A Fortune in Good Manners

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 or owning them; they solicit him to enter and possess.—EMERSON.

Give a boy social grace and accomplishments, and you give him command of palaces and fortunes wherever he goes. He does not have to earn or own them. They invite him to enter and take possession. EMERSON.

With hat in hand, one gets on in the world.—GERMAN PROVERB.

With hat in hand, you get ahead in the world. GERMAN PROVERB.

Politeness has been compared to an air cushion, which, although there is apparently nothing in it, eases our jolts wonderfully.—GEORGE L. CAREY.

Politeness has been compared to an air cushion. Though there seems to be nothing in it, it softens our jolts wonderfully. GEORGE L. CAREY.

Birth's gude, but breedin's better.—SCOTCH PROVERB.

Birth is good, but upbringing is better. SCOTTISH PROVERB.

Conduct is three fourths of life.—MATTHEW ARNOLD.

How we act makes up three quarters of life. Matthew Arnold.

"Why the doose de 'e 'old 'is 'ead down like that?" asked a cockney sergeant-major angrily, when a worthy fellow soldier wished to be reinstated in a position from which he had been dismissed. "Has 'e 's been han hofficer 'e bought to know 'ow to be'ave 'isself better. What use 'ud 'e be has a non-commissioned hofficer hif 'e didn't dare look 'is men in the face? Hif a man wants to be a soldier, hi say, let 'im cock 'is chin hup, switch 'is stick abart a bit, an give a crack hover the 'ead to hanybody who comes foolin' round 'im, helse 'e might just has well be a Methodist parson."

"Why the deuce does he hold his head down like that?" a cockney sergeant-major asked angrily. A worthy fellow soldier wanted to be reinstated in a position from which he had been dismissed. "As he's been an officer, he ought to know how to behave himself better. What use would he be as a non-commissioned officer if he didn't dare look his men in the face? If a man wants to be a soldier, I say, let him cock his chin up, switch his stick about a bit, and give a crack over the head to anybody who comes fooling around him. Else he might just as well be a Methodist parson."

The English is somewhat rude, but it expresses pretty forcibly the fact that a good bearing is indispensable to success as a soldier. Mien and manner have much to do with our influence and reputation in any walk of life.

The language is somewhat crude, but it makes the point forcefully: good bearing is essential to success as a soldier. Our appearance and manner greatly affect our influence and reputation in any walk of life.

"Don't you wish you had my power?" asked the East Wind of the Zephyr. "Why, when I start they hail me by storm signals all along the coast. I can twist off a ship's mast as easily as you can waft thistledown. With one sweep of my wing I strew the coast from Labrador to Cape Horn with shattered ship timber. I can lift and have often lifted the Atlantic. I am the terror of all invalids, and to keep me from piercing to the very marrow of their bones, men cut down forests for their fires and explore the mines of continents for coal to feed their furnaces. Under my breath the nations crouch in sepulchers. Don't you wish you had my power?"

"Don't you wish you had my power?" the East Wind asked the Zephyr. "Why, when I begin to blow, they raise storm signals all along the coast. I can snap off a ship's mast as easily as you can carry thistledown. With one sweep of my wing, I scatter broken ship timbers along the coast from Labrador to Cape Horn. I can lift the Atlantic, and I have often done it. I terrify all sick people. To keep me from piercing them to the marrow, people cut down forests for firewood. They also search the mines of continents for coal to feed their furnaces. Under my breath, nations crouch in tombs. Don't you wish you had my power?"

Zephyr made no reply, but floated from out the bowers of the sky, and all the rivers and lakes and seas, all the forests and fields, all the beasts and birds and men smiled at its coming. Gardens bloomed, orchards ripened, silver wheat-fields turned to gold, fleecy clouds went sailing in the lofty heaven, the pinions of birds and the sails of vessels were gently wafted onward, and health and happiness were everywhere. The foliage and flowers and fruits and harvests, the warmth and sparkle and gladness and beauty and life were the only answer Zephyr gave to the insolent question of the proud but pitiless East Wind.

Zephyr made no reply, but floated out from the sheltered places in the sky. All the rivers, lakes, and seas, all the forests and fields, and all the beasts, birds, and people smiled at its coming. Gardens bloomed, orchards ripened, and silver wheat fields turned to gold. Soft clouds sailed high in the sky. Birds’ wings and ships’ sails were gently carried onward, and health and happiness were everywhere. The leaves, flowers, fruits, and harvests were Zephyr’s only answer to the insolent question of the proud but pitiless East Wind. So were the warmth, sparkle, joy, beauty, and life.

The story goes that Queen Victoria once expressed herself to her husband in rather a despotic tone, and Prince Albert, whose manly self-respect was smarting at her words, sought the seclusion of his own apartment, closing and locking the door. In about five minutes some one knocked.

The story goes that Queen Victoria once spoke to her husband in a rather bossy tone. Her words wounded Prince Albert’s manly self-respect, so he went to his private room and locked the door. About five minutes later, someone knocked.

"Who is it?" inquired the Prince.

"Who is it?" asked the Prince.

"It is I. Open to the Queen of England!" haughtily responded her Majesty. There was no reply. After a long interval there came a gentle tapping and the low spoken words: "It is I, Victoria, your wife." Is it necessary to add that the door was opened, or that the disagreement was at an end? It is said that civility is to a man what beauty is to a woman: it creates an instantaneous impression in his behalf.

"It is I. Open the door for the Queen of England!" Her Majesty answered haughtily. There was no reply. After a long pause, there was a gentle tap. Then came the quiet words: "It is I, Victoria, your wife." Need I add that the door was opened and the disagreement ended? It is said that courtesy is to a man what beauty is to a woman: it immediately creates a favorable impression of him.

The monk Basle, according to a quaint old legend, died while under the ban of excommunication by the pope, and was sent in charge of an angel to find his proper place in the nether world. But his genial disposition and great conversational powers won friends wherever he went. The fallen angels adopted his manner, and even the good angels went a long way to see him and live with him. He was removed to the lowest depths of Hades, but with the same result. His inborn politeness and kindness of heart were irresistible, and he seemed to change the hell into a heaven. At length the angel returned with the monk, saying that no place could be found in which to punish him. He still remained the same Basle. So his sentence was revoked, and he was sent to Heaven and canonized as a saint.

According to a charming old legend, the monk Basle died while excommunicated by the pope. An angel was sent to guide him to his proper place in the underworld. But his cheerful nature and great skill at conversation won him friends wherever he went. The fallen angels adopted his manner, and even the good angels traveled far to see him and live with him. He was moved to the lowest depths of Hades, but the result was the same. His natural politeness and kindness were irresistible, and he seemed to turn hell into heaven. At last, the angel returned with the monk, saying that no place could be found to punish him. He was still the same Basle. So his sentence was revoked, and he was sent to Heaven and made a saint.

The Duke of Marlborough "wrote English badly and spelled it worse," yet he swayed the destinies of empires. The charm of his manner was irresistible and influenced all Europe. His fascinating smile and winning speech disarmed the fiercest hatred and made friends of the bitterest enemies.

The Duke of Marlborough "wrote English badly and spelled it worse," yet he shaped the fates of empires. His charm was irresistible and influenced all Europe. His captivating smile and friendly speech overcame the fiercest hatred and turned his bitterest enemies into friends.

A gentleman took his daughter of sixteen to Richmond to witness the trial of his bitter personal enemy, Aaron Burr, whom he regarded as an arch-traitor. But she was so fascinated by Burr's charming manner that she sat with his friends. Her father took her from the courtroom, and locked her up, but she was so overcome by the fine manner of the accused that she believed in his innocence and prayed for his acquittal. "To this day," said she fifty years afterwards, "I feel the magic of his wonderful deportment."

