PROPRIETY AND POLITENESS.

[Delivered in Rusholme Public Hall, Manchester, April 24th, 1872: based on a paper published in The Christian Spectator, July, 1864.]

THE word "propriety" is etymologically akin to the word "property." "Property" is that which is a man's own-which belongs peculiarly to a given individual; "propriety " designates that course of conduct which is proper to a certain occasion-which belongs peculiarly to a given set of conditions. "Politeness," according to some, means, originally, the manners acquired in city-life, just as "courtesy" originally meant the manners acquired at the "courts of kings; and just as "boorishness," "clownishness," "rusticity," are words pointing originally to the manners of those born and bred in the rural districts. It appears, however, that the word "politeness" is akin rather to the word "polish," and thus referred originally to smoothness and refinement of speech and behaviour.

But, of course, all such words are now used with considerable latitude of meanings. They have come, moreover, to have at once a superficial and a deeper significance. Thus, we speak of a true propriety and a true politeness. An action may be condemned by many as "improper," which, under the circumstances,

is really the most proper-i.e., the most fit and becoming thing to do. And even a metropolitan lady, of most polished manners, may fancy that she is not violating any of the rules of politeness, and yet all the while be committing what, in the deeper sense of the word, is nothing but vulgarity!

There is a great deal of so-called "propriety" that is purely conventional, and we are all more or less bound by such conventional usages and rules. Many of these are so harmless, and in themselves so utterly indifferent, that it is not worth while deviating from them; and such deviation, without any reason whatever, would only indicate a foolish pride. Nevertheless, whilst every modest man will be glad for his own sake to acquiesce in all the purely indifferent proprieties of social life, there is, on the other hand, abundant reason why we should refuse to be chained down by the formal rules of society, and why, under certain circumstances, we should deliberately set at naught some of these conventional usages.

For, to begin with, it must be confessed that a merely artificial propriety tends greatly to stiffen the whole man, and to take away from our life that freshness, elasticity, and naturalness which constitute one of its most delightful charms. Between the real human being and the mere slave of propriety, there is about the same difference as exists between the living flower on which the dewdrops glisten and the same flower dried in the botanist's portfolio; or, to use Mrs. Barrett Browning's figure, between the bird that lives and sings in the thicket and the bird that "leaps from perch to perch " in the cage. Blackbirds or "lions," 'tis all the same, "society" would keep us in the

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cage"; and, so long as we sing within the wires, or roar within the bars, according to her pleasure, she will gladly give us her approval on which to feed. The actor's meed of applause will be ours so long as we violate no dramatic propriety, and break through none of the traditions of the stage. And there are not a few who are as accommodating in this matter as Bottom the weaver in Midsummer-Night's Dream; they will play Pyramus or they will play Thisbe, or they will play the lion; and if the lion's voice should be considered improperly loud, they " will roar you as gently as any sucking-dove" or "an 'twere any nightingale!" But, whether we think of these artificial demands of society as cage-wires or as stage-traditions, we feel that to be enslaved by them is altogether uncongenial to our nature. Many of us show our appreciation of a freer and more natural life by the value we set on that characteristic of our homes which we best name their "homeliness." Now, we might surely infuse a little more of this happy liberty into the social circle without breaking down the barrier which makes home such a pleasant retreat. I am not saying that we ought to go out into society in slippers and dressing-gown, but I do say that there ought to be more frankness and naturalness in our general social intercourse. We are not to act towards "each new-hatched, unfledged comrade,” as if he were a long and well-tried friend; but we need not therefore treat him as if he were an inhabitant of some other planet. Some men are so wonderfully afraid of "wearing their heart upon their sleeve," that they lay themselves open to the suspicion of having no heart at all.

There is too much of the well-dressed mummy

about our social gatherings. In the case of some of our fashionable evening parties, propriety is a kind of "death's-head at the feast." Recreation "dies of dignity." Host, hostess, and guests are too polite to be human. One almost wishes that the solemn waiter would trip for once on the carpet, so that a hearty human laugh might relax the stiffness of the company! A great deal of the talk is forced and unnatural. Spontaneous converse would be much more profitable. But a conventional propriety too often acts as a social non-conductor. I know I am uttering heresies; but I believe that even the dressiness of evening parties plays no unimportant part in this work of social insulation. It is not so easy to get at the real humanity through all those elaborate preparations of the toilette. Nor does this difficulty always vanish in proportion to the frequency with which such parties are attended. On the contrary, there is something in their very atmosphere which tends to check all freshness and spontaneity of intercourse. Who does not feel that the truly "proper" and becoming thing would be for men and women to meet each othereven for the first time-with a certain measure of genial frankness and mutual kindliness and sympathy?

But not only do the demands of an artificial propriety tend thus to stiffen our nature, and rob our social intercourse of the charm of freshness and simplicity, they also tend to destroy individuality of character. It is quite refreshing now-a-days to meet with a man who has the moral courage to be simply -himself. Society has a "pattern on her nail"; and after that pattern she would carve her devotees. Almost every one of us has been more or less dwarfed

by current maxims and standards: very few have the fortitude to develop fully what is distinctive in their nature. And there are many who allow themselves to be "Dutch-cut," so that a proper and dull uniformity takes the place of a marked and varied individuality. Thus men lose enthusiasm: to be enthusiastic is to be vulgar." A gentleman comes to be tacitly defined as a man who always maintains an outward serenity. "A gentleman," said Beau Brummell, "never perspires!" Equanimity comes to be regarded as the highest of virtues. Indignation against iniquity is unbecoming. I fear St. Paul was very ungentlemanly when he "withstood Peter to the face!" I am afraid Martin Luther did a highly "improper thing" that day he nailed his theses to the door of the church in Wittenberg! I begin to suspect that all the loftiest deeds in the history of the world-born as they have been of individuality and enthusiasm—have been only a series of "improprieties!" The truth is that what is admired by many as equanimity, is frequently the mere pride or selfishness of a mean and little soul. Equanimity is admirable only when it is based on magnanimity. And no man need live at second-hand. Every man may have a character as distinctively his own as his face is. And we may well overlook all merely formal proprieties which threaten to interfere with the true and "proper" growth of our individual life.

Our very opinions and beliefs are not safe from the dictation of society. The man who dares to differ on any important political question from the coterie in which he moves is likely to be met with a halfcontemptuous astonishment. There are works of art

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