Self Help, Samuel Smiles [good romance books to read .txt] 📗

the tone,

replied: “No, I don’t: I want a pennyworth of figs; come, look

sharp and wrap them up; I want to be off!”

 

The cultivation of manner—though in excess it is foppish and

foolish—is highly necessary in a person who has occasion to

negociate with others in matters of business. Affability and good

breeding may even be regarded as essential to the success of a man

in any eminent station and enlarged sphere of life; for the want of

it has not unfrequently been found in a great measure to neutralise

the results of much industry, integrity, and honesty of character.

There are, no doubt, a few strong tolerant minds which can bear

with defects and angularities of manner, and look only to the more

genuine qualities; but the world at large is not so forbearant, and

cannot help forming its judgments and likings mainly according to

outward conduct.

 

Another mode of displaying true politeness is consideration for the

opinions of others. It has been said of dogmatism, that it is only

puppyism come to its full growth; and certainly the worst form this

quality can assume, is that of opinionativeness and arrogance. Let

men agree to differ, and, when they do differ, bear and forbear.

Principles and opinions may be maintained with perfect suavity,

without coming to blows or uttering hard words; and there are

circumstances in which words are blows, and inflict wounds far less

easy to heal. As bearing upon this point, we quote an instructive

little parable spoken some time since by an itinerant preacher of

the Evangelical Alliance on the borders of Wales:- “As I was going

to the hills,” said he, “early one misty morning, I saw something

moving on a mountain side, so strange looking that I took it for a

monster. When I came nearer to it I found it was a man. When I

came up to him I found he was my brother.”

 

The inbred politeness which springs from right-heartedness and

kindly feelings, is of no exclusive rank or station. The mechanic

who works at the bench may possess it, as well as the clergyman or

the peer. It is by no means a necessary condition of labour that

it should, in any respect, be either rough or coarse. The

politeness and refinement which distinguish all classes of the

people in many continental countries show that those qualities

might become ours too—as doubtless they will become with increased

culture and more general social intercourse—without sacrificing

any of our more genuine qualities as men. From the highest to the

lowest, the richest to the poorest, to no rank or condition in life

has nature denied her highest boon—the great heart. There never

yet existed a gentleman but was lord of a great heart. And this

may exhibit itself under the hodden grey of the peasant as well as

under the laced coat of the noble. Robert Burns was once taken to

task by a young Edinburgh blood, with whom he was walking, for

recognising an honest farmer in the open street. “Why you

fantastic gomeral,” exclaimed Burns, “it was not the great coat,

the scone bonnet, and the saunders-boot hose that I spoke to, but

THE MAN that was in them; and the man, sir, for true worth, would

weigh down you and me, and ten more such, any day.” There may be a

homeliness in externals, which may seem vulgar to those who cannot

discern the heart beneath; but, to the right-minded, character will

always have its clear insignia.

 

William and Charles Grant were the sons of a farmer in Inverness-shire, whom a sudden flood stripped of everything, even to the very

soil which he tilled. The farmer and his sons, with the world

before them where to choose, made their way southward in search of

employment until they arrived in the neighbourhood of Bury in

Lancashire. From the crown of the hill near Walmesley they

surveyed the wide extent of country which lay before them, the

river Irwell making its circuitous course through the valley. They

were utter strangers in the neighbourhood, and knew not which way

to turn. To decide their course they put up a stick, and agreed to

pursue the direction in which it fell. Thus their decision was

made, and they journeyed on accordingly until they reached the

village of Ramsbotham, not far distant. They found employment in a

print-work, in which William served his apprenticeship; and they

commanded themselves to their employers by their diligence,

sobriety, and strict integrity. They plodded on, rising from one

station to another, until at length the two men themselves became

employers, and after many long years of industry, enterprise, and

benevolence, they became rich, honoured, and respected by all who

knew them. Their cotton-mills and print-works gave employment to a

large population. Their well-directed diligence made the valley

teem with activity, joy, health, and opulence. Out of their

abundant wealth they gave liberally to all worthy objects, erecting

churches, founding schools, and in all ways promoting the well-being of the class of working-men from which they had sprung. They

afterwards erected, on the top of the hill above Walmesley, a lofty

tower in commemoration of the early event in their history which

had determined the place of their settlement. The brothers Grant

became widely celebrated for their benevolence and their various

goodness, and it is said that Mr. Dickens had them in his mind’s

eye when delineating the character of the brothers Cheeryble. One

amongst many anecdotes of a similar kind may be cited to show that

the character was by no means exaggerated. A Manchester

warehouseman published an exceedingly scurrilous pamphlet against

the firm of Grant Brothers, holding up the elder partner to

ridicule as “Billy Button.” William was informed by some one of

the nature of the pamphlet, and his observation was that the man

would live to repent of it. “Oh!” said the libeller, when informed

of the remark, “he thinks that some time or other I shall be in his

debt; but I will take good care of that.” It happens, however,

that men in business do not always foresee who shall be their

creditor, and it so turned out that the Grants’ libeller became a

bankrupt, and could not complete his certificate and begin business

again without obtaining their signature. It seemed to him a

hopeless case to call upon that firm for any favour, but the

pressing claims of his family forced him to make the application.