A man took his sixteen-year-old daughter to Richmond to watch the trial of his bitter personal enemy, Aaron Burr. He regarded Burr as a great traitor. But she was so fascinated by Burr's charming manner that she sat with his friends. Her father took her out of the courtroom and locked her up. But she was so captivated by Burr's fine manner that she believed he was innocent and prayed for his acquittal. "To this day," she said fifty years later, "I still feel the magic of his wonderful manner."

Madame Récamier was so charming that when she passed around the box at the Church St. Roche in Paris, twenty thousand francs were put into it. At the great reception to Napoleon on his return from Italy, the crowd caught sight of this fascinating woman and almost forgot to look at the great hero.

Madame Récamier was so charming that people put twenty thousand francs into the collection box she passed around at the Church St. Roche in Paris. At the grand reception for Napoleon after his return from Italy, the crowd caught sight of her. They were so fascinated by her that they almost forgot to look at the great hero.

"Please, Madame," whispered a servant to Madame de Maintenon at dinner, "one anecdote more, for there is no roast to-day." She was so fascinating in manner and speech that her guests appeared to overlook all the little discomforts of life.

"Please, Madame," a servant whispered to Madame de Maintenon at dinner, "one more story, because there is no roast today." She was so charming in her manner and speech that her guests seemed to overlook all of life's little discomforts.

According to St. Beuve, the privileged circle at Coppet after making an excursion returned from Chambéry in two coaches. Those arriving in the first coach had a rueful experience to relate—a terrific thunder-storm, shocking roads, and danger and gloom to the whole company. The party in the second coach heard their story with surprise; of thunder-storm, of steeps, of mud, of danger, they knew nothing; no, they had forgotten earth, and breathed a purer air; such a conversation between Madame de Staël and Madame Récamier and Benjamin Constant and Schlegel! they were all in a state of delight. The intoxication of the conversation had made them insensible to all notice of weather or rough roads. "If I were Queen," said Madame Tesse, "I should command Madame de Staël to talk to me every day." "When she had passed," as Longfellow wrote of Evangeline, "it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music."

According to St. Beuve, the select circle at Coppet once returned from an excursion to Chambéry in two coaches. Those in the first coach had a grim story to tell. They had faced a terrible thunderstorm, terrible roads, and danger and gloom throughout the journey. The people in the second coach were surprised to hear the story. They knew nothing of the thunderstorm, steep roads, mud, or danger. Instead, they had forgotten the earth and breathed a purer air. What a conversation Madame de Staël, Madame Récamier, Benjamin Constant, and Schlegel had! Everyone in the coach was delighted. The thrilling conversation had made them unaware of the weather and rough roads. "If I were Queen," said Madame Tesse, "I would order Madame de Staël to talk to me every day." "When she had passed," as Longfellow wrote of Evangeline, "it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music."

Madame de Staël was anything but beautiful, but she possessed that indefinable something before which mere conventional beauty cowers, commonplace and ashamed. Her hold upon the minds of men was wonderful. They were the creatures of her will, and she shaped careers as if she were omnipotent. Even the Emperor Napoleon feared her influence over his people so much that he destroyed her writings and banished her from France.

Madame de Staël was far from beautiful, but she possessed something impossible to define. Beside it, conventional beauty seemed ordinary and shrank away in shame. Her hold on the minds of men was astonishing. They did her bidding, and she shaped careers as if she were all-powerful. Even Emperor Napoleon feared her influence over his people so much that he destroyed her writings and banished her from France.

In the words of Whittier it could be said of her as might be said of any woman:—

In Whittier's words, this could be said of her, as it could be said of any woman:

A guest for two weeks at the house of Arthur M. Cavanaugh, M. P., who was without arms or legs, was very desirous of knowing how he fed himself; but the conversation and manner of the host were so charming that the visitor was scarcely conscious of his deformity.

A guest stayed for two weeks at the home of Arthur M. Cavanaugh, M. P., who had no arms or legs. The guest was very curious about how Cavanaugh fed himself. But Cavanaugh’s conversation and manner were so charming that the guest was hardly aware of his deformity.

"When Dickens entered a room," said one who knew him well, "it was like the sudden kindling of a big fire, by which every one was warmed."

"When Dickens entered a room," said someone who knew him well, "it was like a big fire suddenly lighting up and warming everyone."

It is said that when Goethe entered a restaurant people would lay down their knives and forks to admire him.

It is said that when Goethe entered a restaurant, people would put down their knives and forks to admire him.

Philip of Macedon, after hearing the report of Demosthenes' famous oration, said: "Had I been there he would have persuaded me to take up arms against myself."

After hearing an account of Demosthenes' famous speech, Philip of Macedon said: "If I had been there, he would have persuaded me to take up arms against myself."

Henry Clay was so graceful and impressive in his manner that a Pennsylvania tavern-keeper tried to induce him to get out of the stage-coach in which they were riding, and make a speech to himself and his wife.

Henry Clay was so graceful and impressive that a Pennsylvania tavern keeper tried to persuade him to leave their stagecoach. The tavern keeper wanted Clay to give a speech to him and his wife.

"I don't think much of Choate's spread-eagle talk," said a simple-minded member of a jury that had given five successive verdicts to the great advocate; "but I call him a very lucky lawyer, for there was not one of those five cases that came before us where he wasn't on the right side." His manner as well as his logic was irresistible.

"I don't think much of Choate's grand speeches," said a simple-minded juror who had ruled in favor of the great lawyer five times in a row. "But I call him a very lucky lawyer. In all five cases we heard, he was on the right side." Choate's manner was as irresistible as his logic.

When Edward Everett took a professor's chair at Harvard after five years of study in Europe, he was almost worshiped by the students. His manner seemed touched by that exquisite grace seldom found except in women of rare culture. His great popularity lay in a magical atmosphere which every one felt, but no one could describe, and which never left him.

After five years of study in Europe, Edward Everett became a professor at Harvard. The students almost worshiped him. His manner seemed to have a rare grace, seldom found except in women of exceptional culture. His great popularity came from a magical aura that everyone felt but no one could describe. It never left him.

A New York lady had just taken her seat in a car on a train bound for Philadelphia, when a somewhat stout man sitting just ahead of her lighted a cigar. She coughed and moved uneasily; but the hints had no effect, so she said tartly: "You probably are a foreigner, and do not know that there is a smoking-car attached to the train. Smoking is not permitted here." The man made no reply, but threw his cigar from the window. What has her astonishment when the conductor told her, a moment later, that she had entered the private car of General Grant. She withdrew in confusion, but the same fine courtesy which led him to give up his cigar was shown again as he spared her the mortification of even a questioning glance, still less of a look of amusement, although she watched his dumb, immovable figure with apprehension until she reached the door.

A New York woman had just taken her seat on a train bound for Philadelphia. A somewhat stout man sitting just ahead of her lit a cigar. She coughed and shifted uneasily, but he did not take the hints. So she said sharply: "You are probably a foreigner and do not know that the train has a smoking car. Smoking is not allowed here." The man said nothing but threw his cigar out the window. A moment later, the conductor told her that she had entered General Grant’s private car. She was astonished and left in confusion. But the same courtesy that had led him to give up his cigar appeared again. He spared her the embarrassment of even a questioning glance, much less an amused one. Still, she watched his silent, motionless figure anxiously until she reached the door.

Julian Ralph, after telegraphing an account of President Arthur's fishing-trip to the Thousand Islands, returned to his hotel at two o'clock in the morning, to find all the doors locked. With two friends who had accompanied him, he battered at a side door to wake the servants, but what was his chagrin when the door was opened by the President of the United States!

