Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Maine -- Juvenile fiction
I undertook, then, as my trade allowed it,--and indeed, in time the
bench came to hold only the second place in the arrangement of my
days,--to give instruction in dancing and deportment, to such as desired
to improve themselves in these respects. The young people in the
villages of that district were honest, and not lacking in wits; but
they were uncouth to a degree that seemed to me, coming as I did from
the home of all grace and charm, a thing horrible, and not to be
endured. They were my neighbours; I was bound, or so it seemed to me, to
help them to a right understanding of the mercies of a bountiful
Providence, and to prevent the abuse of these mercies by cowish gambols.
I let it be understood wherever I went that whoever would study under me
must be a gentleman; for a gentleman is, I take it, first and last, a
gentle man, or one who out of strength brings sweetness, as in the case
of Samson's lion. To please, first the heart, by a sincere and cordial
kindness, and next the eye, by a cheerful and (so far as may be)
graceful demeanour; this disposition will tend, if not to great deeds,
at least to the comfort and happiness of those around us. I was thought
severe, and may have been so; but I lived to see a notable change
wrought in that country. I remember the day, Melody, when a young man
said to me with feeling, "I cannot bear to see a man take off his hat to
a woman. _It makes me sick!_" To-day, if a man, young or old, should
fail in this common courtesy, it would be asked what cave of the woods
he came from. But let fine manners come from the heart, I would always
say, else they are only as a gay suit covering a deformed and shapeless
body. I recall an occasion when one of my pupils, who had made great
progress by assiduous study, and had attained a degree of elegance not
often reached in his station, won the admiration of the whole room by
the depth and grace of his bow. I praised him, as he deserved; but a few
minutes after, finding him in the act of mimicking, for the public
diversion, an awkward, ill-dressed poor lad, I dismissed him on the
instant, and bade him never come to my classes again.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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