But such generalizations, at all times perilous, become impossible in the changing currents of American life, which has as yet no quality of permanence.  The delicate old tests fail to adjust themselves to our needs.  Mr. Page is right theoretically when he says that the treatment of a servant or of a subordinate is an infallible criterion of manners, and when he rebukes the “arrogance” of wealthy women to “their hapless sisters of toil.”  But the truth is that our hapless sisters of toil have things pretty much their own way in a country which is still broadly prosperous and democratic, and our treatment of them is tempered by a selfish consideration for our own comfort and convenience.  If they are toiling as domestic servants,—­a field in which the demand exceeds the supply,—­they hold the key to the situation; it is sheer foolhardiness to be arrogant to a cook.  Dressmakers and milliners are not humbly seeking for patronage; theirs is the assured position of people who can give the world what the world asks; and as for saleswomen, a class upon whom much sentimental sympathy is lavished year by year, their heart-whole superciliousness to the poor shopper, especially if she chance to be a housewife striving nervously to make a few dollars cover her family needs, is wantonly and detestably unkind.  It is not with us as it was in the England of Lamb’s day, and the quality of breeding is shown in a well-practised restraint rather than in a sweet and somewhat lofty consideration.

Eliminating all the more obvious features of criticism, as throwing no light upon the subject, we come to the consideration of three points,—­the domestic, the official, and the social manners of a nation which has been roundly accused of degenerating from the high standard of former years, of those gracious and beautiful years which few of us have the good fortune to remember.  On the first count, I believe that a candid and careful observation will result in a verdict of acquittal.  Foreigners, Englishmen and Englishwomen especially, who visit our shores, are impressed with the politeness of Americans in their own households.  That fine old Saxon point of view, “What is the good of a family, if one cannot be disagreeable in the bosom of it?” has been modified by the simple circumstance that the family bosom is no longer a fixed and permanent asylum.  The disintegration of the home may be a lamentable feature of modern life; but since it has dawned upon our minds that adult members of a family need not necessarily live together if they prefer to live apart, the strain of domesticity has been reduced to the limits of endurance.  We have gained in serenity what we have lost in self-discipline by this easy achievement of an independence which, fifty years ago, would have been deemed pure licence.  I can remember that, when I was a little girl, two of our neighbours, a widowed mother and a widowed daughter, scandalized all their friends by living in two large comfortable houses, a stone’s throw apart, instead of under one roof as became their relationship; and the fact that they loved each other dearly and peacefully in no way lessened their transgression.  Had they shared their home, and bickered day and night, that would have been considered unfortunate but “natural.”