Julian Ralph had telegraphed an account of President Arthur's fishing trip to the Thousand Islands. He returned to his hotel at two in the morning and found all the doors locked. He and two friends who had accompanied him pounded on a side door to wake the servants. But to his dismay, the President of the United States opened the door!

"Why, that's all right," said Mr. Arthur when Mr. Ralph asked his pardon. "You wouldn't have got in till morning if I had not come. No one is up in the house but me. I could have sent my colored boy, but he had fallen asleep and I hated to wake him."

"That's all right," said Mr. Arthur when Mr. Ralph apologized. "You wouldn't have gotten in until morning if I hadn't come. I'm the only one awake in the house. I could have sent my colored boy, but he had fallen asleep, and I hated to wake him."

The late King Edward, when Prince of Wales, the first gentleman in Europe, invited an eminent man to dine with him. When coffee was served, the guest, to the consternation of the others, drank from his saucer. An open titter of amusement went round the table. The Prince, quickly noting the cause of the untimely amusement, gravely emptied his cup into his saucer and drank after the manner of his guest. Silent and abashed, the other members of the princely household took the rebuke and did the same.

The late King Edward, when he was Prince of Wales, was known as the first gentleman in Europe. He invited a distinguished man to dinner. When coffee was served, the guest drank from his saucer, shocking the others. Laughter spread openly around the table. The Prince quickly noticed what had caused the inappropriate laughter. With a serious expression, he emptied his cup into his saucer and drank as his guest had. The other members of the royal household fell silent and, embarrassed by the rebuke, did the same.

Queen Victoria sent for Carlyle, who was a Scotch peasant, offering him the title of nobleman, which he declined, feeling that he had always been a nobleman in his own right. He understood so little of the manners at court that, when presented to the Queen, after speaking to her a few minutes, being tired, he said, "Let us sit down, madam;" whereat the courtiers were ready to faint. But she was great enough, and gave a gesture that seated all her puppets in a moment. The Queen's courteous suspension of the rules of etiquette, and what it may have cost her, can be better understood from what an acquaintance of Carlyle said of him when he saw him for the first time. "His presence, in some unaccountable manner, rasped the nerves. I expected to meet a rare being, and I left him feeling as if I had drunk sour wine, or had had an attack of seasickness."

Queen Victoria sent for Carlyle, a Scottish peasant, and offered him a title of nobility. He declined, feeling he had always been a nobleman in his own right. He knew so little about court manners that he surprised everyone when he met the Queen. After speaking with her for a few minutes, he grew tired and said, "Let us sit down, madam." The courtiers were ready to faint. But the Queen was gracious enough to gesture to all her puppets to sit down, and they did so at once. An acquaintance of Carlyle's described their first meeting in a way that helps explain the Queen's courtesy in setting etiquette aside. It also suggests what her courtesy may have cost her. "His presence somehow grated on my nerves. I expected to meet an extraordinary person. I left feeling as if I had drunk sour wine or had an attack of seasickness."

Some persons wield a scepter before which others seem to bow in glad obedience. But whence do they obtain such magic power? What is the secret of that almost hypnotic influence over people which we would give anything to possess?

Some people seem to hold a scepter that others gladly bow before. But where do they get such magical power? What is the secret of their almost hypnotic influence over people? We would give anything to have that influence.

Courtesy is not always found in high places. Even royal courts furnish many examples of bad manners. At an entertainment given years ago by Prince Edward and the Princess of Wales, to which only the very cream of the cream of society was admitted, there was such pushing and struggling to see the Princess, who was then but lately married, that, as she passed through the reception rooms, a bust of the Princess Royal was thrown from its pedestal and damaged, and the pedestal upset; and the ladies, in their eagerness to see the Princess, actually stood upon it.

Courtesy is not always found in high places. Even royal courts offer many examples of bad manners. Years ago, Prince Edward and the Princess of Wales hosted a gathering for only the very highest members of society. The Princess had only recently married, and the guests pushed and struggled to see her. As she passed through the reception rooms, a bust of the Princess Royal was knocked from its pedestal and damaged. The pedestal was also knocked over, and the ladies were so eager to see the Princess that they actually stood on it.

When Catherine of Russia gave receptions to her nobles, she published the following rules of etiquette upon cards: "Gentlemen will not get drunk before the feast is ended. Noblemen are forbidden to strike their wives in company. Ladies of the court must not wash out their mouths in the drinking-glasses, or wipe their faces on the damask, or pick their teeth with forks." But to-day the nobles of Russia have no superiors in manners.

When Catherine of Russia held receptions for her nobles, she printed these rules of etiquette on cards: "Gentlemen must not get drunk before the feast ends. Noblemen must not strike their wives in public. Ladies of the court must not rinse their mouths in the drinking glasses, wipe their faces on the damask, or pick their teeth with forks." But today, no one has better manners than the nobles of Russia.

Etiquette originally meant the ticket or tag tied to a bag to indicate its contents. If a bag had this ticket it was not examined. From this the word passed to cards upon which were printed certain rules to be observed by guests. These rules were "the ticket" or the etiquette. To be "the ticket," or, as it was sometimes expressed, to act or talk by the card, became the thing with the better classes.

Etiquette originally meant the ticket or tag tied to a bag to show what was inside. If a bag had such a ticket, it was not examined. The word then came to mean cards printed with rules for guests to follow. These rules were "the ticket" or etiquette. Among the upper classes, it became fashionable to be "the ticket," or, as people sometimes said, to act or talk according to the card.

It was fortunate for Napoleon that he married Josephine before he was made commander-in-chief of the armies of Italy. Her fascinating manners and her wonderful powers of persuasion were more influential than the loyalty of any dozen men in France in attaching to him the adherents who would promote his interests. Josephine was to the drawing-room and the salon what Napoleon was to the field—a preeminent leader. The secret of her personality that made her the Empress not only of the hearts of the Frenchmen, but also of the nations her husband conquered, has been beautifully told by herself. "There is only one occasion," she said to a friend, "in which I would voluntarily use the words, 'I will!'—namely, when I would say, 'I will that all around me be happy.'"

It was fortunate for Napoleon that he married Josephine before he became commander-in-chief of the armies of Italy. Her charming manners and remarkable powers of persuasion won him supporters who would advance his interests. She did more for him than the loyalty of a dozen men in France could have done. Josephine was as outstanding a leader in drawing rooms and salons as Napoleon was on the battlefield. She herself beautifully explained the secret of her personality. It made her Empress not only of Frenchmen's hearts, but also of the hearts of the nations her husband conquered. "There is only one occasion," she said to a friend, "when I would willingly use the words, 'I will!' That is when I say, 'I will that everyone around me be happy.'"

A fine manner more than compensates for all the defects of nature. The most fascinating person is always the one of most winning manners, not the one of greatest physical beauty. The Greeks thought beauty was a proof of the peculiar favor of the gods, and considered that beauty only worth adorning and transmitting which was unmarred by outward manifestations of hard and haughty feeling. According to their ideal, beauty must be the expression of attractive qualities within—such as cheerfulness, benignity, contentment, charity, and love.

Good manners more than make up for all natural flaws. The most fascinating person is always the one with the most charming manners, not the most physically beautiful. The Greeks thought beauty was a sign of the gods’ special favor. They believed beauty was worth adorning and passing on only if it showed no signs of harshness or arrogance. In their ideal, beauty had to express attractive inner qualities, such as cheerfulness, kindness, contentment, generosity, and love.

Mirabeau was one of the ugliest men in France. It was said he had "the face of a tiger pitted by smallpox," but the charm of his manner was almost irresistible.

