It is true that all manners are less formal, that etiquette is less elaborate, now than a hundred years ago.  Our grandfathers and grandmothers—­some, indeed, of our fathers and mothers—­did not sit at breakfast with their fathers and mothers, but stood through the meal, and never spoke except when spoken to.  I cannot say I think we have deteriorated in changing this.  The pleasant, familiar, affectionate intercourse between parent and child seems to me one of the most delightful features of domestic life.  The real, fond intimacy which exists between parents and children seems a far better and safer thing than the old fashion of keeping children at arm’s length.

But in casting aside forms we are, perhaps, somewhat in danger of losing with them some of that inner kindness of which form is only the outward expression.  Without admitting that we are an uncivil people, insisting even that we compare favorably with other nations, I wish our boys and girls would resolve that the courtesy of the Republic shall never suffer in their hands!

Does this seem a trivial aim for those who are bending their energies to attain a high standing in classics and mathematics?  There is perhaps no single quality that does as much to make life smooth and comfortable—­yes, and successful—­as courtesy.  Logarithms are valuable in their way, but there are many useful and happy people who are not very well versed even in the rule of three.  A man may not know a word of Latin, or what is meant by “the moon’s terminator,” or how much sodium is in Arcturus, and yet be constantly diffusing pleasure.  But no man can be agreeable without courtesy, and every separate act of incivility creates its little, or large, and ever enlarging circle of displeasure and unhappiness.

One does not wish to go through life trying to be agreeable; but life is a great failure if one goes through it disagreeable.

Yes, little friends, believe me, you may be very learned, very skillful, very accomplished.  I trust you are:  I hope you will become more so.  You may even have sound principles and good habits; but if people generally do not like you, it is because there is something wrong in yourself, and the best thing you can do is to study out what it is and correct it as fast as possible.  Do not for a moment fancy it is because you are superior to other people that they dislike you, for superiority never, of itself, made a person unlovely.  It is invariably a defect of some sort.  Generally it is a defect arising from training, and therefore possible to overcome.

For instance:  two girls in the country have each a pony phaeton.  One drives her sisters, her family, her guests, her equals, and never thinks of going outside that circle.  Another does the same; but, more than this, she often takes the cook, the laundress, or the one woman who often is cook, laundress, housemaid, all in one.  And to them the drive is a far greater luxury than to her own comrades, who would be playing