our rosary. - -English literature began with Chaucer. He loved God and he loved -humanity; he could laugh like a child because he had the faith of a -child. His strength lay in his faith; and, as faith weakened, English -poets looked back more and more regretfully at the “merrie” meads -sprinkled with the daisies he loved. He is as cheerful as Sir Thomas -More; as gay, yet as sympathetic with human pleasure and pain, as the -Dominican monks whom he loved. If he jibed at abuses—if he saw that -luxury and avarice were beginning to creep into monasteries and -palaces—he knew well that the remedy lay in greater union with Rome. -Like Francis of Assisi, he was a poet, but a poet who loved even the -defects of humanity, and who preferred to laugh at them rather than to -reform them. Unlike Francis of Assisi, he was not a saint. He was -intensely interested in the world around him; he was of it and in it; -and he belongs doubly to us—the _Alma Redemptoris_, one of his favorite -hymns, which he mentions in “Tale of the Prioress,” we hear at vespers -as he heard it. The faith in which he died in 1400 is our faith to-day. - -In no age have been the written masterpieces of genius within such easy -reach of all readers. But it is true that older people, living at a time -when books were dearer and libraries fewer than they are now, read -better books; not _more_ books, but _better_ books. Probably in those -days people amused themselves less outside their own homes. Some tell us -that the tone of thought was more solid and serious. At any rate, the -English classics had more influence on the American reader fifty years -ago than they have to-day. The time had its drawbacks, to be sure. An -old gentleman often told me of a visit to a Pennsylvania farm in the -thirties, when the man of the house gave him, as a precious thing, a -copy of _The Catholic Herald_ two years old! Now the paper of yesterday -seems almost a century old; then the paper of last year was new. - -Unhappily, the book of last year suffers the same fate as the paper of -yesterday. The best way to counteract this unhappy condition of affairs -is to clasp a good book to one with “hoops of steel” when such a book is -found. - -In considering the subject of literature, there is one great book which -is seldom mentioned. This is Denis Florence MacCarthy’s translations -from Calderon. - -Calderon ought not to be a stranger to us. He approaches very near to -Dante in deep religious feeling, and he is not far behind him in genius. -If no good translation of some of his most representative works existed, -there might be an excuse for the general neglect of this great author by -English-speaking readers. And MacCarthy has done justice to those -sublime, sacred dramas, called “autos,” in which all the resources of -faith and genius are laid at the feet of God. It is to be hoped that in -a few years both MacCarthy and Mangan may be recognized. Those who know -the former only by his “Waiting for the May” will broaden their field of -literary knowledge and gain a higher respect for him through his -translations of Calderon. The names of Calderon, the greatest of the -Spanish poets, and of MacCarthy, his chief translator, suggest that of -another author too little known to the general reader. This is Kenelm -Henry Digby, whose “Mores Catholici” is a magazine of ammunition for the -Christian reader. - -There is an amusing scene in one of Thackeray’s novels, where a -journalist acknowledges that he finds all the classical quotations which -garnish his articles in Burton’s “Anatomy of Melancholy;” and, indeed, -many other things besides bits of Latin have been appropriated from -Burton and Montaigne, in our time, by ready writers. Many a sparkling -thought put into the crisp English of the nineteenth century may be -traced back to Boethius. And who shall condemn this? Has not Shakspere -set us an example of how gold, half buried in ore, may be polished until -it is an inestimable jewel? Kenelm Digby’s “Mores Catholici” is a great -magazine from which a thousand facts may be gathered, each fact pregnant -with suggestion and stimulus. Sharp-pointed arrows against calumny are -here: all they need is a light shaft and feather and a strong hand to -send them home. Is an illustration for a sermon wanted? Is a fact on -which to found an essay demanded? One has only to open the “Mores.” It -is not a book which one reads with intense interest; one cannot gallop -through the three large volumes—one must walk, laboriously stowing away -every treasure. It is, in fact, a book through which one saunters, -picking something at long intervals, perhaps. You may dip into it, as a -boy dives for a cent, and come up with a pearl-oyster in your hand. It -is a book to be kept on the lowest shelf, within reach at all times; at -any rate, to be one of the books to which you go when you are in search -of a fact or an illustration. - -One of the few sonnets written by Denis Florence MacCarthy was addressed -to Digby. Digby had painted a picture of Calderon and sent it to the -Irish poet; hence the sonnet— - - “Thou who hast left, as in a sacred shrine,— - What shrine more pure than thy unspotted page?— - The priceless relics of a heritage - Of loftiest thoughts and lessons most divine.” - -And so the names of Calderon and MacCarthy and Digby come naturally -together; and they are the names of men each great in his way. They are -not found in the newspapers; they are seldom seen in the great -magazines; those societies of the cultivated which are—thank -Heaven!—multiplying everywhere for the better understanding of books -know very little about them. Let us hope that Miss Imogene Guiney, who -wrote so well of Mangan in one of the numbers of the _Atlantic Monthly_, -will do a similar kind office for MacCarthy. - -As to Calderon, he can be read but in parts. Like Milton, he travelled -over many a barren stretch of prose thinking it poetry; and so we will -be wise to follow MacCarthy’s lead in choosing from his dramas. He is so -little known among us for the reason that we have permitted the English -taste—which became Protestantized—to separate us from him. It is to the -German Goethe that we owe the revival of the taste for Dante. Before -Goethe rediscovered him, the English-speaking people of the world held -that there were only two great poets—Shakspere and Milton. - -To reclaim our heritage, we must know something of Calderon. There is no -reason why our horizon should be limited to that which English -Protestantism has uncovered for us. Calderon represents the literature -of Catholic Spain at its highest point; and even the most narrow-minded -man, having read a fair number of the pages of Calderon, can deny -neither his ardent devotion to the Church nor his high genius, nor can -he disprove that they existed together, free and untrammelled. We have -been told that the outbreak of literary genius in the reign of Elizabeth -was but the outcome of the liberty of the Reformation. How did it happen -that Spain, in which there was no Reformation, produced Columbus, -Calderon, Cervantes, and Italy illustrious names by the legion? -Knowledge, after all, is the only antidote to the miasma of ignorance -and arrogance which has clouded the judgment of so many writers on -literature and art. - - - - - VIII. The Home Book-shelf. - - -It ought not to be so much our practice to denounce bad books as to -point out good ones. To say that a book is immoral is to increase its -sale. But the more good books we put into the hands of our boys, the -greater preservative powers we give them against evil. Here is a bit -from the Kansas City _Star_ which expresses tersely what we have all -been thinking: - - “The truth is that it is not the boys who read ‘bad books’ who swell - the roll of youthful criminality; it is the boys who do not read - anything. Let any one look over the police court of a busy morning, - and he will see that the style of youth gathered there have not - fallen into evil ways through their depraved literary tendencies. - They were not brought there by books, but more probably by ignorance - of books combined with a genuine hatred of books of all kinds. There - is not a more perfect picture of innocence in the world than a boy - buried in his favorite book, oblivious to all earthly sights and - sounds, scarcely breathing as he follows the fortunes of the heroes - and heroines of the story.” - -It depends, of course, on what kind of a story it is. A boy may be a -picture of innocence; but we all know that many a canvas on which is a -picture of innocence is much worm-eaten at the back. If the book be a -good one, a boy is safe while he is reading it—he can be no safer. If it -is a mere story of adventure, without any dangerous sentiment, a boy is -not likely to get harm out of it. It is the sentimental—not the honest -sentiment of Sir Walter or Thackeray—that does harm to the boy of a -certain age, but more harm to the girl. A boy’s preoccupation with his -book may not be always innocent. It is a father’s or mother’s duty to -see that it is innocent, by supplying the boy