Politeness, either of feeling or of manner, can never be taught by set maxims. Every-day influence, so unconsciously exerted, is all important in forming the characters of children: and in nothing more important than in their manners. If you are habitually polite, your children will become so, by the mere force of imitation, without any specific directions on the subject. Your manners at home should always be such as you wish your family to have in company. Politeness will then be natural to them; they will possess it without thinking about it. But when certain outward observances are urged in words, as important only because they make us pleasing, they assume an undue importance, and the unworthiness of the motive fosters selfishness. Besides, if our own manners are not habitually consistent with the rules we give, they will be of little avail; they will in all probability be misunderstood, and will certainly be forgotten. I, at this moment, recollect an anecdote, which plainly shows that politeness cannot be shuffled on at a moment’s warning, like a garment long out of use. A worthy, but somewhat vulgar woman, residing in a secluded village, expected a visit from strangers of some distinction. On the spur of the occasion, she called her children together, and said, ‘After I have dressed you up, you must sit very still, till the company comes; and then you must be sure to get up and make your bows and courtesies; and you must mind and say “Yes, ma’am,” and “No, ma’am”—“Yes, sir,” and “No, sir”—“I thank you.”’ The visitors arrived—and the children, seated together like ‘four and twenty little dogs all of a row,’ uprose at once, bobbed their bows and courtesies, and jabbered over, ‘Yes, ma’am—no, ma’am—yes, sir—no, sir—I thank you—There, mother now we’ve done it!’
Foreigners charge us with a want of courtesy to each other in our usual intercourse; and I believe there is some truth in the accusation. On all great occasions, the Americans are ready, heart and hand, to assist each other; but how much more gracefully and happily the French manage in the ten thousand petty occurrences of life! And, after all, life is made up of small events. The golden chain of existence is composed of innumerable little links; and if we rudely break them, we injure its strength, as well as mar its beauty.
The happiest married couples I have ever known were those who were scrupulous in paying to each other a thousand minute attentions, generally thought too trifling to be of any importance; and yet on these very trifles depended their continued love for each other. A birth-day present, accompanied with a kind look or word—reserving for each other the most luxurious fruit, or the most comfortable chair—nay, even the habit of always saying, ‘Will you have the goodness?’ and ‘Thank you’—all these seemingly trivial things have a great effect on domestic felicity, and on the manners of children. Early habits of preferring others to ourselves are very important. A child should always be taught to give away the largest slice of his apple, or his cake, and to take his whistle immediately from his mouth, if a sick little brother or sister is anxious for it. I believe the easy and natural politeness of the French may in a great measure be attributed to their remarkable care in forming such early habits of self-denial.
I cordially approve of the good old fashion of never saying ‘Yes,’ or ‘No,’ to those older than ourselves. It appears to me peculiarly proper and becoming for young persons always to rise when addressed by those whose age or character demands respect. I am surprised to see how seldom the young give an aged person the inner side of the walk, when they meet in the street; and still more so when I see them unceremoniously push by their elders, while entering or leaving a room.
It is a graceful habit for children to say to each other, ‘Will you have the goodness?’—and ‘I thank you.’ I do not like to see prim, artificial children; there are few things I dislike so much as a miniature beau, or belle. But the habit of good manners by no means implies affectation or restraint. It is quite as easy to say, ‘Please to give me a piece of pie,’ as to say, ‘I want a piece of pie.’
The idea that constant politeness would render social life too stiff and restrained, springs from a false estimate of politeness. True politeness is perfect ease and freedom. It simply consists in treating others just as you love to be treated yourself. A person who acts from this principle will always be said to have ‘sweet pretty ways with her.’ It is of some consequence that your daughter should know how to enter and leave a room gracefully; but it is of prodigiously more consequence that she should be in the habit of avoiding whatever is disgusting or offensive to others, and of always preferring their pleasure to her own. If she has the last, a very little intercourse with the world will teach her the first.
I believe nothing tends to make people so awkward as too much anxiety to please others. Nature is graceful; and affectation, with all her art, can never produce any thing half so pleasing. The very perfection of elegance is to imitate nature as closely as possible; and how much better it is to have the reality than the imitation! I shall probably be reminded that the best and most unaffected people are often constrained and awkward in company to which they are unaccustomed. I answer, the reason is, they do not act themselves—they are afraid they shall not do right, and that very fear makes them do wrong. Anxiety about the opinion of others fetters the freedom of nature. At home, where they act from within themselves, they would appear a thousand times better. All would appear well, if they never tried to assume what they did not possess. Everybody is respectable and pleasing so long as he is perfectly natural. I will make no exception—Nature is always graceful. The most secluded and the most ignorant have some charm about them, so long as they affect nothing—so long as they speak and act from the impulses of their own honest hearts, without any anxiety as to what others think of it.
Coarseness and vulgarity are the effects of education and habit; they cannot be charged upon nature. True politeness may be cherished in the hovel as well as in the palace; and the most tattered drapery cannot conceal its winning charms.
As far as is consistent with your situation and duties, early accustom your children to an intercourse with strangers. I have seen young persons who were respectful and polite at home, seized with a most painful and unbecoming bashfulness, as soon as a guest entered. To avoid this evil, allow children to accompany you as often as possible, when you make calls and social visits. Occasional interviews with intelligent and cultivated individuals have a great influence on early character and manners, particularly if parents evidently place a high value upon acquaintances of that description. I have known the destiny of a whole family changed for the better, by the friendship of one of its members with a person of superior advantages and correct principles.
But it must be remembered that a call, or a social visit, may be made almost as injurious as a party, if children are encouraged in showing off, or constantly habituated to hearing themselves talked about. Much as the failing has been observed and laughed at, it is still too common for mothers to talk a great deal about their children. The weariness with which strangers listen to such domestic accounts is a slight evil compared with the mischief done to children, by inducing them to think themselves of so much importance: they should never be taught to consider themselves of any consequence, except at home in the bosom of their own families.