Mirabeau was one of the ugliest men in France. People said he had "the face of a tiger pitted by smallpox," but his manner was almost irresistibly charming.

Beauty of life and character, as in art, has no sharp angles. Its lines seem continuous, so gently does curve melt into curve. It is sharp angles that keep many souls from being beautiful that are almost so. Our good is less good when it is abrupt, rude, ill timed, or ill placed. Many a man and woman might double their influence and success by a kindly courtesy and a fine manner.

Beauty in life and character, as in art, has no sharp angles. Its lines seem continuous, as one curve flows gently into another. Sharp angles keep many souls from being beautiful, though they come close. Our good deeds are less good when they are abrupt, rude, poorly timed, or out of place. Many men and women could double their influence and success through kindness, courtesy, and good manners.

Tradition tells us that before Apelles painted his wonderful Goddess of Beauty which enchanted all Greece, he traveled for years observing fair women, that he might embody in his matchless Venus a combination of the loveliest found in all. So the good-mannered study, observe, and adopt all that is finest and most worthy of imitation in every cultured person they meet.

Tradition tells us that Apelles spent years studying beautiful women before painting his wonderful Goddess of Beauty, which enchanted all Greece. He wanted his unmatched Venus to combine the loveliest qualities he found in all of them. In the same way, well-mannered people study every cultured person they meet. They observe and adopt all that is finest and most worthy of imitation.

Throw a bone to a dog, said a shrewd observer, and he will run off with it in his mouth, but with no vibration in his tail. Call the dog to you, pat him on the head, let him take the bone from your hand, and his tail will wag with gratitude. The dog recognizes the good deed and the gracious manner of doing it. Those who throw their good deeds should not expect them to be caught with a thankful smile.

A shrewd observer once said that if you throw a dog a bone, he will run off with it in his mouth. But his tail will not wag. Call the dog to you, pat him on the head, and let him take the bone from your hand. Then his tail will wag with gratitude. The dog recognizes both the good deed and the kindness shown in doing it. Those who toss out their good deeds should not expect others to receive them with a thankful smile.

"Ask a person at Rome to show you the road," said Dr. Guthrie of Edinburgh, "and he will always give you a civil and polite answer; but ask any person a question for that purpose in this country (Scotland), and he will say, 'Follow your nose and you will find it.' But the blame is with the upper classes; and the reason why, in this country, the lower classes are not polite is because the upper classes are not polite. I remember how astonished I was the first time I was in Paris. I spent the first night with a banker, who took me to a pension, or, as we call it, a boarding-house. When we got there, a servant girl came to the door, and the banker took off his hat, and bowed to the servant girl, and called her mademoiselle, as though she were a lady. Now, the reason why the lower classes there are so polite is because the upper classes are polite and civil to them."

"Ask someone in Rome to show you the way," said Dr. Guthrie of Edinburgh, "and they will always answer politely. But ask anyone in this country (Scotland) for directions, and they will say, 'Follow your nose and you will find it.' But the upper classes are to blame. The lower classes in this country are not polite because the upper classes are not polite. I remember how astonished I was on my first visit to Paris. I spent the first night with a banker, who took me to a pension, or what we call a boarding house. When we arrived, a servant girl came to the door. The banker took off his hat, bowed to her, and called her mademoiselle, as if she were a lady. The lower classes there are so polite because the upper classes are polite and courteous to them."

A fine courtesy is a fortune in itself. The good-mannered can do without riches, for they have passports everywhere. All doors fly open to them, and they enter without money and without price. They can enjoy nearly everything without the trouble of buying or owning. They are as welcome in every household as the sunshine; and why not? for they carry light, sunshine, and joy everywhere. They disarm jealousy and envy, for they bear good will to everybody. Bees will not sting a man smeared with honey.

Courtesy is a fortune in itself. Well-mannered people can do without riches because they are welcome everywhere. Every door opens to them, and they can enter without paying a thing. They can enjoy nearly everything without the trouble of buying or owning it. They are as welcome in every home as sunshine. And why not? They bring light, sunshine, and joy everywhere they go. They disarm jealousy and envy because they wish everyone well. Bees will not sting a person covered in honey.

"A man's own good breeding," says Chesterfield, "is the best security against other people's ill manners. It carries along with it a dignity that is respected by the most petulant. Ill breeding invites and authorizes the familiarity of the most timid. No man ever said a pert thing to the Duke of Marlborough, or a civil one to Sir Robert Walpole."

"A man's own good manners," says Chesterfield, "are the best protection against other people's bad manners. They give him a dignity that even the most ill-tempered people respect. Bad manners invite even the shyest people to be overly familiar. No one ever made a cheeky remark to the Duke of Marlborough or a polite one to Sir Robert Walpole."

The true gentleman cannot harbor those qualities which excite the antagonism of others, as revenge, hatred, malice, envy, or jealousy, for these poison the sources of spiritual life and shrivel the soul. Generosity of heart and a genial good will towards all are absolutely essential to him who would possess fine manners. Here is a man who is cross, crabbed, moody, sullen, silent, sulky, stingy, and mean with his family and servants. He refuses his wife a little money to buy a needed dress, and accuses her of extravagance that would ruin a millionaire. Suddenly the bell rings. Some neighbors call: what a change! The bear of a moment ago is as docile as a lamb. As by magic he becomes talkative, polite, generous. After the callers have gone, his little girl begs her father to keep on his "company manners" for a little while, but the sullen mood returns and his courtesy vanishes as quickly as it came. He is the same disagreeable, contemptible, crabbed bear as before the arrival of his guests.

A true gentleman cannot hold feelings that stir up hostility in others, such as revenge, hatred, malice, envy, or jealousy. These feelings poison the sources of spiritual life and shrivel the soul. Anyone who wants to have fine manners must have a generous heart and warm goodwill toward everyone. Consider a man who is irritable, bad-tempered, moody, sullen, silent, sulky, stingy, and mean to his family and servants. He refuses to give his wife a little money for a dress she needs. He accuses her of spending so extravagantly that she would ruin a millionaire. Suddenly the bell rings. Some neighbors have come to visit. What a change! The bear of a moment ago is as gentle as a lamb. As if by magic, he becomes talkative, polite, and generous. After the visitors leave, his little girl begs him to keep his "company manners" for a little while. But his sullen mood returns, and his courtesy vanishes as quickly as it came. He is the same disagreeable, contemptible, bad-tempered bear he was before his guests arrived.

What friend of the great Dr. Johnson did not feel mortified and pained to see him eat like an Esquimau, and to hear him call men "liars" because they did not agree with him? He was called the "Ursa Major," or Great Bear.

What friend of the great Dr. Johnson did not feel embarrassed and hurt to see him eat like an Esquimau? What friend was not pained to hear him call men "liars" because they disagreed with him? He was called the "Ursa Major," or Great Bear.

Benjamin Rush said that when Goldsmith at a banquet in London asked a question about "the American Indians," Dr. Johnson exclaimed: "There is not an Indian in North America foolish enough to ask such a question." "Sir," replied Goldsmith, "there is not a savage in America rude enough to make such a speech to a gentleman."

Benjamin Rush said that Goldsmith once asked a question about "the American Indians" at a banquet in London. Dr. Johnson exclaimed: "There is not an Indian in North America foolish enough to ask such a question." Goldsmith replied: "Sir, there is not a savage in America rude enough to say such a thing to a gentleman."

After Stephen A. Douglas had been abused in the Senate he rose and said: "What no gentleman should say no gentleman need answer."

After Stephen A. Douglas was insulted in the Senate, he stood up and said: "No gentleman needs to answer what no gentleman should say."