with the right kind of -books. This, in our atmosphere, is almost as much of a duty as the -supplying him with bread and butter. A father may take the lowest view -of his duties; he maybe content with having his son taught the Little -Catechism and with feeding and clothing him. However sufficient this may -be among the peasants of the Tyrol, it does not answer in our country. -The boy who cares to read nothing except the daily paper or the -theatrical poster has more chances against him than the devourer of -books. The police courts show that. - -The parish library, as a help to religious and moral education, comes -next to the parish school; it supplements it; it amplifies its -instruction: it carries its influence deeper; it cultivates both the -logical powers and the imagination. Give a boy a taste for books, and he -has a consolation which neither sickness nor poverty nor age itself can -take from him. But he must not be left to ramble through a library at -his own sweet will. There are probably no stricter Catholics among our -acquaintance than were the parents of Alexander Pope, the “poet of -common-sense” and bad philosophy; and yet their carelessness, or rather -faith in books merely as books, led him into many an ethical error. - -There is no use in trying to restrict the reading of a clever American -boy to professedly Catholic books in the English language. He will ask -for stories, and there are not enough stories of the right sort to last -him very long. He will want stories with plenty of action in -them—stirring stories, stories of adventure, stories of school life, of -life in his own country; and we have too few of them. And it requires -some discrimination to square his wants with what he ought to want. But -that discrimination must be used by somebody, or there will be danger. - -Nevertheless, the boy who rushes through Oliver Optic’s stories, and -Henty’s and Bolderwood’s, is not likely to be injured. They are not -ideal books, from our point of view. He may even read Charles Kingsley’s -boisterous, stupid stuff; but if he is a well-instructed boy, he will be -in a state of hot indignation all through “Hypatia” and the other -underdone-roast-beefy things of that bigot. Kingsley, with all his -prejudice, though, is better for a boy than Rider Haggard. There is a -nasty trail over Haggard’s stories. - -There is some comfort in the fact that the average boy is too eagerly -intent on his story to mind the moralizing. What does he care for Lord -Lytton’s talk about the Good, the True, and the Beautiful in “The Last -Days of Pompeii”? He wants to know how everything “turns out.” And in -Kingsley’s “Hypatia”—which is so often in Catholic libraries—he pays -very little attention to the historical lies, for the sake of the -action. Nevertheless, he should be guarded against the historical lies. -Personally—I hope this intrusion of the _ego_ will be forgiven—I had, -when I was a boy and waded through all sorts of books, so strong a -conviction that Catholics were always right and every one else wrong, -that “Hypatia” and Bulwer’s “Harold” and the rest were mere incentives -to zeal; I thought that if the Lady Abbess walled up Constance at the -end of “Marmion,” that young person deserved her fate. - -This state of mind, however, ought not to be generally cultivated; a -discriminating taste for reading should. Do not let us cry out so loudly -about bad books; let us seek out the good ones; and remember that it is -not the reading boy that fills the criminal ranks, but the boy that -lives in the streets and does not read. - -There should be a few books on the family shelf—books which are meant to -be daily companions—the Bible, the “Imitation of Christ,” something of -Father Faber’s, “Fabiola” and “Dion and the Sibyls,” and some great -novels. - -People of to-day do not realize how much the greatest of all the -romancers owes to the Catholic Dryden. Sir Walter Scott, in spite of -frequent change in public taste, still holds his own. Cardinal Newman, -in one of his letters, regrets that young people have ceased to be -interested in so admirable a writer. But there is only partial reason -for this regret. Sir Walter’s long introductions and some of his -elaborate descriptions of natural scenery are no longer read with -interest. Still, it is evident that people do not care to have his works -changed in any way. Not long ago, Miss Braddon, the indefatigable -novelist, “edited” Sir Walter Scott’s novels. She cut out all those -passages which seemed dull to her. But the public refused to read the -improved edition. It remained unsold. - -It is safe to predict that neither Sir Walter Scott nor Miss Austen will -ever go entirely out of fashion. Sir Walter’s muse is to Miss Austen’s -as the Queen of Sheba to a very prim modern gentlewoman: one is attired -in splendid apparel, wreathed with jewels, sparkling; the other is -neutral-tinted, timid, shy. But of all novelists, Sir Walter Scott -admired Miss Edgeworth and Miss Austen. He said, with almost a sigh of -regret, that he could do the big “bow-wow” business, but that they -pictured real life. - -Nevertheless, while Miss Austen is not forgotten—in fact, interest has -increased in her delightful books of late years—Sir Walter Scott’s -novels are found everywhere. Not to have read the most notable of the -Waverley Novels is to give one’s acquaintances just reason for lamenting -one’s illiberal education. - -The name of Sir Walter Scott naturally suggests that of Dryden, from -whom the “Wizard” borrowed some of the best things in “Ivanhoe”—and -“Ivanhoe” is without doubt the most popular of Sir Walter Scott’s -novels. That picturesque humbug Macaulay, who could sacrifice anything -for a brilliant antithesis, has done much harm to the reputation of -Dryden. He gives us the impression that Dryden was a mere timeserver, if -a brilliant satirist and a third-rate poet. Some years will pass before -the superficial criticism of Macaulay shall be taken at its full value. -Dryden was honest—honest in his changes of opinion, and entirely -consistent in his change of faith. No church but that of his ancestors -could have satisfied the mind of a man to whom the mutilated doctrine -and bald services of the Anglican sect were naturally obnoxious. Of the -charge that Dryden changed his religious opinions for gain, Mr. John -Amphlett Evans, a sympathetic critic, says that, if Dryden gained the -approval of King James II., he lost that of the English people. Dryden -understood this, for he wrote: - - “If joys hereafter must be purchased here - With loss of all that mortals hold so dear, - Then welcome infamy and public shame, - And last, a long farewell to worldly fame.” - -If Scott, through ignorance or carelessness, misrepresented certain -Catholic practices, he never consciously misrepresented Catholic ideas; -and, as a recent writer in the _Dublin Review_ remarks, he showed that -all that was best and heroic in the Middle Ages was the result of -Catholic teaching. This was his attraction for Cardinal Newman. This -made him so fascinating to another convert, James A. McMaster, who had -an inherited Calvinistic horror of most other novels. Scott, robust and -broad-minded as he was, could understand the mighty genius and the great -heart of Dryden. He was the ablest defender of the poet who abjured the -licentiousness of the Restoration—mirrored in his earlier dramas—to -adopt a purer mode of thought. Although Dryden was really Scott’s master -in art, Sir Walter did not fully understand how very great was Dryden’s -poem, “Almanzor and Almahide.” If Tasso’s “Jerusalem Delivered,” or -Ariosto’s “Orlando Furioso,” or Milton’s “Paradise Regained,” or -Fénelon’s “Telemachus” is an epic, this splendid poem of Dryden’s is an -epic, and greater than them all. It is from this poem, founded on -episodes of the siege of Granada, that Sir Walter Scott borrows so -liberally in “Ivanhoe.” - -One cannot altogether pardon the greatest fault of all Sir Walter made, -the punishment of Constance in “Marmion.” But his theory of artistic -effect was something like Macaulay’s idea of rhetorical effect. If -picturesqueness or dramatic effect interfered with historical truth, the -latter suffered the necessary carving to make it fit. It must be -remembered, too, that Sir Walter Scott was not in a position to profit -by modern discoveries which have forced all honorable men to revise many -pages of the falsified histories of their youth and to do justice to the -spirit of the Church. - -Sir Walter Scott is always chivalrous and pure-minded. How he would have -detested Froude’s brutal characterization of Mary Stuart, or Swinburne’s -vile travesty of her! If his friars are more jolly than respectable, it -is because he drew his pictures from popular ballads and old stories -never intended in Catholic times to be taken as serious or typical. His -Templars are horrible villains, but he never seems to regard them as -villanous because they are ecclesiastics; he does not intend to drag -their priesthood into disgrace; they are lawless and romantic figures, -loaded with horrible