University of Virginia Library

MANNER.

When the fluid particles composing the primeval earth
settled into consistent masses, an unbroken, uniform,
plain was not the result; but everywhere, form, color
and density indicated the various species of matter. Verdure
crept over the rich loam, long tables of sand marked
the limits of the sea, and rocks of every hue stood forth
from the hills. Form of aspect and movement became a
law of creation. Even the unstable elements obeyed it.
The waters projected themselves into billows, currents,
and fountains, and the aeriform waves of the “upper
deep” were poured forth in as certain developments. To
everything a manner was awarded, by which it was to
be recognised, and through which it was to be studied.
Another world was then called into being,—a universe of
thought, sentiment, fancy, and feeling, a human world.
And in this, too, external forms were assumed, and manner
became a characteristic of mortals. The same law
obtains in the spheres of mind and matter; but how differently
displayed! Since the first song of the stars, the
heavens have worn the same successive drapery, the earth

has changed not her four familiar robes. The winds have
raised the billows into mountains or dallied with the rose-leaves.
In all things has nature been variable, yet the
same—ever presenting a well-known though ever varying
feature. She knows not the law of fashion. She is inexpert
in artificial diplomacy. But manner, among human
beings, is subject to the modifications of time and
place; it can be made subservient to the will. In its
very nature, manner is a means, and greatly do those err
who make it an end. Yet are there individuals, by whom
this adjunctive, secondary, exponent principle is supremely
cultivated and mainly relied on. There are those who
manage to glide along through the world by a kind of
mannered legerdemain, who have acquired their manner
in the ancient school of Proteus, and by their singular
dexterity in ever imparting the required impression, from
moment to moment, fail not in their social objects.
There is a species of shufilers, who succeed, by virtue of
an off-hand manner, which mankind, in general, are content
to yield to. The most popular class is, doubtless,
that which reduces Chesterfield to practice, on principle,
and with veritable punctilio. These devotees lean on a
broken reed. Their faith in a manner is too perfect.
With wonder did I once hear a man of sense console
himself for the unprincipled conduct of his son, by declaring
that `through all he had kept his manners.' When
tact at mere verbal rhyming constitutes a poet, musical
memory a composer, or taste in colors a painter, then
may we believe that manner will make a man, for,

There is a policy in manner. I have heard one, not inexperienced
in the pursuit of fame, give it his earnest
support as being the surest passport to absolute and brilliant
success. And who, that has been chained, for hours,
as by enchantment, with the grace and elegance of an
orator, and then, in solitude, reviewed his words and recalled
not a single original and impressive idea—has not
realised this? It is wonderful how a skilful mannerist
can deceive the world as to his acquirements and motives.
I have, at this moment, in my mind's eye, the comely
figure of an individual who has attained no undesirable
elevation in the world of letters, whose manner is so profound
and scholar-like, so redolent of the otium cum dignitate,
that it has earned him the cognomen of the learned.
A Greek name is inscribed upon his cane, and a Latin
adage upon his tongue's end. He yields not to familiar
discourse, nor manifests an interest in aught save what is
classical. In company with scholars, he is silent, seemingly
from abstraction; in the society of the uninitiated
he speaks much, apparently to relieve the exuberance of
his acquisitions: the one class attempt not to examine
his pretensions, from a horror (natural to high minds) of
pedantic display; the other, awe-struck, yield him reverence.
Now a few years since, —; but I will not
betray him. Suffice it to say, that the first time the magnificence
of his manner is invaded, the commanding
frost-work of his reputation will melt in air. We habitually

suspect the truthfulness of a prominent manner. If,
in the presence of an individual, he induces us to think
continually of his manner and forget himself, we are quickly
aware of our want of affinity. There is no delight in
his fellowship. Of all forbidding inventions, an assumed
manner is the most effectual. We instinctively anticipate
the forthcoming scene behind our backs. Some masterly
delineation of the Duke of Gloster, in the act of hurling
away the prayer book, occurs to us. We are ill at ease;
we seem to hear the laugh and witness the mimicry which
is to occur when the door has closed upon our exit. We
discern beyond the smile and the honeyed word, and are
sickened at the self created hollowness of a human heart.
We have admirable provisions in our civil code, for the
crimes of perjury and overreaching. A thrice heavy penalty
should fall upon him convicted of deliberately and
habitually practising upon mankind, through the agency
of a pre-assumed, politic manner. Manner is the universal
language, the grand circulating medium; and should
not the attempt to counterfeit the genuine, native stamped
coin, be made penal? There are no greater forgers in the
universe than cunning mannerists. Their whole lives are
false. The loveliest of human attributes, the beautiful, the
winning virtue of sincerity abides not with them. They
have abjured the profession of humanity. They have become
players—with none of the ideal interest and singleness
of purpose which may belong to the legitimate followers
of Thespis. The wearisome rehearsals, the guarded
conduct, the oppressive sense of having a part to play, the
struggles between the real man and the assumed character—
all press upon and disturb them; and there is for them
no refreshing returns to nature, no blissful interludes in
the trying drama, for habit has bound them to the task, and
policy goads them on.

