It would not be easy to over-estimate the importance of a good manner from a social point of view. It ranks far above much more important qualities. The “rough diamonds” who conceal their traditional good heart under a surly exterior are seldom happy people, notwithstanding their genuine thoroughness and real goodness.

In family life and in society a gentle manner “covers a multitude of sins.” The world and the home reflect back to us the face we present to them. If we cultivate a bright and cordial manner we shall be heartily received by others, though the real nature of us lies beneath as cold and hard as salt fresh from a mine. In the home the coldness and hardness are soon found out, but they are partially condoned for the sake of the superficial courtesy and kindness. In society the quality of the heart matters little, so long as the surface is, at the same time, genial and polished.

Life is chiefly made up of small things, and if we learn to take an interest in the trifling incidents of our friends’ lives, in the everyday occurrences in the existence of our acquaintances, we supply the sympathetic element that tells so largely in our favour.

And very often the simulation of this interest induces the reality, and our own life is brightened by participating in the pleasures and the happiness of others, and deepened by sharing in their disappointments, and by doing so helping them to overcome them. With a cold, forbidding manner it is impossible to convey any such impression.

But this often comes from shyness, not only in the young, but all through life. The youthful form of shyness is self-consciousness and self-distrust. That which lasts through life is the fear of self-revelation.

Even the frankest natures have often this quality of reticence, which forbids them to reveal the inner depths of their thoughts, and makes them hate to be divined.

Rochefoucauld says we all hate to be divined, though we like to divine others; but many of us know well what a delightful thing it is to be read like an open book by those whose thoughts reflect our own, and with whom we discover ourselves to be in mental kinship.

The ideal life is that which has few friends but many acquaintances. The friends are close and firm ones, “grappled to our hearts with hooks of steel,” and the circle of acquaintances offers opportunities for adding to their number. But without an agreeable manner it is difficult to secure these inner and outer spheres of social companionship.

Were I asked to give a recipe for the formation of a good manner I should recommend an equal mixture of self-confidence and humility as the first essential, then a considerable desire to please, tempered by the self-respect which preserves from officiousness and that annoying air of “ingratiating” themselves that some men assume in society. There must be perfect self-possession, though in the very young this is scarcely expected, a little becoming shyness sitting very well upon them. “I like a shy man. He’s getting so scarce,” said a very pretty woman at a ball not long since. “Find one, quick, and introduce him.” Her laughing emissaries went off to search for the desired article, and after a while returned with the report that the only shy man in the room was engaged for every dance!

When self-possession has been acquired it is well to add on to it the saving grace of gentleness. This quality is much misunderstood by men. In women they adore it; in themselves and each other they undervalue it. But women love gentleness in men. It is a most telling piece of the necessary equipment for society. A gentle manner, a gentle voice, and the absence of all self-assertion, that is at the root of the matter, have won more love than good looks.

Carlyle called the members of upper-class society “amiable stoics,” in reference to the equable serenity of countenance and calm self-possession of manner with which they accept those occasionally trying conditions of social life which necessitate self-denial in matters great and small.

This placidity is the result of long training. Not just at first does a young man bow to the decree of his hostess which separates him from the girl he admires and tells him off to take some uninteresting dowager to the supper-room. But should he evince any sign of discontent with the arrangement he is at once convicted of ill-breeding. The man of “perfect manners” is he who is calmly courteous in all circumstances, as attentive outwardly to the plain and the elderly as he is to the young and pretty.

It is difficult to renounce the delightful tÊte-À-tÊte with a charming girl when asked by his hostess to dance with some poor wallflower who has been neglected for half-a-dozen dances. But it has to be borne, and eventually it brings its own reward. The “duty” dance is a hard thing, and good manners involve a considerable amount of self-denial; but repetition soon makes it comparatively easy, and invitations of an agreeable kind pour in on the young man who shows himself willing to practise those peculiar forms of selflessness, opportunities for which so frequently arise in society.

It is probably in imitation of this surface equanimity that the wooden stare has been adopted so universally by our golden youth.

This is useful for wearing at one’s club or in the stall of a theatre, and it at once stamps the proprietor of the stare as being “in it.” The fashion is not confined to England. It reigns in New York, and even in far Australia there is a select coterie of golden or gilded youth who are beginning to learn how to abstract every atom of expression from the countenance, and to look on vacantly or seem to do so. As yet, there is no considerable expertness achieved in the matter in Antipodean circles, but in New York a very fair impression of imbecility is conveyed in the look of the ultra-fashionable young man. There are various other important matters on which a transatlantic authority has been instructing the youth of his generation. The one involving the most serious responsibility is connected with carrying a cane or stick, as it is better form to call it.