accusations by Philippe le Bel, and condemned by -the Pope—ready-made romantic scoundrels fit for purposes of fiction. He -does not look beyond this. - -Scott shows much of the nobility of Dryden’s later work. He does not -confuse good with evil; he is always tender of good sentiments; he hates -vice and all meanness; in depicting so many fine characters who could -only have bloomed in a Catholic atmosphere, he shows a sympathy for the -“old Church” at once pathetic and admirable to a Catholic. There is no -novel of his in which the influence of the Church is not alluded to in -some way or other. And how delightful are his heroines when they are -Catholic! How charmingly he has drawn Mary Stuart! And the man that does -not love Di Vernon and Catherine Seton has no heart for Beatrice or -Portia. And then there is the grand figure of Edward Glendenning in “The -Abbot.” - -Dryden and Scott both owed so much to the Church, were so naturally her -children, that one feels no ordinary satisfaction in the conversion of -the one, and some consolation in the fact that the last words of the -other were those of the “Dies Irae.” - -Brownson and Newman are two authors more talked about than read in this -country. In England Newman’s most careful literary work is known; -Brownson’s work has only begun to receive attention. Newman has gained -much by being talked and written about by men who love the form of -things as much as the matter, and who, if Newman had taught Buddhism or -Schopenhauerism, would admire him just as much. As there is a large -class of these men, and as they help to form public opinion, it has come -to pass that he who would deny Newman’s mastery of style would be smiled -at in any assembly of men of letters. Brownson has not had such an -advantage. He gave his attention thoroughly to the matter in hand; style -was with him a secondary consideration. Besides, he wrote from the -American point of view, and sometimes—at least it would seem so—under -pressure from the printer. Newman was never hurried; Horace was not more -leisurely, Cicero more exact. It would be absurd to compare Newman and -Brownson. I simply put their names together to show that they should be -read, even if other writers must be neglected, by Catholic Americans. I -take the liberty of recommending three books as valuable additions to -the home shelf:—Brownson’s “Views,” and the “Characteristics” of Wiseman -and Newman. - -Every young American who wants to understand the political position of -his country among the nations should read three books—Brownson’s -“American Republic,” De Tocqueville’s “Democracy in America,” and -Bryce’s “American Commonwealth.” But of these three writers the -greatest—incomparably the greatest—is Brownson: he defines principles; -he clarifies them until they are luminous; he shows the application of -them to a new condition of things. There have been Catholics—why -disguise the fact, since they are nearly all dead or imbecile?—who -fancied that our form of government was merely tolerated by the Church. -Brownson gave a death-blow to those ancient dragons of unbelief. Certain -parts of this great work ought to be a text-book in every school in the -country. And it will now be easier to build a monument to this profound -thinker, as there is a well-considered attempt to popularize such -portions of his books as must catch the general attention, for there are -many pages in Brownson’s works which are hidden only because they -suffered in their original method of publication. - -Open a volume of his works at random, and you will find something to -suggest or stimulate thought, to define a term or to fortify a -principle. Read, for instance, those pages of his on the Catholic -American literature of his time and you will have a standard of judgment -for all time. And who to-day can say what he says as well as he said it? -As to those parts of his philosophy about which the doctors disagree, -let us leave that to the doctors. It does not concern the general -public, and indeed it might be left out of consideration with advantage. - -Brownson’s works are mines of thought. In them lie the germs of mighty -sermons, of great books to come. Already he is a classic in American -literature, and there is every reason why he should be a classic, since -he was first in an untilled ground; and yet it is a sad thing to find -that of all the magnificent material Brownson has left, the “Spirit -Rapper,” that comparatively least worthy product of his pen, seems to be -the best known to the general reader. - -If one of us would confine himself to the reading of four authors in -English—Shakspere, Newman, Webster, and Brownson—he could not fail to be -well educated. The “Idea of a University” of Newman is a pregnant book. -It goes to the root of the subtlest matters; its clearness enters our -minds and makes the shadows flee. It cannot be made our own at one -reading. There are passages which should be read over and over -again—notably that on literature and the definition of a classic. If any -man could make us grasp the intangible, Newman could. How sentimental -and thin Emerson appears after him! Professor Cook, of Yale, has done -the world a good turn by giving us the chapter on “Poetry and the -Poetics of Aristotle” in a little pamphlet; and John Lilly’s -“Characteristics” is a very valuable book. Any reader or active man who -dips into the chapter on the “Poetics” will long for more; and, if he -does, the “Characteristics” will not slake his thirst; he will desire -the volumes themselves and drink in new refreshments with every page. - -I have known a young admirer of “Lead, Kindly Light”—which, by the way, -has only three stanzas of its own—to be repelled by the learned title of -“Apologia Pro Vita Sua,” but, in search of the circumstances that helped -to produce it, to turn to certain pages in this presumably uninteresting -work. The charm began to work; Newman was no longer a pedant to be -avoided, but a friend to be ever near. - -“Callista” amounts to very little as a novel; it is valuable because -Newman studied its color from authentic sources. But “The Dream of -Gerontius” is only beginning in our country to receive the attention due -to it. It was a text-book in classes at Oxford long before people here -touched it at all, except in rare instances. It is a unique poem. There -is nothing like it in all literature. It is the record of the experience -of a soul during the instant it is liberated from the body. It touches -the sublime; it is colorless—if a pure white light can be said to be -colorless. It is the work of a great logician impelled to utter his -thoughts through the most fitting medium, and this medium he finds to be -verse. In Dante the symbols of earthly things represent to us the mystic -life of the other world. Dante Gabriel Rossetti, chief of the -Pre-Raphaelites, imitated the outer shell of the great Dante—the -sensuous shell—but he got no further. Newman soars above, beyond earth; -we are made to realize with awful force that the soul at death is at -once divorced from the body. Dante does not make us feel this. The -people that Virgil and he meet are not spirits, but men and women with -bodies and souls in torment. No painter on earth could put “The Dream of -Gerontius” into line and color. Flaxman, so exquisite in his -interpretation of Dante, would seem vulgar, and Doré brutal. None of us -should lack a knowledge of this truly wonderful poem, which must be -studied, not read. Philosophy and theology have found no flaws in it; -humanity may shiver in the whiteness of its light, and yet be consoled -by the fact that the comfort it offers is not merely imaginative, or -sentimental, or beautiful, but real. - -It is impossible to suppress the love of the beautiful in human nature. -The early New Englanders, to whom beauty was an offence and art and -literature condemned things—who worshipped a God of their own invention, -clothed in sulphurous clouds and holding victims over eternal fire, -ready, with the ghastly pleasure described by their divines, to drop -these victims into the flame—were not Christians. Christians have never -accepted the Grecian _dictum_ that earthly beauty is the good and that -to be æsthetic is to be moral; but Christianity has always encouraged -the love of beauty and led the way to its use in the worship of God. - -Among Americans, Longfellow had a most devout love of the beautiful. And -it was this love of beauty that drew him near to the Church. That -eloquent writer Ruskin has little sympathy with men who are drawn -towards the Church by the beauty she enshrines, and he constantly -protests against the enticements of a Spouse the hem of whose garment he -kisses. Still, judging from his ill-natured diatribe against Pugin, in -the “Stones of Venice,” he had no understanding of the sentiment that -caused Longfellow, when in search of inspiration, to turn to the Church. - -Longfellow’s love of the melodious, of the beautiful, of the -symmetrical, led him into defects. He could not endure a discord, and -his motto was “_Non clamor, sed amor_,” which, as