NEATNESS SHOWS ITSELF BY CLEANLINESS.
There is no need in this day and country for a boy to go around with dirty face and hands. It is injurious to health, unbecoming and repulsive to any self-respecting person. On the other hand from
“The body’s purity, the mind
Receives a secret, sympathetic aid.”
When Isaac Hopper, the Quaker, met a boy with dirty face or hands, he would stop him, and inquire if he ever studied chemistry. The boy, with a wondering stare, would answer, “No.” “Well then, I will teach thee how to perform a curious chemical experiment. Go home, take a piece of soap, put it in water, and rub briskly on thy hands and face. Thou hast no idea what a beautiful froth it will make, and how much whiter thy skin will be. That’s a chemical experiment; I advise thee to try it.” There is great virtue in soap and water vigorously applied, which doubtless gave rise to the old adage, “Cleanliness is next to godliness,” for virtue never dwells long with filth. An eminent man said, “I believe there never was a person scrupulously attentive to cleanliness who was a consummate villain.”
The singing birds are remarkable for the neatness and cleanliness of their plumage. The gay and cheerful animals of the fields avoid filth, and are usually of a clean appearance. The beauty and fragrance of the flowers owe all to this characteristic, and so also does the boy who is bright, intelligent, moral and ambitious. You will not find his finger nails long, but carefully trimmed and devoid of dirt, his ears and neck will be spotless, and his teeth clean and white like “drops of snow in banks of pretty pink roses.”
NEATNESS IN DRESS.
Self-respect will also show itself in neatness of dress. “It has,” says Barrington, “a moral effect upon the conduct of mankind. Let any gentleman find himself with dirty boots, soiled neck-cloth, and a general negligence of dress, he will, in all probability, find a corresponding disposition by negligence of address.” To be tidy does not mean to have costly attire. It is no mark of neatness for a boy to deck his fingers with rings, to sport a gold-headed cane, to wear flashy neck-wear, to have a bouquet of flowers on the lapel of his coat, for while these are not unbecoming in themselves, they give the impression of that sin which overthrew the angels, pride.
Dean Swift was an enemy of extravagance in dress, and particularly of that destructive ostentation in the middle classes, which led them to make an appearance above their condition in life. Of his mode of reproving this folly in those persons for whom he had an esteem, the following instance has been recorded:
When George Faulkner, the printer, returned from London, where he had been soliciting subscriptions for his edition of the Dean’s works, he went to pay his respects to him, dressed in a lace waistcoat, a big wig and other fopperies. Swift received him with the same ceremonies as if he had been a stranger. “And pray, sir,” said he, “what can be your commands with me?” “I thought it was my duty, sir,” replied George, “to wait on you immediately on my arrival from London.” “Pray, sir, who are you?” “George Faulkner, the printer, sir.” “You, George the printer! why, you are the most impudent barefaced scoundrel of an impostor I have ever met! George Faulkner is a plain sober citizen, and would never trick himself out in lace and other fopperies. Get you gone, you rascal, I will immediately send you to the house of correction.” Away went George as fast as he could, and having changed his dress he returned to the deanery, where he was received with the greatest cordiality. “My friend George,” said the Dean, “I am glad to see you returned safe from London. Why, there has been an impudent fellow just with me dressed in lace waistcoat, and he would fain pass himself off for you, but I soon sent him away with a flea in his ear.”