It must be left at home when going to business, to church, or to make calls. The idea of the latter prohibition is that, if a call is made on a lady cane in hand, the inference would be that the caller is on sufficiently intimate terms to look in on her casually at any time. There is certainly subtlety in this view. It is well that the novice should be made aware that the lowest depth of vulgarity is touched by carrying an umbrella in a case. It is also an important item of information that the gloves and cane must be carried in the same hand. To do otherwise is seriously to err in social forms. Our instructor declares that to attend oratorios and philharmonic concerts is thoroughly bad form, indicating a tendency to be pedantic. It is much better to go to a horse show. It is by no means considered correct to shake hands. The proper way is to take hold of the fingers of one’s acquaintance at the second joints, and bestow upon them one or two decisive little jerks, as though testing their strength. “No, I thank you,” is a form of words no longer heard in good society, having some time since been replaced by “No, thanks.” No man with any claim to social position would consent to pronounce the “g” at the end of the present participle of verbs. “Comin’ and goin’” are the correct forms just now. “Don’t you know” is ridiculously correct. Men of perception do not care to be more accurate than others of their set. “Don’t-chi-know” is more customary, and the pronunciation marks the man as riding on the topmost crest of the social wave. There must be a staccato sound about the phrase, which alternates pleasantly with the languid drawl. The latter is still in favour, and accompanies admirably the studied lack of animation in the expression and general wooden look of the face.

To revert for a moment to the cane, or walking-stick.

There is much to be deduced from the manner in which it is carried. The correct style is to hold it at an angle of forty-five degrees, with the ferule uppermost and forward. This is the sort of thing that no man could possibly discover for himself. The natural man would incline to carry his stick in such fashion as would tend to direct its point to the ground. This unsophisticated mode would at once reveal him as uninitiated in the minor morals of good manners. The latest mode of arranging the male hair, as practised in New York, and possibly nearer home as well, is worth noting.

First it is made thoroughly wet, then brushed and parted, after which the head is swathed with linen bands, which are kept on until the hair is thoroughly dry. This method produces the plastered appearance which is now recognised as good form. Though cordiality of manner is rapidly becoming obsolete, and is utterly condemned by all who have studied the subject, yet it is a recognised fact that amiability has now superseded sarcasm, and the up-to-date young man practises a careless superficial benevolence of pronouncing every woman charming and every man a good fellow.

The scathing, satiric wit of the last century was as the nadir to this zenith of appreciative recognition of the best that is in every human being.

It is pleasant to be able to add to all this minute detail about little superficialities that the young man of to-day is a vast improvement on his predecessors in very many ways. Swearing is out of fashion. Getting intoxicated is decidedly “low,” and those who disgrace themselves in this way are soon cut by their acquaintance. Some twenty years since things were very different.

To get tipsy was regarded as a proof of manliness. To wrench off door-knockers and play similar senseless pranks was considered a form of wit, and the heroes of such performances were looked on with admiring eyes by their companions.

In many ways a higher standard now reigns.

The pictures of ballet dancers that used once to adorn a young man’s rooms have given place to others of a higher class. Dissolute and unprincipled men get the cold shoulder from others of their set, and vice, thank Heaven, is thoroughly out of fashion. There is still plenty of folly. It is inseparable from youth. But in matters of more moment there has been immense improvement going steadily on for many years.

There are young men who mistake arrogance of manners for self-possession, and who conduct themselves, when in society with lifted chin and a haughty air that may accord very well with their own estimate of themselves, but seem rather out of place to onlookers. Such a man invites comparisons between his social deserts and his implied conviction of superiority.

He may take in a few inexperienced girls and young fellows of adolescent inability of judgment, but even these triumphs are short-lived, and he is set down as a “pompous ass,” to use the young man’s phrase for describing him.

It is good manners to articulate distinctly, and bad manners to neglect to do so.

A man need not exactly take lessons in elocution (though they would not be amiss), but he can teach himself to pronounce clearly and use the

tone of voice that is best suited to the various occasions when he converses. A breathy voice is extremely disagreeable. The syllables come out enveloped in a sort of windy roar. This is owing to a wrong way of breathing, and it can easily be cured, with advantage to the health as well as the personality.