Aristotle thus described a real gentleman more than two thousand years ago: "The magnanimous man will behave with moderation under both good fortune and bad. He will not allow himself to be exalted; he will not allow himself to be abased. He will neither be delighted with success, nor grieved with failure. He will never choose danger, nor seek it. He is not given to talk about himself or others. He does not care that he himself should be praised, nor that other people should be blamed."

More than two thousand years ago, Aristotle described a true gentleman this way: "The generous-spirited man will remain balanced in both good times and bad. He will not let success make him proud or failure bring him low. He will not be delighted by success or grieved by failure. He will never choose danger or seek it out. He does not often talk about himself or others. He does not care to be praised or to see others blamed."

A gentleman is just a gentle man: no more, no less; a diamond polished that was first a diamond in the rough. A gentleman is gentle, modest, courteous, slow to take offense, and never giving it. He is slow to surmise evil, as he never thinks it. He subjects his appetites, refines his tastes, subdues his feelings, controls his speech, and deems every other person as good as himself. A gentleman, like porcelain-ware, must be painted before he is glazed. There can be no change after it is burned in, and all that is put on afterwards will wash off. He who has lost all but retains his courage, cheerfulness, hope, virtue, and self-respect, is a true gentleman, and is rich still.

A gentleman is simply a gentle man, no more and no less. He is a polished diamond that was once a diamond in the rough. A gentleman is gentle, modest, and courteous. He is slow to take offense and never gives offense. He is slow to suspect evil because he never thinks evil thoughts. He controls his appetites, refines his tastes, restrains his feelings, and watches his speech. He considers everyone else as good as himself. A gentleman, like a piece of porcelain, must be painted before he is glazed. Once the finish has been fired, it cannot be changed. Anything added afterward will wash off. A man who has lost everything but keeps his courage, cheerfulness, hope, virtue, and self-respect is a true gentleman. He is still rich.

"You replace Dr. Franklin, I hear," said the French Minister, Count de Vergennes, to Mr. Jefferson, who had been sent to Paris to relieve our most popular representative. "I succeed him; no man can replace him," was the felicitous reply of the man who became highly esteemed by the most polite court in Europe.

"I hear you are replacing Dr. Franklin," the French Minister, Count de Vergennes, said to Mr. Jefferson. Jefferson had been sent to Paris to take over from America's most popular representative. "I succeed him. No man can replace him," Jefferson replied gracefully. Jefferson himself became highly respected at the most polite court in Europe.

"You should not have returned their salute," said the master of ceremonies, when Clement XIV bowed to the ambassadors who had bowed in congratulating him upon his election. "Oh, I beg your pardon," replied Clement. "I have not been pope long enough to forget good manners."

"You should not have bowed back," said the master of ceremonies. Clement XIV had bowed to the ambassadors after they bowed to congratulate him on his election. "Oh, I beg your pardon," replied Clement. "I haven't been pope long enough to forget good manners."

Cowper says:—

Cowper says:

"I never listen to calumnies," said Montesquieu, "because if they are untrue I run the risk of being deceived, and if they are true, of hating people not worth thinking about."

"I never listen to malicious rumors," said Montesquieu. "If they are false, I risk being deceived. If they are true, I risk hating people who are not worth thinking about."

"I think," says Emerson, "Hans Andersen's story of the cobweb cloth woven so fine that it was invisible—woven for the king's garment—must mean manners, which do really clothe a princely nature."

"I think," says Emerson, "Hans Andersen's story of the invisible cloth must be about manners. The cloth was woven as finely as a cobweb for the king's garment. Manners truly clothe a princely nature."

No one can fully estimate how great a factor in life is the possession of good manners, or timely thoughtfulness with human sympathy behind it. They are the kindly fruit of a refined nature, and are the open sesame to the best of society. Manners are what vex or soothe, exalt or debase, barbarize or refine us by a constant, steady, uniform, invincible operation like that of the air we breathe. Even power itself has not half the might of gentleness, that subtle oil which lubricates our relations with each other, and enables the machinery of society to perform its functions without friction.

No one can fully measure the importance of good manners or timely thoughtfulness backed by human sympathy. They are the kind fruits of a refined nature and open the door to the best society. Manners can annoy or soothe, uplift or degrade, brutalize or refine us. They act constantly, steadily, uniformly, and irresistibly, like the air we breathe. Even power is not half as strong as gentleness. Gentleness is the subtle oil that smooths our relations and lets the machinery of society work without friction.

"Have you not seen in the woods, in a late autumn morning," asks Emerson, "a poor fungus, or mushroom,—a plant without any solidity, nay, that seemed nothing but a soft mush or jelly,—by its constant, total, and inconceivably gentle pushing, manage to break its way up through the frosty ground, and actually to lift a hard crust on its head? It is the symbol of the power of kindness."

"Have you ever seen a humble fungus or mushroom in the woods on a late autumn morning?" asks Emerson. "It has no firmness and seems to be nothing but soft mush or jelly. Yet through constant, complete, and unimaginably gentle pushing, it manages to break through the frozen ground. It even lifts a hard crust of earth on its head. It is a symbol of the power of kindness."

"There is no policy like politeness," says Magoon; "since a good manner often succeeds where the best tongue has failed." The art of pleasing is the art of rising in the world.

"Nothing works better than politeness," says Magoon, "because good manners often succeed where the best words have failed." Knowing how to please people is the key to getting ahead in the world.

The politest people in the world, it is said, are the Jews. In all ages they have been maltreated and reviled, and despoiled of their civil privileges and their social rights; yet are they everywhere polite and affable. They indulge in few or no recriminations; are faithful to old associations; more considerate of the prejudices of others than others are of theirs; not more worldly-minded and money-loving than people generally are; and, everything considered, they surpass all nations in courtesy, affability, and forbearance.

It is said that the Jews are the politest people in the world. Throughout history, they have been mistreated, insulted, and deprived of their civil privileges and social rights. Yet everywhere they are polite and friendly. They rarely or never respond with accusations of their own. They remain loyal to old friends and associates. They are more considerate of others’ prejudices than others are of theirs. They are no more concerned with worldly matters and money than people generally are. All things considered, they surpass all nations in courtesy, friendliness, and patience.

"Men, like bullets," says Richter, "go farthest when they are smoothest."

"Men, like bullets," says Richter, "go farthest when they are smoothest."

Napoleon was much displeased on hearing that Josephine had permitted General Lorges, a young and handsome man, to sit beside her on the sofa. Josephine explained that, instead of its being General Lorges, it was one of the aged generals of his army, entirely unused to the customs of courts. She was unwilling to wound the feelings of the honest old soldier, and so allowed him to retain his seat. Napoleon commended her highly for her courtesy.

Napoleon was very displeased to hear that Josephine had let General Lorges, a young and handsome man, sit beside her on the sofa. Josephine explained that it was not General Lorges, but one of Napoleon’s elderly generals. The old general was completely unfamiliar with court customs. She did not want to hurt the honest old soldier’s feelings, so she let him keep his seat. Napoleon praised her highly for her courtesy.

President Jefferson was one day riding with his grandson, when they met a slave, who took off his hat and bowed. The President returned the salutation by raising his hat, but the grandson ignored the civility of the negro. "Thomas," said the grandfather, "do you permit a slave to be more of a gentleman than yourself?"

One day, President Jefferson was riding with his grandson when they met a slave. The slave took off his hat and bowed. The President raised his hat in return, but his grandson ignored the negro's courtesy. "Thomas," his grandfather said, "do you allow a slave to be more of a gentleman than you are?"