coming from him, may -be paraphrased in one word, “serenity.” His superabundant similes show -how he longed to carry one thing into another thing of even greater -beauty, and how this longing sometimes leads him to faults of taste. - -But this lover of beauty—led by it to the very beauty of Ruskin’s Circe -and his forefathers’ “Scarlet Woman”—came of a race that hated beauty. -And yet he stretched out through the rocky soil of Puritan traditions -and training until we find him translating the sermon of St. Francis of -Assisi to the birds into English verse, and working lovingly at the most -Christian of all poems, the “Divine Comedy.” It was he—this descendant -of the Puritans—who described, as no other poet ever described, the -innocence of the young girl coming from confession. But it was his love -of beauty and his love of purity that made him do this. In Longfellow’s -eyes only the pure was beautiful. A canker in the rose made the rose -hateful to him. He was unlike his classmate and friend Hawthorne: the -stain on the lily did not make it more interesting. His love of purity -was, however, like his hatred of noise, a sentiment rather than a -conviction. - -The love for the beautiful leads to Rome. Ruskin fights against it, -Longfellow yields to it, and even Whittier—whose lack of culture and -whose traditions held him doubly back—is drawn to the beauty of the -saints. - -As culture in America broadens and deepens, respect for the things that -Protestantism cast out increases. James Russell Lowell’s paper on Dante, -in “Among My Books,” is an example of this. The comprehension he shows -of the divine poet is amazing in a son of the Puritans. But the human -mind and the human heart _will_ struggle towards the light. - -Longfellow was too great an artist to try to lop off such Catholic -traditions as might displease his readers. In this he was greater than -Sir Walter Scott, and a hundred times greater than Spenser. Scott’s -mind, bending as a healthy tree bends to the light, stretched towards -the old Church. She fascinated his imagination, she drew his thoughts, -and her beauty won his heart; but he was afraid of the English people. -And yet, subservient as Scott was, Cardinal Newman avows that Sir -Walter’s novels drew him towards the Church; and there is a letter -written by the great cardinal in which he laments that the youth of the -nineteenth century no longer read the novels of the “Wizard of the -North.” Scott cannot get rid of the charm the Church throws about him. -He was not classical, he was romantic. He soon tired of mere form, as -any healthy mind will. The reticent and limited beauty of the Greek -temple made him yawn; but he was never weary of the Gothic church, with -its surprises, its splendor, its glow, its statues, its gargoyles—all -its reproductions of the life of the world in its relations to God. - -Similarly, Longfellow was not a classicist. The coldness of Greek beauty -did not appeal to him; he could understand and love the pictures of -Giotto—the artist of St. Francis—better than the “Dying Gladiator.” When -Christianity had given life to the perfect form of Greek art, then -Longfellow understood and loved it. And he trusted the American people -sufficiently not to attempt to placate them by concealing or distorting -the source of his inspiration. No casual reader of “Evangeline” can -mistake the cause of the primitive virtues of the Acadians. A lesser -artist would have introduced the typical Jesuit of the romancers, or -hinted that a King James’s Bible read by Gabriel and Evangeline, under -the direction of a self-sacrificing colporteur, was at the root of all -the patience, purity, and constancy in the poem. But Longfellow knew -better than this, and the American people took “Evangeline” to their -heart without question, except from some carper, like Poe, who envied -the literary distinction of the poet. We must remember, too, that the -American people of 1847 were not the American people of to-day; they -were narrower, more provincial, less infused with new blood, and more -prejudiced against the traditions of the Church to which Longfellow -appealed when he wrote his greatest poem. - -It is as impossible to eliminate the cross from the discovery of America -as to love art and literature without acknowledging the power that -preserved both. - - - - - IX. Of Shakspere. - - -The time has come when the Catholics of this country—who possess -unmutilated the seamless garment of Christ—should begin to understand -the real value of the inheritance of art and literature and music which -is especially theirs. - -The Reformation made a gulf between art and religion; it declared that -the beautiful had no place in the service of God, and that a student of -æsthetics was a student of the devil’s lore. Of late a reaction has -taken place. - -Fifty years ago the picture of a Madonna by Raphael or Filippo Lippi or -Botticelli in a popular magazine would have occasioned a howl of -condemnation from the densely ignorant average Protestant of that time. -But the taste for art has grown immensely in the last twenty years, and -now—I am ashamed to say it—non-Catholics have, in America, learned to -know and love the great masterpieces of our inheritance more than we -ourselves. It is we, English-speaking Catholics, who have suffered -unexpressibly from the deadening influence of the Reformation on -æsthetics. As a taste for art and literature grows, “orthodox” protest -against the Church must wane, for the essence of “orthodox” protest is -misunderstanding of the Church which made possible Dante and Cervantes, -Chaucer and Wolfram von Eschenbach, Fra Angelico and Murillo, Shakspere -and Dryden. And no cultivated man, loving them, can hate the Church -that, while guarding morality, likewise protected æsthetics as a -stretching out towards the immortal. Art and literature and music are -efforts of the spirit to approach God. And, as such, Christianity -cherishes them. Art and history are one; art and literature are history; -and nothing is grander in the panorama of events than the spectacle of -the fine arts, in Christian times, emptying their precious box of -ointment on the head of Our Lord to atone for the sins of the past. - -The flower of all art is Christian art; it took the perfect form of the -Greeks and clothed it with luminous flesh and blood. - -Miss Eliza Allen Starr has shown us some of the treasures of our -inheritance of art. It is easy to find them; good photographs of the -masters’ works—of the Sistine Madonna of Raphael, of the Immaculate -Conception of Murillo, of the Virgin of the Kiss by Hébert, and of the -beautiful pictures of Bouguereau are cheap everywhere. Why, then, with -all these lovely reflections of Catholic genius near us, should we fill -our houses with bad, cheap prints? - -Similarly, why should we be content with flimsy modern books? The best -of all literature is ours—even Shakspere is ours. - -If there is one fault to be found in Cardinal Newman’s lecture on -“Literature” in that great book, “The Idea of a University,” it is that -the most subtle master of English style took his view of Continental -literature from Hallam. When he speaks of English literature, he speaks -as a master of his subject; on the literature of the Greeks and Romans, -there is no uncertainty in his utterances; but he takes his impressions -of the literature of France and Spain from a non-Catholic critic, whose -opinions are tinctured with prejudice. One cannot help regretting that -the cardinal did not apply the same test to Montaigne that he applied to -Shakspere. - -Similarly, most of us have been induced, by the Puritanism in the air -around us, to take our opinions of the great English classics from -text-books compiled by sciolists, who have not gone deep enough to -understand the course of the currents of literature. We accept Shakspere -at second hand; if we took our impressions of his works from Professor -Dowden or Herr Delius or men like George Saintsbury or Horace Furness, -or, better than all, from himself, it would be a different thing. But we -do not; if we read him at all, we read him hastily; we read “Hamlet” as -we would a novel, or we are content to nibble at little chunks from his -plays, which the compilers graciously present to us. - -The text-book of literature has been an enemy to education, because it -has been generally compiled by persons who were incapable of fair -judgment. In this country, Father Jenkins’s compilation is the best we -have had. It is a brave attempt to remove misapprehensions; but a -text-book should be merely a guide to the works themselves. There is -more intellectual gain in six months’ close study of the text and -circumstances of “Hamlet” than in tripping through a dozen books of -“selections.” The Germans found this out long ago, and Dr. Gotthold -Böttcher puts it into fitting words in his introduction to Wolfram von -Eschenbach’s “Parcival.” The time will doubtless come when even in -parochial schools the higher “Reader” will be a complete book—not a -thing of shreds and patches, like the little