POLITENESS AND COURTESY IN THE HOME by Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Aug 17, 1904

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 30, No. 33.

POLITENESS AND COURTESY IN THE HOME.

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

BY MRS. L. D. AVERY-STUTTLE.

A GOOD many people are polite everywhere except at home, and courteous to every one except their own family. These are the people who have “company manners.”

If we could only learn to be courteous every day, and toward our own, it would be easy and natural to be so toward our “sometime guest.”

“Well, I don’t see the use of such formality; my children know I love them, and my husband knows I would do anything in reason for him. I think it’s all nonsense, being so particular just to your own folks.”

I am afraid there are a great many who read these lines who will echo this sentiment,—and I am so sorry. Why, I know a little woman who would give more for one real genuine loving word from her husband than she would for a new dress—and it would be much more of a rarity. Too bad, isn’t it?

Now I am not pleading for formality, or for any set form of speech. Formality and genuine courtesy are as far apart as the east from the west. The one is cold, dead, lifeless; the other sweet, genuine, beautiful. Formality is the counterfeit. Why?—Because it expresses in words and actions a kindness which is not felt in the heart. Genuine courtesy is the real thing; it is not a make-believe. The kindness it expresses is heartfelt. It is a kindness that shines from the eyes, and rings in the voice, and is felt in the hearty handshake. Did you never shake the hand of a person whose very touch made you chilly, who gave you a sensation of uneasiness like the “Uriah Heep” Dickens describes? These people, like Uriah Heep, may appear very “’umble,” but their appearance of humility is “put on” like their manners.

There is as much difference between real courtesy and formalism as there is between flattery and appreciation.

“You sang beautifully,” smiles the flatterer, “I have never heard so sweet a voice;” while in his heart he is only laughing at you for a novice. The other—the one who appreciates—only presses your hand, and looks into your eyes, while a tear trickles down his cheek.

There are many books printed now-a-days to teach people good manners. Whether it is best to sit at the banquet with gloves on or off; whether it is “good form” to cut your bread or break it; and how many days should elapse before returning a call.

These are well and good, I dare say, if too much attention be not paid to them. We may all have heard of the young man who refused to rescue a lady from drowning, because he had not been introduced, and the after situation might be awkward!

It is natural to the unregenerate heart to give due honor and courtesy to the man “with the gold ring,” while he of the poor apparel is unnoticed. But I tell you it was something more than a happen-so, when the apostle wrote to his brethren to “be pitiful,” just before admonishing them to “be courteous.”

“Pitiful” means to be full of pity; now then: Whom should we pity most? the man with the fine house and the elegant costume? or should our hearts go out in pity toward the poor, the wretched, the forlorn? Well, then: Ought we to be any more polite toward the rich than toward the poor? “Be pitiful, be courteous.”

One day I was walking down the street, when I saw a tiny child carrying a little pail of water. Suddenly she tripped, and fell upon the sidewalk, while the water, which she was evidently carrying to mama, was dashed from her hand. Of course, the little maid forgot that she was trying to be a big lady, and cried pitifully. Her gown was wet, and the water gone. Women and men hurried by the child, all heedless of her misfortune, and no one caring for her grief. Suddenly a young man appeared from across the street. In a moment he was at her side. Stooping, he tenderly brushed the dust from the little skirt, and handed her the empty pail—

“Too bad! poor little sweetheart; never mind, I wouldn’t cry.”

Perhaps he was the big brother; I never knew; but of this I am sure; he was a gentleman. “O,” I said to myself, “that young man is a good son. His mother will never mourn over his neglect or ill treatment; and I am sure he does not torment his sisters until they dread to see him coming, as much as if he were a young savage. If he has a grandmother, he is kind and loving toward her, and thoughtful for her comfort. To his father he is respectful and kind.” All this I saw in that one courteous act,—and I am reasonably sure I am right in my diagnosis of that young man’s character.

It seems almost incredible that envy and jealousy are sometimes the cause of discourtesy in the home circle. Strange that brothers and sisters are sometimes jealous of each other, and so, of course, discourteous.

We can never forget the story of Eliab and his young brother, against whom he seemed to cherish a bitter hatred, ever since the anointing oil of the prophet was poured upon his youthful head. He became so exasperated at the victory of the boy against the giant of Gath, that he forgot all restraint and all decency in his unreasoning and jealous anger. Eliab was so unaccustomed to treating the stripling with anything but discourtesy while at home with the family, that he quite forgot his “company manners,” and made a spectacle of himself, right before thousands of the chosen men of Israel, the very men over whom he had once fondly hoped to reign as a king,—to say nothing of the Philistines who may have heard his words. O, how he showed his utter unfitness to rule over any people! Why, he could not even govern himself! Yet he was a proud, handsome man,—proud of his splendid proportions and his handsome face. O how polite and courteous Eliab could be—upon occasions! Had he been accustomed at home to treating his youngest brother with loving-kindness and courtesy, we would not have this shameful record left us.

“Company manners” are all well and good, if they are only worn every day—constantly. They will not wear out. The more good manners are worn, the brighter they shine.

“I teach my little girl to wear her good manners at home,” said a lady. Wise mother; fortunate child.

And why not? O, if we could but remember that “we are never alone,” but that the angel scribe is constantly by our side,—writing, writing! We have seen the man of business dictate letter after letter to his stenographer; just so are we dictating our own record to the heavenly stenographer,—the record which pretty soon must decide our fate.

We all know the story of Michal, the princess of Israel, daughter of a great and mighty king. And yet King Saul had woefully neglected to teach his young daughter to be courteous. O, I’d rather be a courteous peasant girl than a discourteous and uncivil princess! So, of course, not being accustomed to speaking kindly in her childhood and youth, she, too, forgot her “company manners,” and spoke insulting words to the Lord’s anointed,—and to her own husband whom she had promised always to love! Too bad. Wouldn’t we dislike to have such a record made of our words and conduct, and know that they would be read ages and ages hence by those who must despise us?

I tell you, courtesy and kindness pay; they pay in the best of coin,—and they pay constantly,—at home as well as abroad. I would that this motto might be framed, and hung up in every home and in every room of every home (kitchen included), and in every store and every hall, and,—yes, in every meeting-house in the land:—

“Be pitiful; be courteous.”