"Lincoln was the first great man I talked with freely in the United States," said Fred Douglass, "who in no single instance reminded me of the difference between himself and me, of the difference in color."

"Lincoln was the first great man in the United States with whom I spoke freely," said Fred Douglass. "He never once reminded me of the difference between us, the difference in color."

"Eat at your own table," says Confucius, "as you would eat at the table of the king." If parents were not careless about the manners of their children at home, they would seldom be shocked or embarrassed at their behavior abroad.

"Eat at your own table," says Confucius, "as you would eat at the king's table." If parents paid attention to their children's manners at home, they would seldom be shocked or embarrassed by their behavior elsewhere.

James Russell Lowell was as courteous to a beggar as to a lord, and was once observed holding a long conversation in Italian with an organ-grinder whom he was questioning about scenes in Italy with which they were each familiar.

James Russell Lowell was as polite to a beggar as he was to a lord. Once, someone saw him having a long conversation in Italian with an organ-grinder. Lowell asked him about places in Italy that they both knew.

In hastily turning the corner of a crooked street in London, a young lady ran with great force against a ragged beggar-boy and almost knocked him down. Stopping as soon as she could, she turned around and said very kindly: "I beg your pardon, my little fellow; I am very sorry that I ran against you." The astonished boy looked at her a moment, and then, taking off about three quarters of a cap, made a low bow and said, while a broad, pleasant smile overspread his face: "You have my parding, miss, and welcome,—and welcome; and the next time you run ag'in' me, you can knock me clean down and I won't say a word." After the lady had passed on, he said to a companion: "I say, Jim, it's the first time I ever had anybody ask my parding, and it kind o' took me off my feet."

As she hurried around the corner of a crooked London street, a young woman ran into a ragged beggar boy. She hit him hard and almost knocked him down. As soon as she could stop, she turned around and said kindly: "I beg your pardon, my little fellow. I'm very sorry I ran into you." The astonished boy looked at her for a moment. Then he took off what was left of his cap, about three quarters of it, and bowed low. A broad, pleasant smile spread across his face as he said: "You have my pardon, miss, and welcome, and welcome. And the next time you run against me, you can knock me clean down and I won't say a word." After the lady had passed on, he said to a companion: "I say, Jim, it's the first time I ever had anybody ask my pardon, and it kind of took me off my feet."

"Respect the burden, madame, respect the burden," said Napoleon, as he courteously stepped aside at St. Helena to make way for a laborer bending under a heavy load, while his companion seemed inclined to keep the narrow path.

"Respect the burden, madam, respect the burden," said Napoleon at St. Helena. He politely stepped aside to let a laborer pass who was bent under a heavy load. His companion, however, seemed inclined to stay on the narrow path.

A Washington politician went to visit Daniel Webster at Marshfield, Mass., and, in taking a short cut to the house, came to a stream which he could not cross. Calling to a rough-looking farmer near by, he offered a quarter to be carried to the other side. The farmer took the politician on his broad shoulders and landed him safely, but would not take the quarter. The old rustic presented himself at the house a few minutes later, and to the great surprise and chagrin of the visitor was introduced as Mr. Webster.

A Washington politician went to visit Daniel Webster in Marshfield, Mass. While taking a shortcut to the house, he came to a stream he could not cross. He called to a rough-looking farmer nearby and offered him a quarter to carry him across. The farmer took the politician on his broad shoulders and carried him safely to the other side. But he would not accept the quarter. A few minutes later, the old farmer appeared at the house. To the visitor’s great surprise and embarrassment, he was introduced as Mr. Webster.

Garrison was as polite to the furious mob that tore his clothes from his back and dragged him through the streets as he could have been to a king. He was one of the serenest souls that ever lived. Christ was courteous, even to His persecutors, and in terrible agony on the cross, He cried: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." St. Paul's speech before Agrippa is a model of dignified courtesy, as well as of persuasive eloquence.

Garrison was as polite to the furious mob as he would have been to a king. The mob tore the clothes from his back and dragged him through the streets. He was one of the calmest people who ever lived. Christ was courteous, even to his persecutors. In terrible agony on the cross, he cried: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." St. Paul's speech before Agrippa is a model of dignified courtesy and persuasive eloquence.

Good manners often prove a fortune to a young man. Mr. Butler, a merchant in Providence, R. I., had once closed his store and was on his way home when he met a little girl who wanted a spool of thread. He went back, opened the store, and got the thread. This little incident was talked of all about the city and brought him hundreds of customers. He became very wealthy, largely because of his courtesy.

Good manners often bring a young man good fortune. Mr. Butler, a merchant in Providence, R. I., had closed his store and was on his way home. He met a little girl who wanted a spool of thread. He went back, opened the store, and got it for her. People all over the city talked about this small act, and it brought him hundreds of customers. He became very wealthy, largely because of his courtesy.

Ross Winans of Baltimore owed his great success and fortune largely to his courtesy to two foreign strangers. Although his was but a fourth-rate factory, his great politeness in explaining the minutest details to his visitors was in such marked contrast with the limited attention they had received in large establishments that it won their esteem. The strangers were Russians sent by their Czar, who later invited Mr. Winans to establish locomotive works in Russia. He did so, and soon his profits resulting from his politeness were more than $100,000 a year.

Ross Winans of Baltimore owed much of his success and fortune to his courtesy toward two foreign strangers. Although his factory was only fourth-rate, he politely explained the smallest details to his visitors. His courtesy was strikingly different from the limited attention they had received at larger factories, and it won their respect. The strangers were Russians sent by their Czar, who later invited Mr. Winans to establish locomotive works in Russia. He did so, and soon his courtesy was earning him more than $100,000 a year in profits.

A poor curate saw a crowd of rough boys and men laughing and making fun of two aged spinsters dressed in antiquated costume. The ladies were embarrassed and did not dare enter the church. The curate pushed through the crowd, conducted them up the central aisle, and amid the titter of the congregation, gave them choice seats. These old ladies although strangers to him, at their death left the gentle curate a large fortune. Courtesy pays.

A poor curate saw a crowd of rowdy boys and men laughing at two elderly unmarried women in old-fashioned clothes. The women were embarrassed and afraid to enter the church. The curate pushed through the crowd and led them down the center aisle. As the congregation giggled, he gave them good seats. Although the women were strangers to him, they left the kind curate a large fortune when they died. Courtesy pays.

Not long ago a lady met the late President Humphrey of Amherst College, and she was so much pleased with his great politeness that she gave a generous donation to the college.

Not long ago, a woman met the late President Humphrey of Amherst College. She was so impressed by his politeness that she gave the college a generous donation.

"Why did our friend never succeed in business?" asked a man returning to New York after years of absence; "he had sufficient capital, a thorough knowledge of his business, and exceptional shrewdness and sagacity." "He was sour and morose," was the reply; "he always suspected his employees of cheating him, and was discourteous to his customers. Hence, no man ever put good will or energy into work done for him, and his patrons went to shops where they were sure of civility."

"Why did our friend never succeed in business?" asked a man returning to New York after years away. "He had enough capital, a thorough knowledge of his business, and exceptional shrewdness and good judgment." "He was bitter and gloomy," came the reply. "He always suspected his employees of cheating him and was rude to his customers. As a result, no one worked for him with goodwill or energy, and his customers went to shops where they could count on being treated politely."

Some men almost work their hands off and deny themselves many of the common comforts of life in their earnest efforts to succeed, and yet render success impossible by their cross-grained ungentlemanliness. They repel patronage, and, naturally, business which might easily be theirs goes to others who are really less deserving but more companionable.

