MANNERS AND ENVIRONMENT.
By Kate Upson Clark
EVERYBODY can testify to a certain feeling of self-respect—shall it be called?—which comes over him upon exchanging his work-a-day clothes for his best ones. What is it? Why do we feel better-bred and more at ease when we are well dressed than when we are poorly clad? Who shall say? Similarly, do we not behave better, or, perhaps it should be stated, do we not unconsciously adopt a more formal and polished manner, in an elegantly-furnished drawing-room from that which we put on in a bare, homely kitchen? If we stop to think of these things, we may find that they branch out into many and very important "leadings." For example, a lady was boarding, not long ago, in a private family, composed of father, mother, three large boys, and two small girls. They had all been well, but plainly, brought up, and the manners of the children in the pretty family parlor, with its piano, its dainty curtains, and abundant books, were good. When they went into the dining-room, however, there was a perceptible difference in their behavior. They constantly were in need of reproof from their parents, and as constantly received it. They took enormous mouthfuls, bolted their food in an alarming way, slid the dishes about on the table-cloth, lounged, drank when their mouths were full of food, and were generally lawless and disagreeable.141On their return to the parlor the boys became gentlemanly again, took pains to get interesting books and pictures to amuse each other with and such guests as happened in, were particular to say, "Excuse me," when leaving the room, and in many ways indicated that they were really and truly well-bred. The girls underwent a like transformation. From scrambling, greedy little hoydens, they became gentle, quiet, lady-like. The boarder puzzled over the strange conduct of this family for some time before she arrived at any sort of a solution of it. Then it occurred to her that the appearance of the dining-room might have something to do with the change which they seemed to undergo while there. It was a bare, unsightly apartment, with a singularly unattractive arrangement of doors, shelves, and windows in it, while the furniture of the room and the dishes used were of the most ordinary description. There was an absolute lack of taste and thought in the whole make-up of the place. Perhaps in a more esthetic dining-room the manners of the family would have been better. Now we all know boors who live in fine houses, and we know gentle and refined people who live in rooms guiltless of carpet or rug, and who eat from delf; but is it not generally true that manners, if left to themselves, will be influenced largely by environment?—Kate Upson Clark, in Congregationalist.