dabs of meat and vegetables -the keepers of country hotels set before us on small plates. This book -will, of course, be intelligently annotated. - -Some of us have a certain timidity about claiming Shakspere as our own -and about reading his plays to our young people. This is because we have -given in too much to the critical spirit, which finds purity in impure -things, and impurity where no impurity is intended. It is time we -realize the evil that the English speech has done us by unconsciously -impregnating us with alien prejudices. - -Surely no man will accuse Cardinal Newman of condoning sensuality or -coarseness. His idea of propriety is good enough; it is broad enough and -narrow enough for us. That foreign code which would keep young people -within artificial barriers and then let them loose to wallow in literary -filth, that hypocritical American code which leaves the obscenities of -the daily newspaper open and closes Shakspere, is not ours. - -Shakspere was the result of Catholic thought and training. There is no -Puritanism in him. His plays are Catholic literature in the widest -sense; he sees life from the Christian point of view, and, depicting it -as it is, his standard is a Catholic standard. There is no doubt that -there are coarse passages in Shakspere’s plays—it is easy to get rid of -them. But they are few. They seem immodest because the plainness of -language of the Elizabethan time and of the preceding times has happily -gone out of fashion. It would be well to revise our definition of -immorality, by comparing it with the more robust Catholic one, before we -condemn Shakspere or the Old Testament, though the scrupulous Tom Paine, -who has gone utterly out of fashion, found both immoral! - -Hear Cardinal Newman (“Idea of a University,” page 319) speaking of -Shakspere: “Whatever passages may be gleaned from his dramas -disrespectful to ecclesiastical authority, still these are but passages; -on the other hand, there is in Shakspere neither contempt of religion -nor scepticism, and he upholds the broad laws of moral and divine truths -with the consistency and severity of an Æschylus, Sophocles, and Pindar. -There is no mistaking in his works on which side lies the right; Satan -is not made a hero, nor Cain a victim, but pride is pride, and vice is -vice, and, whatever indulgence he may allow himself in light thoughts or -unseemly words, yet his admiration is reserved for sanctity and -truth; ... but often as he may offend against modesty, he is clear of a -worse charge, sensuality, and hardly a passage can be instanced in all -that he has written to seduce the imagination or to excite the -passions.” - -In arranging a course of reading for young people, it seems to me that -those books which _define_ principles should be put first. When a reader -has a good grasp of definitions, he is in a mathematical state of mind -and ready to assimilate truth and reject error. Books of literature -should not be recommended to him until he is sure of his principles; -for, unhappily, the tendency of American youth is to imagine that what -he cannot refute is irrefutable. If the young reader be thoroughly -grounded in the doctrines of his faith and armed with a few clear -definitions of the meaning of things, even Milton cannot persuade him -that Satan is a more admirable figure than Our Lord, or Byron seduce him -into the opinion that Cain was wronged, or Goethe that sin is merely a -more or less pleasing experience. - -It is remarkable that the Puritanism which lauds Milton as a household -god turns its face from Shakspere; and yet Milton’s great epic is not -only the deification of intellectual pride, but it contemns -Christianity. There are very few men who can to-day say that they have -read “Paradise Lost” line after line with pleasure. There are long -stretches of aridity in it; and those who pretend to admire it as a -whole are no doubt tinctured with literary insincerity. But there are -glorious passages in the “Paradise Lost,” unexcelled in any literature; -and therefore the epic should be read in parts, and one cannot be blamed -if he “skip” many other parts. The great parts of “Paradise Lost,” ought -to be read and re-read. The comparative weakness of the “Paradise -Regained” shows that Milton had not that sympathy with the Redemption -which he had with the revolt of Satan. And yet, in some pious -households, where puritanized opinion reigns, Shakspere is locked up, -while “Paradise Lost” is put beside the family Bible! - -It is not necessary that one should read all of Shakspere’s writings; -the early poems had better be omitted; but it is necessary for purposes -of culture that one should read what one does read with intelligence. -Before beginning “Hamlet”—which a thoughtful Catholic can appreciate -better than any other man—one should clear the ground by studying -Professor Dowden’s little “Primer” on Shakspere (Macmillan & Co.), and -Mr. Furnivall’s preface to the Leopold edition of Shakspere, and George -H. Miles’s study of “Hamlet.” Then, and not until then, will one be in a -position to get real benefit from his reading. To read “Hamlet” without -some preparation is like the inane practice of “going to Europe to -complete an education never begun at home.” I repeat that a Catholic can -better appreciate the marvels of Shakspere’s greatest play, because, -even if he know only the Little Catechism, he has the key to the play -and to Shakspere’s mind. - -The philosophy of “Hamlet” is that sin cankers and burns and ruins and -corrupts even in this world, and that the effects do not end in this -world. Shakspere, enlightened by the teaching of centuries since St. -Austin converted his forefathers, teaches a higher philosophy than that -of Æschylus or Euripides or Sophocles—he substitutes will for fate. It -is not fate that forces the keen Claudius to murder his brother; it is -not fate that obliges him to turn away from the reproaches of an -instructed mind and conscience: he chooses; it is his own will that -makes the crime; he does not confuse good with evil. The sin of the -Queen is not so great; she is ignorant of her husband’s crime; in fact, -from the usual modern point of view, she has committed no sin at all. -And, as the Danish method of choosing monarchs permitted the nobles to -name Claudius king, while her son was mooning at the Saxon university, -she had done him no material wrong. But as there is no mention of a -dispensation from Rome, and as Shakspere makes the Danes Catholic, the -people of Denmark must have looked on the alliance with doubt. The -demand made to Horatio to exorcise the spirit, as he was a scholar; the -expression, “I’ll cross it,” which Fechter, the actor, rightly -interpreted as meaning the sign of the cross; a hundred touches, in -fact, show that “Hamlet” can and ought to be studied with special profit -by Catholics. - -Suppose that one begins with “Hamlet,” having cleared the ground, and -then takes the greatest of the tragi-comedies, “The Merchant of Venice.” -Here opens a new field. Before beginning this play, it would be well to -read Mgr. Seton’s paper on the Jews in Europe, in his excellent “Essays, -Chiefly Roman.” It will give one an excellent idea of the attitude of -the Church towards Shylock’s countrymen, and do away with the impression -that Antonio was acting in accordance with that attitude when he treated -Shylock as less than a human being. Portia not only offers a valuable -contrast to the weakness of Ophelia and the criminal weakness of -Gertrude, but she is a type of the ideal noblewoman of her time, whose -only weakness is love for a man of lesser nobility than herself, but who -holds his honor as greater than life or love. - -Shakspere’s “Julius Cæsar,” for comparison with “Hamlet,” might come -next, and after that the most lyrical and poetical of all the comedies, -“As You Like It,” or perhaps “The Tempest,” with Prospero’s simple but -strong assertion of belief in immortality. - -Having studied these four great works, with as much of the literature -they suggest as practicable, a distinct advance in cultivation will have -been made. The best college in the country can give one no more. But -they must be _studied_, not read. He who does not know these plays -misses part of his heritage; for the plays of Shakspere belong more to -the Catholic than to the non-Catholic. Shakspere was the fine flower of -culture nurtured under Catholic influences. - - - - - X. Of Talk, Work, and Amusement. - - -There are too many etiquette books—too much about the outward look of -things, and too little about the inward. Manners make a great difference -in this world—we all discover that sooner or later; but later we find -out that there are some principles which keep society together more than -manners. If manners are the flower, these principles are the roots which -intricately bind earth and crumbling rocks together and make a safe -footing. To-day the end of preaching seems to be to teach the outward -form, without the inward light that gives the form all its value. By -preaching I mean the talk and advice that permeate