Some men work themselves nearly to the bone and give up many everyday comforts in their determination to succeed. Yet their bad temper and rude behavior make success impossible. They drive customers away, so business that could easily have been theirs naturally goes to others. Those others are really less deserving but more pleasant to be around.

Bad manners often neutralize even honesty, industry, and the greatest energy; while agreeable manners win in spite of other defects. Take two men possessing equal advantages in every other respect; if one be gentlemanly, kind, obliging, and conciliating, and the other disobliging, rude, harsh, and insolent, the former will become rich while the boorish one will starve.

Bad manners often cancel out honesty, hard work, and even the greatest energy. Pleasant manners, however, win people over despite other faults. Take two men who are equal in every other way. Suppose one is courteous, kind, helpful, and willing to make peace. The other is unhelpful, rude, harsh, and insulting. The courteous man will become rich, while the rude one will starve.

A fine illustration of the business value of good manners is found in the Bon Marché, an enormous establishment in Paris where thousands of clerks are employed, and where almost everything is kept for sale. The two distinguishing characteristics of the house are one low price to all, and extreme courtesy. Mere politeness is not enough; the employees must try in every possible way to please and to make customers feel at home. Something more must be done than is done in other stores, so that every visitor will remember the Bon Marché with pleasure. By this course the business has been developed until it is said to be the largest of the kind in the world.

The Bon Marché offers a fine example of the business value of good manners. This enormous Paris store employs thousands of clerks and sells almost everything. It is known for two things: one low price for everyone and exceptional courtesy. Simple politeness is not enough. Employees must do everything they can to please customers and make them feel at home. They must do more than employees at other stores, so that every visitor remembers the Bon Marché with pleasure. By following this approach, the business has grown until it is said to be the largest of its kind in the world.

"Thank you, my dear; please call again," spoken to a little beggar-girl who bought a pennyworth of snuff proved a profitable advertisement and made Lundy Foote a millionaire.

"Thank you, my dear; please call again." Lundy Foote said this to a little beggar girl who bought a penny's worth of snuff. His words proved to be a profitable advertisement and made him a millionaire.

Many persons of real refinement are thought to be stiff, proud, reserved, and haughty who are not, but are merely diffident and shy.

Many genuinely refined people are thought to be stiff, proud, reserved, and arrogant. But they are merely lacking in confidence and shy.

It is a curious fact that diffidence often betrays us into discourtesies which our hearts abhor, and which cause us intense mortification and embarrassment. Excessive shyness must be overcome as an obstacle to perfect manners. It is peculiar to the Anglo-Saxon and the Teutonic races, and has frequently been a barrier to the highest culture. It is a disease of the finest organizations and the highest types of humanity. It never attacks the coarse and vulgar.

It is curious that shyness often leads us to be rude in ways we hate. Such rudeness causes us intense shame and embarrassment. Excessive shyness must be overcome because it stands in the way of perfect manners. It is peculiar to the Anglo-Saxon and the Teutonic races and has often been a barrier to the highest culture. It is a disease of the most sensitive natures and the highest types of humanity. It never affects the coarse and vulgar.

Sir Isaac Newton was the shyest man of his age. He did not acknowledge his great discovery for years just for fear of attracting attention to himself. He would not allow his name to be used in connection with his theory of the moon's motion, for fear it would increase the acquaintances he would have to meet. George Washington was awkward and shy and had the air of a countryman. Archbishop Whately was so shy that he would escape notice whenever it was possible. At last he determined to give up trying to cure his shyness; "for why," he asked, "should I endure this torture all my life?" when, to his surprise, it almost entirely disappeared. Elihu Burritt was so shy that he would hide in the cellar when his parents had company.

Sir Isaac Newton was the shyest man of his age. For years, he did not acknowledge his great discovery because he feared attracting attention to himself. He would not allow his name to be connected with his theory of the moon's motion. He feared that it would increase the number of acquaintances he would have to meet. George Washington was awkward and shy and had the air of a countryman. Archbishop Whately was so shy that he avoided notice whenever possible. At last he decided to give up trying to cure his shyness. "Why," he asked, "should I endure this torture all my life?" To his surprise, his shyness then almost entirely disappeared. Elihu Burritt was so shy that he would hide in the cellar when his parents had company.

Practice on the stage or lecture platform does not always eradicate shyness. David Garrick, the great actor, was once summoned to testify in court; and, though he had acted for thirty years with marked self-possession, he was so confused and embarrassed that the judge dismissed him. John B. Gough said that he could not rid himself of his early diffidence and shrinking from public notice. He said that he never went on the platform without fear and trembling, and would often be covered with cold perspiration.

Performing on stage or speaking before an audience does not always overcome shyness. David Garrick, the great actor, was once called to testify in court. Although he had acted with great confidence for thirty years, he was so confused and embarrassed that the judge dismissed him. John B. Gough said he could not overcome his early shyness and reluctance to be noticed in public. He said he never stepped onto the platform without fear and trembling. He would often break out in a cold sweat.

There are many worthy people who are brave on the street, who would walk up to a cannon's mouth in battle, but who are cowards in the drawing-room, and dare not express an opinion in the social circle. They feel conscious of a subtle tyranny in society's code, which locks their lips and ties their tongues. Addison was one of the purest writers of English and a perfect master of the pen, but he could scarcely utter a dozen words in conversation without being embarrassed. Shakespeare was very shy. He retired from London at forty, and did not try to publish or preserve one of his plays. He took second or third-rate parts on account of his diffidence.

Many worthy people are brave in public. They would walk up to a cannon’s mouth in battle. But they are cowards in the living room and dare not express an opinion among friends. They feel the subtle tyranny of society’s rules, which keeps them silent. Addison was one of the purest English writers and a perfect master of the pen. Yet he could scarcely say a dozen words in conversation without becoming embarrassed. Shakespeare was very shy. He retired from London at forty and did not try to publish or preserve a single one of his plays. He took second or third-rate parts because he lacked confidence.

Generally shyness comes from a person thinking too much about himself—which in itself is a breach of good breeding—and wondering what other people think about him.

Shyness usually comes from thinking too much about yourself and wondering what others think of you. Thinking too much about yourself is itself a sign of poor manners.

"I was once very shy," said Sydney Smith, "but it was not long before I made two very useful discoveries; first, that all mankind were not solely employed in observing me; and next, that shamming was of no use; that the world was very clear-sighted, and soon estimated a man at his true value. This cured me."

"I was once very shy," said Sydney Smith, "but before long I made two very useful discoveries. First, not everyone was focused solely on watching me. Second, pretending was useless. The world saw people clearly and soon judged a man at his true value. These discoveries cured me of my shyness."

What a misfortune it is to go through life apparently encased in ice, yet all the while full of kindly, cordial feeling for one's fellow men! Shy people are always distrustful of their powers and look upon their lack of confidence as a weakness or lack of ability, when it may indicate quite the reverse. By teaching children early the arts of social life, such as boxing, horseback riding, dancing, elocution, and similar accomplishments, we may do much to overcome the sense of shyness.

What a misfortune to go through life seeming cold as ice, while feeling warm and friendly toward others all the while! Shy people always doubt their abilities. They see their lack of confidence as a weakness or a lack of ability, when it may mean quite the opposite. We can do much to overcome shyness by teaching children social skills early. These include boxing, horseback riding, dancing, public speaking, and similar skills.

Shy people should dress well. Good clothes give ease of manner, and unlock the tongue. The consciousness of being well dressed gives a grace and ease of manner that even religion will not bestow, while inferiority of garb often induces restraint. As peculiarities in apparel are sure to attract attention, it is well to avoid bright colors and fashionable extremes, and wear plain, well-fitting garments of as good material as the purse will afford.

