To fulfill what Mrs. Stowe calls our “mission,” we women must insist on the observance of the conventionalities at home.  Husbands are sometimes, even when “taken young,” too obstinate to change; although, to their credit be it said, if approached in the right way they will generally try to correct tricks of speech or manner.  But with our children there should be no peradventure.  Upon us is laid the responsibility of making them what we choose, of developing them into gentlemen, or neglecting them until they become boors.  It is never too early to begin.  First impressions are lasting ones, and the child who, from the beginning, is trained to observe the “small, sweet courtesies,” not only when in company, but in the nursery and with the members of his own family, will never forget them.  We often observe “that man does as well as he can, but he is not the gentleman born.”  That should, of itself, be a lesson to us mothers, to teach our children, not only by precept but by example, to keep alive the “altar-fire” of conventionality, and thus to make life warm, beautiful, poetic.  After all, may not what the impulsive girl whom I quoted at the beginning of this talk termed the “sham” of life, be the real, though hidden side?  We read that “the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.”

CHAPTER XXVII.

FAMILIAR OR INTIMATE?

“What makes the difference between those two carriages?” I asked a wagon builder, while examining two light vehicles of the same general build and design.  One cost twice as much as the other, and looked as if it were worth four times as much.

“Some of it is in the material, but more in the finishing,” was the response.  “This is of pretty fair wood, but simply planed and painted, while this”—­pointing to the more costly equipage—­“is as hard as a rock, and has been rubbed smooth, then polished until the surface is as fine as silk.  Then it is flowed all over with the best varnish, left to dry ten days, and over-flowed again.  That makes all the difference in the look of wagons.  Two of them may be built just alike, and one will look like a grocer’s errand-cart, while the other is a regulation gentleman’s turnout.  It is all the effect of polish and finish.”

Involuntarily my mind reverted to Mr. Turveydrop and his modest assurance that “we do our best to polish, polish, polish.”

The carriage builder struck the right chord when he affirmed that “finish made all the difference,” and it applies as truly to flesh and blood as to insensate wood.  Only the wood has sometimes the advantage of taking more kindly to improvement than do human free agents.

The rough places on which the effects of polish have not showed are too numerous for me to touch upon more than a few of them in this talk.  We will acknowledge that the paint and varnish are not all that is necessary.  The wood must be hard and prepared for the flowing process, if the wagon is to stand the scrutiny of critical eyes.  Too often the paint is laid on thickly—­perhaps too thickly—­over indifferent material, and the first shock or scratch makes it scale and flake off.