He appeared before the man whom he had ridiculed as “Billy Button”

accordingly. He told his tale and produced his certificate. “You

wrote a pamphlet against us once?” said Mr. Grant. The supplicant

expected to see his document thrown into the fire; instead of which

Grant signed the name of the firm, and thus completed the necessary

certificate. “We make it a rule,” said he, handing it back, “never

to refuse signing the certificate of an honest tradesman, and we

have never heard that you were anything else.” The tears started

into the man’s eyes. “Ah,” continued Mr. Grant, “you see my saying

was true, that you would live to repent writing that pamphlet. I

did not mean it as a threat—I only meant that some day you would

know us better, and repent having tried to injure us.” “I do, I

do, indeed, repent it.” “Well, well, you know us now. But how do

you get on—what are you going to do?” The poor man stated that he

had friends who would assist him when his certificate was obtained.

“But how are you off in the mean time?” The answer was, that,

having given up every farthing to his creditors, he had been

compelled to stint his family in even the common necessaries of

life, that he might be enabled to pay for his certificate. “My

good fellow, this will never do; your wife and family must not

suffer in this way; be kind enough to take this ten-pound note to

your wife from me: there, there, now—don’t cry, it will be all

well with you yet; keep up your spirits, set to work like a man,

and you will raise your head among the best of us yet.” The

overpowered man endeavoured with choking utterance to express his

gratitude, but in vain; and putting his hand to his face, he went

out of the room sobbing like a child.

 

The True Gentleman is one whose nature has been fashioned after the

highest models. It is a grand old name, that of Gentleman, and has

been recognized as a rank and power in all stages of society. “The

Gentleman is always the Gentleman,” said the old French General to

his regiment of Scottish gentry at Rousillon, “and invariably

proves himself such in need and in danger.” To possess this

character is a dignity of itself, commanding the instinctive homage

of every generous mind, and those who will not bow to titular rank,

will yet do homage to the gentleman. His qualities depend not upon

fashion or manners, but upon moral worth—not on personal

possessions, but on personal qualities. The Psalmist briefly

describes him as one “that walketh uprightly, and worketh

righteousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart.”

 

The gentleman is eminently distinguished for his self-respect. He

values his character,—not so much of it only as can be seen of

others, but as he sees it himself; having regard for the approval

of his inward monitor. And, as he respects himself, so, by the

same law, does he respect others. Humanity is sacred in his eyes:

and thence proceed politeness and forbearance, kindness and

charity. It is related of Lord Edward Fitzgerald that, while

travelling in Canada, in company with the Indians, he was shocked

by the sight of a poor squaw trudging along laden with her

husband’s trappings, while the chief himself walked on

unencumbered. Lord Edward at once relieved the squaw of her pack

by placing it upon his own shoulders,—a beautiful instance of what

the French call politesse de coeur—the inbred politeness of the

true gentleman.

 

The true gentleman has a keen sense of honour,—scrupulously

avoiding mean actions. His standard of probity in word and action

is high. He does not shuffle or prevaricate, dodge or skulk; but

is honest, upright, and straightforward. His law is rectitude—

action in right lines. When he says YES, it is a law: and he

dares to say the valiant NO at the fitting season. The gentleman

will not be bribed; only the low-minded and unprincipled will sell

themselves to those who are interested in buying them. When the

upright Jonas Hanway officiated as commissioner in the victualling

department, he declined to receive a present of any kind from a

contractor; refusing thus to be biassed in the performance of his

public duty. A fine trait of the same kind is to be noted in the

life of the Duke of Wellington. Shortly after the battle of

Assaye, one morning the Prime Minister of the Court of Hyderabad

waited upon him for the purpose of privately ascertaining what

territory and what advantages had been reserved for his master in

the treaty of peace between the Mahratta princes and the Nizam. To

obtain this information the minister offered the general a very

large sum—considerably above 100,000l. Looking at him quietly for

a few seconds, Sir Arthur said, “It appears, then, that you are

capable of keeping a secret?” “Yes, certainly,” replied the

minister. “THEN SO AM I,” said the English general, smiling, and

bowed the minister out. It was to Wellington’s great honour, that

though uniformly successful in India, and with the power of earning

in such modes as this enormous wealth, he did not add a farthing to

his fortune, and returned to England a comparatively poor man.

 

A similar sensitiveness and high-mindedness characterised his noble

relative, the Marquis of Wellesley, who, on one occasion,

positively