Shy people should dress well. Good clothes help people feel at ease and speak freely. Knowing you are well dressed gives you a grace and ease that even religion cannot provide. Poor clothing, on the other hand, often makes people feel inhibited. Unusual clothing is sure to attract attention, so avoid bright colors and extreme fashions. Wear plain, well-fitting clothes made from the best material you can afford.

Beauty in dress is a good thing, rail at it who may. But it is a lower beauty, for which a higher beauty should not be sacrificed. They love dress too much who give it their first thought, their best time, or all their money; who for it neglect the culture of the mind or heart, or the claims of others on their service; who care more for dress than for their character; who are troubled more by an unfashionable garment than by a neglected duty.

Beauty in dress is a good thing, no matter who speaks against it. But it is a lesser beauty, and a higher beauty should not be sacrificed for it. People love dress too much when they give it their first thought, their best time, or all their money. They love it too much when they neglect their minds or hearts, or fail to serve others who have a claim on them. They care more about dress than their character. They are more troubled by an unfashionable garment than by a neglected duty.

When Ezekiel Whitman, a prominent lawyer and graduate of Harvard, was elected to the Massachusetts legislature, he came to Boston from his farm in countryman's dress, and went to a hotel in Boston. He entered the parlor and sat down, when he overheard the remark between some ladies and gentlemen: "Ah, here comes a real homespun countryman. Here's fun." They asked him all sorts of queer questions, tending to throw ridicule upon him, when he arose and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, permit me to wish you health and happiness, and may you grow better and wiser in advancing years, bearing in mind that outward appearances are deceitful. You mistook me, from my dress, for a country booby; while I, from the same superficial cause, thought you were ladies and gentlemen. The mistake has been mutual." Just then Governor Caleb Strong entered and called to Mr. Whitman, who, turning to the dumfounded company, said: "I wish you a very good evening."

Ezekiel Whitman was a prominent lawyer and a Harvard graduate. After he was elected to the Massachusetts legislature, he traveled from his farm to Boston, dressed like a countryman. He went to a hotel, entered the parlor, and sat down. There he overheard some ladies and gentlemen say, "Ah, here comes a real country bumpkin. This will be fun." They asked him all sorts of odd questions to make fun of him. Then he stood up and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to wish you health and happiness. May you grow better and wiser as you age, remembering that appearances can be deceiving. Because of my clothes, you mistook me for a country fool. For the same superficial reason, I thought you were ladies and gentlemen. We were both mistaken." Just then Governor Caleb Strong entered and called to Mr. Whitman. Whitman turned to the stunned group and said, "I wish you a very good evening."

"In civilized society," says Johnson, "external advantages make us more respected. A man with a good coat upon his back meets with a better reception than he who has a bad one."

"In civilized society," says Johnson, "outward advantages earn us more respect. A man wearing a good coat gets a warmer welcome than one wearing a poor coat."

One cannot but feel that God is a lover of the beautiful. He has put robes of beauty and glory upon all his works. Every flower is dressed in richness; every field blushes beneath a mantle of beauty; every star is veiled in brightness; every bird is clothed in the habiliments of the most exquisite taste.

One cannot help feeling that God loves beauty. He has clothed all his works in beauty and glory. Every flower is richly dressed. Every field blushes beneath a mantle of beauty. Every star is veiled in brightness. Every bird is clothed with the most exquisite taste.

Some people look upon polished manners as a kind of affectation. They claim admiration for plain, solid, square, rugged characters. They might as well say that they prefer square, plain, unornamented houses made from square blocks of stone. St. Peter's is none the less strong and solid because of its elegant columns and the magnificent sweep of its arches, its carved and fretted marbles of matchless hues.

Some people see polished manners as a kind of pretense. They say they admire plain, solid, straightforward, rugged characters. They might as well say they prefer plain, square houses made from blocks of stone, with no decoration. St. Peter's is no less strong and solid because of its elegant columns and magnificent sweeping arches. Nor is it any less solid because of its carved, intricately patterned marble in colors beyond compare.

Our manners, like our characters, are always under inspection. Every time we go into society we must step on the scales of each person's opinion, and the loss or gain from our last weight is carefully noted. Each mentally asks, "Is this person going up or down? Through how many grades has he passed?" For example, young Brown enters a drawing-room. All present weigh him in their judgment and silently say, "This young man is gaining; he is more careful, thoughtful, polite, considerate, straightforward, industrious." Besides him stands young Jones. It is evident that he is losing ground rapidly. He is careless, indifferent, rough, does not look you in the eye, is mean, stingy, snaps at the servants, yet is over-polite to strangers.

Our manners, like our characters, are always being judged. Every time we go out among people, each person weighs us in their mind. They carefully note how much we have gained or lost since the last time. Each person silently asks, "Is this person improving or declining? How many levels has he passed through?" For example, young Brown enters a living room. Everyone there judges him and silently says, "This young man is improving. He is more careful, thoughtful, polite, considerate, straightforward, and hardworking." Young Jones stands beside him. He is clearly losing ground quickly. He is careless, indifferent, and rough. He does not look you in the eye. He is mean and stingy, snaps at the servants, yet is overly polite to strangers.

And so we go through life, tagged with these invisible labels by all who know us. I sometimes think it would be a great advantage if one could read these ratings of his associates. We cannot long deceive the world, for that other self, who ever stands in the shadow of ourselves holding the scales of justice, that telltale in the soul, rushes to the eye or into the manner and betrays us.

And so we go through life with invisible labels given to us by everyone who knows us. I sometimes think it would be a great advantage to know how the people around us rate us. We cannot deceive the world for long. Our other self always stands in our shadow, holding the scales of justice. This witness in the soul reveals itself in our eyes or our manner and gives us away.

But manners, while they are the garb of the gentleman, do not constitute or finally determine his character. Mere politeness can never be a substitute for moral excellence, any more than the bark can take the place of the heart of the oak. It may well indicate the kind of wood below, but not always whether it be sound or decayed. Etiquette is but a substitute for good manners and is often but their mere counterfeit.

But although manners are a gentleman's outward appearance, they do not make or ultimately define his character. Politeness alone can never replace moral excellence, just as bark cannot replace the heart of an oak. The bark may well indicate what kind of wood lies beneath it. But it does not always show whether the wood is sound or decayed. Etiquette is only a substitute for good manners, and it is often merely a counterfeit of them.

Sincerity is the highest quality of good manners.

Sincerity is the most important quality of good manners.

The following recipe is recommended to those who wish to acquire genuine good manners:—

The following recipe is recommended for those who want to develop genuinely good manners:

Of Unselfishness, three drachms;

Three drams of unselfishness.

Of the tincture of Good Cheer, one ounce;

One ounce of Good Cheer tincture,

Of Essence of Heart's-Ease, three drachms;

Three drams of Essence of Heart's-Ease.

Of the Extract of the Rose of Sharon, four ounces;

Four ounces of extract of Rose of Sharon,

Of the Oil of Charity, three drachms, and no scruples;

Three drachms of the Oil of Charity, and no scruples.

Of the Infusion of Common Sense and Tact, one ounce;

One ounce of an infusion of common sense and tact,

Of the Spirit of Love, two ounces.

Two ounces of the Spirit of Love.

The Mixture to be taken whenever there is the slightest symptom of selfishness, exclusiveness, meanness, or I-am-better-than-you-ness.

Take the mixture whenever there is the slightest sign of selfishness, exclusiveness, meanness, or I-am-better-than-you-ness.

Pattern after Him who gave the Golden Rule, and who was the first true gentleman that ever breathed.

Model yourself after him who gave the Golden Rule and was the first true gentleman who ever lived.