A very confidential tone is always used by some men when they speak to women. If they merely “hope your gown did not get muddy” they look into one’s eyes and murmur like any sucking dove. But if their articulation is indistinct they are quite a nuisance. One has to ask them to repeat themselves, and the nonsense they talk shows up very badly in an encore. But when they enunciate clearly their devoted murmurings sometimes “take” very well. It is not until a woman has seen three or four others besides herself approached in the same afternoon or evening with similar devout and prayer-like whispering that she begins to value this particularity at its true worth.

With reference to the word “fellow” a subtle distinction or two must be drawn. In lowly circles a young man is called “a fellow”; young men “fellows.” So it is in good society, but with a distinct difference. It is not very easy to make this difference clear. Young men of good position refer very commonly to others of their acquaintance as “the fellows,” but they would not use the word to describe young men generally. Women, young and old, of the lower classes speak of young men generally as “fellows,” but gentlewomen never do so. A lady never uses the expression “A girl and a fellow.” At the same time she may frequently speak of “young fellows.” I am aware that there is a want of clearness in all this, but it is a matter among many others that can only be acquired by being accustomed to the usages of good society.

The Autocrat of the Breakfast-table said in one of his books that if he heard a woman pronounce the word “How,” he learned more about her in an instant than a third person could tell him in an hour. If she called it “haow,” she revealed herself as belonging to the uncultured classes.

In the same way, if a girl were to say “I met a fellow yesterday,” she would unconsciously make a similar self-revelation. A young man would make an equal mistake if he were to speak of “my sister’s fellow.” But he would be correct enough if he were to say “the fellow my sister’s engaged to.”

These little nuances of expression remind one of the old rhyme—

Though small talk is as indispensable in social life as pennies and halfpennies in the transactions of everyday existence, we must also have conversational gold and silver at our command if we wish to be successful. When the preliminaries of acquaintanceship are over there is no necessity to keep up the commonplaces of small talk. To do so is rather insulting to women.

To be “talked down to” is always aggravating, especially when one feels a conviction that the person who is thus affably stooping for one’s benefit belongs in reality to a lower intellectual plane than one’s own.

At the same time, many young men “with nothing in them” are socially successful, being possessed of those superficial qualities and that outward polish which are, for the purposes of everyday intercourse, more useful than abysmal personal depths. Was it Goethe or Schiller who said that for domestic utility a farthing candle is more useful than all the stars of heaven?

A light playfulness of fancy, combined with the gentleness that carefully avoids wounding even the smallest, is a high recommendation in society; but to be for ever laughing is wearisome in the extreme to the spectators.

I make no apology for quoting here the following passages from “Mr. Brown’s Letters to a Young Man About Town” from a Punch of 1849. “Mr. Brown” was Thackeray, I believe.

He says:—

“I beseech and implore you to make a point of being intimate with one or two families where you can see kind and well-bred English ladies. I have seen women of all nations in the world, but I never saw the equals of English women (meaning, of course, to include our cousins the MacWhirters of Glasgow and the O’Tooles of Cork); and I pray sincerely, my boy, that you may always have a woman for a friend.”

* * * *

“It is better for you to pass an evening once or twice a week in a lady’s drawing-room, even though the conversation is rather slow and you know the girl’s songs by heart, than in a club, tavern, or smoking-room, or pit of a theatre.”

* * * *

“Remember, if a house is pleasant, and you like to remain in it, that to be well with the women of the house is the great, the vital point. If it is a good house, don’t turn up your nose because you are only asked to come in the evening, while others are invited to dine. Recollect the debts of dinners which an hospitable family has to pay; who are you that you should always be expecting to nestle under the mahogany? Agreeable acquaintances are made just as well in the drawing-room as in the dining-room. Go to tea brisk and good-humoured. Be determined to be pleased. Talk to a dowager. Take a hand at whist. If you are musical, and know a song, sing it like a man. Never sulk about dancing, but off with you. You will find your acquaintance enlarge. Mothers, pleased with your good humour, will probably ask you to Pocklington Square, to a little party. You will get on—you will form yourself a circle. You may marry a rich girl, or, at any rate, get the chance of seeing a number of the kind and the pretty.”

* * * *

“The dressing, the clean gloves, and cab-hire, are nuisances, I grant you. The idea of the party itself is a bore, but you must go. When you are at the party, it is not so stupid; there is always something pleasant for the eye and attention of an observant man.”