the newspapers and -books of social instruction. - -Manners are only good, after all, when they represent something. What -does it matter whether Mr. Jupiter makes a charming host at his own -table or not, if he sit silent a few minutes after some of his guests -are gone, and listen to the horrors that one who stays behind tells of -them? And if Mrs. Juno, whose manners at her “at home” are perfect, sits -down and rips and tears at the characters of the acquaintances she has -just fed with coffee and whatever else answers to the fatted calf, shall -we believe that she is useful to society? - -There is harmless gossip which has its place; in life it is like the -details in a novel; it is amusing and interesting, because it belongs to -humanity—and what that is human is alien to us? So far as gossip -concerns the lights and shades of character, the minor miseries and -amusing happenings of life, what honest man or woman has not a taste for -it? And who values a friend less because his peculiarities make us -smile? - -But by and by there comes into the very corner of the fireside a guest -who disregards the crown of roses which every man likes to hang above -his door. The roses mean silence—or, at least, that all things that pass -under them shall be sweetened by the breath of hospitality; and he adds -a little to the smile of kindly tolerance, and he paints it as a sneer. -“You must forgive me for telling you,” he whispers, when he is safely -sheltered beneath your friend’s garland of roses; “but Theseus spoke of -you the other night in a way that made my blood boil.” - -And then the friendship of years is snapped; and then the harmless jest, -in which Theseus’s friend would have delighted even at his own expense -if he had been present, becomes a jagged bullet in an ulcerated wound. -_Sub rosâ_ was a good phrase with the old Latins, but who minds it now? -It went out of fashion when the public began to pay newspaper reporters -for looking through keyholes, and for stabbing the hearts of the -innocent in trying to prove somebody guilty. It went out of fashion when -private letters became public property and a man might, without fear of -disgrace, print, or sell to be printed, any scrap of paper belonging to -another that had fallen into his hands. - -A very wise man—a gentle man and a loyal man—once said, “A man may be -judged by what he believes.” If we could learn the truth of this early -in life, what harm could be done us by the creature who tears the thorns -out of our hospitable roses, and goes about lacerating hearts with them? -When we hear that Jason has called us a fool, we should not be so ready -to cry out with all our breath that he is a scoundrel—because we should -not be so ready to believe that Jason, who was a decent fellow -yesterday, should suddenly have become the hater of a good friend -to-day. And when, under stress of unrighteous indignation, we have -called Jason a scoundrel, the listener can hardly wait until he has -informed Jason of the enormity; “and thereby hangs a tale.” - -But when we get older and wiser, we do not ask many people to sit under -our roses; and those whom we ask we trust implicitly. In time—so happily -is our experience—we believe no evil of any man with whom we have ever -cordially shaken hands. Then we begin to enjoy life; and we, too, choose -our acquaintances by their unwillingness to believe evil of others. And -as for the man who has eaten our salt, we become so optimistic about him -that we would not even believe that he could write a stupid book; and -that is the _nirvâna_ of belief in one’s friends. - -Less manners, we pray—less talk about the handling of a fork and the -angle of a bow, and more respect for the roses. Of course, one of us may -have said yesterday, after dinner, that Jason ought not to talk so much -about his brand-new coat-of-arms; or that Ariadne, who was a widow, you -know, might cease to chant the praise of number one in the presence of -number two. But do we not admire the solid qualities of both Jason and -Ariadne? And yet who shall make them believe that when the little -serpent wriggles from our hearthstone to theirs? - -It is a settled fact that young people must be amused. It is a settled -fact, or rather an accepted fact, that they must be amused much more -than their predecessors were amused. It is useless to ask why. Life in -the United States has become more complicated, more artificial, more -civilized, if you will; and that Jeffersonian simplicity which De -Tocqueville and De Bacourt noted has almost entirely disappeared. The -theatre has assumed more license than ever; it amuses—it does not -attempt to instruct; and spectacles are tolerated by decent people which -would have been frowned upon some years ago. There is no question that -the drama is purer than it ever was before; but the spectacle, the -idiotic farce, and the light opera are more silly and more indecent than -within the memory of man. The toleration of these things all shows that, -in the craving for amusement, high principle and reasonable rules of -conduct are forgotten. - -A serious question of social importance is: How can the rage for -amusement be kept within proper bounds? How can it be regulated? How can -it be prevented from making the heart and the head empty and even -corrupt? In many ways our country and our time are serious enough. We -need, perhaps, a touch of that cheerful lightness which makes the life -of the Viennese and of the Parisian agreeable and bright—which enables -him to get color and interest into the most commonplace things. But our -lightness and cheerfulness are likely to be spasmodic and extravagant. -We are not pleased with little things; it takes a great deal to give us -delight; our children are men and women too early; we do not understand -simplicity—unless it is sold at a high price with an English label on -it. Luxuries have become necessities, and even the children demand -refinements of enjoyment of which their parents did not dream in the -days gone by. - -And yet the essence of American social life ought to be simplicity. We -have no traditions to support; a merely rich man without a great family -name owes nothing to society, except to help those poorer than himself; -he has not inherited those great establishments which your English or -Spanish high lord must keep up or tarnish the family name. We have no -great families in America whose traditions are not those of simplicity -and honesty, and these are the only traditions they are bound to -cherish. In this way our aristocracy—if we have such a thing—ought to be -the purest in the world and the most simple. There is no reason why we -should pick up all the baubles that the effete folk of the Old World are -throwing away. - -Whether we are to achieve simplicity, and consequently cheerfulness, in -every-day life depends entirely on the women. It is remarkable how many -Catholic women bred in good schools enter society and run a mad race in -search of frivolities. In St. Francis de Sales’s “Letters to People in -the World” there is a record of a lady “who had long remained in such -subjection to the humors of her husband, that in the very height of her -devotions and ardors she was obliged to wear a low dress, and was all -loaded with vanity outside; and, except at Easter, could never -communicate unless secretly and unknown to every one—and yet she rose -high in sanctity.” - -But St. Francis de Sales had other words for those women of the world -who rushed into all the complications of luxury, and yet who defended -their frivolity by the phrase “duty to society.” The woman who serves -her children best serves society. And she best serves her children by -cultivating her heart and mind to the utmost; and by teaching them that -one of the best things in life is simplicity, and that it is much easier -to be a Christian when one is content with a little than when one is -constantly discontented with a great deal. If the old New England love -for simplicity in the ordinary way of life could be revived among -Catholics, and sanctified by the amiable spirit of St. Francis of -Assisi, the world would be a better place. - -Father Faber tells us what even greater men have told us before—that -each human being has his vocation in life. And we nearly all accept it -as true, but the great difficulty is to realize it. Ruskin says that -work is not a curse; but that a man must like his work, feel that he can -do it well, and not have too much of it to do. The sum of all this means -that he shall be contented in his work, and find his chief satisfaction -in doing it well. It is not what we do, but _how_ we do it, that makes -success. - -The greatest enemy to a full understanding of the word vocation among -Americans is the belief that it means solely the acquirement of money. -And the reason for this lies not in the character of the American—who is -no more mercenary than other people—but in the idea that wealth is -within the grasp of any man who works for it. The money standard, -therefore, is the standard of success. But success to the eyes of the -world is not always success to the man himself. The accumulation of -wealth often leaves him worn-out, dissatisfied, with a feeling that he -has somehow missed the best of life. That man has probably missed his -vocation and done the wrong thing, in spite of the opinion outside of -himself that he has succeeded. - -The frequent missing of vocations in life is due to false ideas about -education. The parent tries to throw all the responsibility of education -on the teacher, and the teacher has no time for individual moulding. A -boy grows up learning to read and to write, like other boys. He may be -apt with his head or his hands, but how few parents see the aptitude in -the right light! It ought to be considered and seriously cultivated. The -tastes of youth may not always be indications of the future: they often -change with circumstances and surroundings. But they are just as often -unerring indications of the direction in which the child’s truest -success in the world will lie. If a boy play at swinging a censer when -he is little, or enjoy the sight of burning candles on a toy altar, it -is not an infallible sign that he will be a priest. And yet the rosary -that young Newman drew on his slate, when he was a boy, doubtless meant -something. - -“The thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts,” Longfellow sings. He -who comprehends them gets near to the heart of youth. But who tries to -do it? The boy is as great an enigma to his father, as a rule, as the -old sphinx in the Egyptian desert is to passing travellers. And who but -his father ought to have the key to the boy’s mind, and find his way -into its recesses so gently and carefully that the question of his -child’s vocation would be an easy one for him to answer? - -If the religious vocations in this country are not equal in number to -what they ought to be, we may attribute it to these two causes: the -general desire to make money, and the placid indifference of parents. A -boy is sent to “school”—school implying a sort of factory from which -human creatures are turned out polished and finished, but not ready for -any special work in a world which demands specialists. And what is -specialism but the industrious working out of a vocation? - -God is very good to a man when that man is true to his vocation. To be -content in one’s work is almost happiness. To do one’s work for the eyes -of God is to be as near happiness as any creature can come to it in this -world. Fortunate are they who, like the old sculptors of the roof of -“the cathedral over sea,” learn early in life, as Miss Eleanor Donnelly -puts it,— - - “That nothing avails us under the sun, - In word or in work, save that which is done - For the honor and glory of God alone.” - -Direction and coercion are two different things. The parents who mistake -one for the other make a fatal error. Direction is the flower, coercion -the weed that grows beside it, and kills its strength and sweetness. - -The true gospel of work begins with the consideration of vocation, and -the prayers and the appeals to the sacraments that ought to accompany -it. This is the genesis of that gospel. It is true that if a man can be -helped to take care of the first twenty years of his life, the last -twenty years will take care of him. Those who find their vocation are -blessed— - - “And they are the sculptors whose works shall last, - Whose names shall shine as the stars on high, - When deep in the dust of a ruined past - The labors of selfish souls shall lie.” - - - - - XI. The Little Joys of Life. - - -Has enthusiasm gone out of fashion? Are the young no longer -hero-worshippers? A recent writer complains of the sadness of American -youth. “The absence of animal spirits among our well-to-do young people -is a striking contrast to the exuberance of that quality in most -European countries,” says this author, in the _Atlantic Monthly_. - -Our young people laugh very much, but they are not, as a rule, cheerful; -and they are amiable only when they “feel like being amiable.” This is -the most fatal defect in American manners among the young. The -consideration for others shown only when a man is entirely at peace with -himself is not politeness at all: it is the most unrefined manifestation -of selfishness. - -Before we condemn the proverbial artificiality of the French, let us -contrast it with the brutality of the average carper at this -artificiality. “A Frenchman,” he will say, “will lift his hat to you, -but he would not give you a sou if you were starving.” Let us take that -assertion for its full value. We are not starving; we do not want his -sou, but we do want to have our every-day life made as pleasant as -possible. And is your average brutal and bluff and uncivilized creature -the more anxious to give his substance to the needy because he is ready -on all occasions to tread on the toes of his neighbor? He holds all -uttered pleasant things to be lies, and the suppression of the brutal a -sin against truth. One sees this personage too often not to understand -him well. He is half civilized. King Henry VIII. was of this -kind—charming, bluff old fellow, bubbling over with truth and frankness, -slapping Sir Thomas More on the back, and full of delicious horseplay, -when his dinner agreed with him! It is easy to comprehend that the high -politeness of the best of the French is the result of the finest -civilization. No wonder Talleyrand looked back and said that no man -really enjoyed life who had not lived before the Revolution. - -But why should enthusiasm have gone out? Why should the young have no -heroes? Have the newspaper joke, the levity of Ingersoll and the -irreverence of the stump-speakers, the cynicism of _Puck_ and the -insolence of _Judge_, driven out enthusiasm? George Washington is -mentioned—what inextinguishable laughter follows!—the cherry-tree, the -little hatchet! What novel wit that name suggests! One _must_ laugh, it -is so funny! And, then, the scriptural personages! The paragraphers have -made Job so very amusing; and Joseph and Daniel!—how stupid people must -be who do not roar with laughter at the mere mention of these august -names! - -Cannot this odious, brutal laughter, which is not manly or womanly, be -stopped? Ridicule cannot kill it, but an appeal to all the best feelings -of the human heart might; for all the best feelings of the human heart -are outraged. How funny death has become! When shall we grow tired of -the joke about the servant who lighted the fire with kerosene, and went -above; or the quite too awfully comical _jeu d’esprit_ about the boy who -ate green apples, and is no more? These jokes are in the same taste that -would put the hair of a skeleton into curl-papers. Still we laugh. - -A nation without reverence has begun to die: its feet are cold, though -it may still grin. A nation whose youth are without enthusiasm has no -future beyond the piling up of dollars. It is not so with our country -yet; but the fact remains: enthusiasm is dying, and hero-worship needs -revival. - -One can easily understand why, among Catholics, there is not as much -hero-worship as there ought to be. It is because our greatest heroes are -not even mentioned in current literature, and because they are not well -presented to our young people. St. Francis Xavier was a greater hero -than Nelson; yet Nelson is popularly esteemed the more heroic, because -Southey wrote his life well. But St. Francis’s life is written for the -mystic, for the devotee. It is right, of course; but our young people -are not all mystics or devotees; consequently St. Francis seems afar -off—a saint to be vaguely remembered, but nothing more. - -If the saints whose heroism appeals most to the young could be brought -nearer to the natural young person, they would soon be as friends, daily -companions—heroes, not distant beings whose halos guard them from -contact. One need only know St. Francis of Assisi to be very fond of -him. He had a sense of humor, too, but no sense of levity. And yet the -only readable life of this hero and friend has been written by a -Protestant. (I am not recommending it, for there are some things which -Mrs. Oliphant does not understand.) And there is St. Ignatius Loyola. -And there is St. Charles Borromeo—_that_ was a man! And St. Philip Neri, -who had a sense of humor, and was entirely civilized at the same time. -And St. Francis of Sales! His “Letters to Persons in the World” make one -wish that he had not died so soon. What tact, what knowledge of the -world! How well he persuades people without diplomacy, by the force of a -fine nature open to the grace of God! - -Our young people need only know the saints—not out of Alban Butler’s -sketches, but illumined with reality—to be filled with an enthusiasm -which Carlyle would have had them waste on the wrong kind of heroes. - -One of the most interesting pictures of a priest in American -literature—which of late abounds in pictures of good priests—is that of -Père Michaux, in Miss Woolson’s novel “Anne.” He believed that “all -should live their lives, and that one should not be a slave to