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,

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.