others; -that the young should be young, and that some natural, simple pleasure -should be put into each twenty-four hours. They might be poor, but -children should be made happy; they might be poor, but youth should not -be overwhelmed by the elders’ cares; they might be poor, but they could -have family love around the poorest hearthstone; and there was always -time for a little pleasure, if they would seek it simply and -moderately.” - -But Père Michaux was French: he had not been corrupted by that American -Puritanism which has, somehow or other, got into the blood of even the -Irish Celts on this side of the Atlantic. Pleasures are not spontaneous -or simple, and joy is only possible after a long period of worry. Simple -pleasures—the honest little wild flowers that peep up between the -every-day crevices of each twenty-four hours—are neglected because we -have not been taught to see them. Life may be serious without being sad; -but, influenced by the Puritan gloom, sadness and seriousness have come -to be confounded. - -Man was not made to be sad. Unless something is wrong with him, he is -not sad by temperament. And sadness ought to be repressed in early -youth. The sad child in the stories is pathetic, but the authors -generally have the good sense to kill him when he is young. The sad -child in real life ought not to be tolerated. And if his parents have -made him sad by putting their burden of the trials of life on him so -early, they have done him irreparable wrong. Simple pleasures are the -sunlight of life; and the little plants struggle to the sunshine and -find light for themselves, darken their dwelling-place as you will. The -frown in the household, the scolding voice, the impatience with childish -folly—all these things are against the practice of the Church and her -saints. The Catholic sentiment is one of joy—not the Sabbath any more, -but the Sunday, the day of smiles, of rejoicing; the day on which, as -old Christian legends have it, the sun is supposed to dance in honor of -the first Easter. - -How much the French and Germans, who have not lost the Catholic -traditions, make of the little joys of life! If the grandfather’s -name-day come, there is the pot of flowers, the little cake with its -ornaments. And how many other feasts are made by the poorest of them out -of what the Americans, rich by comparison, would look on but as a patch -upon his poverty! There should be no dark days for the young. It is so -easy to make them happy, if they have not been distorted by their -surroundings out of the capability of enjoying little pleasures. The -mother who teaches her daughters that poverty is not death to all joy, -and that the enjoyment of simple things makes life easier and keeps -people younger—such a mother is kinder to her girls, gives them a better -gift than the diamond necklace which the spoiled girl craves, and then -finds good only so far as it excites envy in others. - -Children should not be made to bear a weight of sadness. That girl will -not long for an electric doll if she has been taught to get the poetry -of life out of a rag-baby. And the boy will not pine for an improved -bicycle, and sulk without it, if he has learned to swim. The greatest -pleasures are the easiest had— - - “Each ounce of dross costs an ounce of gold; - For a cap and bells our lives we pay; - Bubbles we buy with a whole soul’s tasking: - ’Tis Heaven alone that is given away,— - ’Tis only God may be had for the asking.” - -Those who have suffered and borne suffering best are the most anxious -that the young should enjoy the simple joys of life. Like this Père -Michaux, they look for a little pleasure in each twenty-four hours. Is -it a wild rose laid by a plate at the simple dinner, a new story, a -romp, ungrudging permission for some small relaxation of the ordinary -rules, or a brave attempt to keep sorrow away from the young? No matter; -it is a little thing done for the Holy Child and for childhood, that -ought to be holy and joyous. - -There is a commercial axiom that declares that we get out of anything -just as much as we put into it. This may be true in trade or not; it is -certainly true of other things in life. - -When the frost begins to make the blood tingle, and the glow of -neighborly fires has more than usual comfort for the passer-by, as he -sees them through windows and thinks of his own, the fragrance of home -seems to rise more strongly than ever, and then there is a longing that -the home-circle may revolve around a common centre. Sometimes this -longing takes the form of resolutions to make life more cheerful; and -sometimes even the father wonders if he, in some way, cannot make home -more attractive. As a rule, however, he leaves it to the mother; and if -the young people yawn and want to go out, it must be her fault. The -truth is, he expects to reap without having sown. - -Home can be made cheerful only by an effort. Why, even friendship and -love will perish if they are not cultivated; and so if the little -virtues of life—the little flowers—are not carefully tended they must -die. Young people cannot be imprisoned or kept at home by force. We -cannot get over the change that has come about—a change that has -eliminated the old iron hand and rod from family life. We must take -things as they are. And the only way to direct the young, to influence, -to help them, is to interest them. - -Books are resources and consolation; study is a resource and -consolation. Both are strong factors in the best home-life; and the man -who can look back with gratitude to the time when, around the home-lamp, -he made one of the circle about his father’s table, has much to be -thankful for; and we venture to assert that the coming man whose father -will give him such a remembrance to be thankful for can never be an -outcast, or grow cold, or bitter, or cynical. - -But the taste for books does not come always by nature: it must be -cultivated. And everything between covers is not a book; and a taste for -books cannot be cultivated in a bookless house. It may be said that -there is no Catholic literature, or that it is very expensive to buy -books, or that it is difficult to get a small number of the best books, -or to be sure that one has the best in a small compass. - -None of these things is true—none of them. There is a vast Catholic -literature, and a vast literature, not professedly Catholic, which is -good and pure, which will stimulate a desire for study, and help to -cultivate every quality of the mind and heart. Does anybody realize how -many good books twelve or fifteen dollars will buy nowadays? And, after -all, there are not fifty really _great_ books in all languages. If one -have fifty books, one has the best literature in all languages. A -book-shelf thus furnished is a treasure which neither adversity nor -fatigue nor sickness itself can take away. Each child may even have his -own book-shelf, with his favorites on it, and such volumes as treat of -his favorite hobby—for every child old enough should have a hobby, even -if it be only the collecting of pebbles, and every chance should be -given to enjoy his hobby and to develop it into a serious study. A -little fellow who used to range his pebbles on the table in the -lamplight, and get such hints as he could about them out of an old -text-book, is a great geologist. And a little girl who used to hang over -her very own copy of Adelaide Procter’s poems is spoken of as one of the -cleverest newspaper men (though she is a woman) in the city of New York. -The taste of the early days, encouraged in a humble way, became the -talent which was to make their future. - -There should be no bookless house in all this land—least of all among -Catholics, whose ancestors in Christ preserved all that is great in -literature. Let the trashy novels, paper-backed, soiled, borrowed or -picked up, be cast out. Let the choosing of books not be left to mere -chance. A little brains put into it will be returned with more than its -first value. What goes into the precious minds of the young ought not to -be carelessly chosen. And it is true that, in the beginning, it is the -easiest possible thing to interest young people in good and great books. -But if one lets them wallow in whatever printed stuff happens to come in -their way, one finds it hard to conduct them back again. Let the books -be carefully chosen—a few at a time—be laid within the circle of the -evening lamp—and God bless you all! - - - PRINTED BY BENZIGER BROTHERS, NEW YORK. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - - - 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. - 2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed. - 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Gentleman, by Maurice Francis Egan - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GENTLEMAN *** - -***** This file should be named 62712-0.txt or 62712-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/7/1/62712/ - -Produced by Richard Tonsing, Chris Curnow, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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