There is a poignancy in manner. I have often heard a
friend describe the effect produced at a well-surrounded dinner
table, by the silence of a gentleman to whom one of the
company, in a very audible voice, had addressed an impertinent
question. The tacit rebuke was most keenly felt;
it was more effectual than a public reprimand, and yet how
entirely devoid of irrational severity. Similar results
may be effected through expert application of manner.
An instance occurs among the innumerable anecdotes related
of John Randolph. A young aspirant for congressional
fame saw fit, in his maiden speech, to give proof
of his boldness and eloquence, by a long and abusive attack
upon the eccentric member from Virginia. At the
conclusion of the young orator's voluminous address, the
hero of Roanoke arose, and stretching his long, nervous
arm toward the seat of the complacent youth, with a half-enquiring,
half-contemptuous look, thus replied:—“Mr.
Speaker, who's that?” There was a sarcastic bitterness
in his manner, under which the offender quailed. I was
never more impressed with the poignant sting mere manner
can inflict, than on one occasion, when abroad. Soon
after day-break, on a misty morning, the steam-boat which
had brought us from Naples, dropped anchor in the port
of Leghorn. We waited, with great impatience, the arrival
of the permit to land, from the board of health. At
length, understanding it had been received, I joined a party

of the pasengers and entered one of the boats which surrounded
us. We were distant from the shore about an
eighth of a mile. The wind was blowing a gale and the
sea running very high. We had reached about the middle
of the intervening space, and were beginning to rejoice
at the prospect of a comfortable shelter, when the
health-officer, from the steam-vessel, hailed our boatman,
ordering him, upon his peril, not to proceed. It seemed
some form had been omitted; and, we were kept in the
rain, and among the dashing billows, for more than half
an hour. Thoroughly vexed at the officer's conduct, we
began at last to approach the quay, cold, wet, and comfortless.
Various measures were suggested for bringing
him to punishment. An Englishman begged that we
would leave it to him, assuring us he was well acquainted
with the temperament of the people. Soon after, the official
barge approached, and in the prow sat our enemy
with that air of superiority characteristic of underlings.
With much curiosity we awaited the movements of our
British companion. To our astonishment he doffed his
hat, and said—addressing the officer—“Your name, sir,
if you please.” The rowers of the barge slackened their
oars and gazed curiously upon their commander; his face
was suffused with scarlet—“My name! my name!” he
muttered fiercely, and impatiently waving to the oarsmen,
they soon shot rapidly away. We looked to the English
gentleman for an explanation. “Gentlemen” said he,
“be assured I have wounded him to the quick; if I had
parleyed with him, his pride would have been gratified;
but by asking, in a ceremonious manner, for his name,
in the presence of his men, as if we disdained to do less
than complain to his superior, I have both mortified and
alarmed him. The formality of my manner has punished
him more than words could possibly do.” And so
proved. For, on landing, we found him pacing the wharf
and uttering his indignation and fears most violently
while ample apologies were proffered us from all quarters.
I afterwards discovered that to bandy words with the lower
classes of Italy, was but to waste one's breath and subject
the patience to a great trial;—to meet them on their
own ground and give them the advantage which the fluency
of their language affords. They must be addressed
the language of manner, to which they are peculiarly susceptible.
There is a power in manner. How finely
Byron describes, in the bearing of Conrad—

Who that is susceptible to nature, will deny that the sway
of manner consists in its truth? We speak of the impressive
dignity of some of the Indian tribes; kings might
strive to imitate it in vain. It is the gift of nature— the
ennobling grace of the forest lords. The companionship
of genius—when do we most perfectly realise it? What
enthusiasm has led the gifted mind into such an outpouring
that manner is forgotten, and every look and movement
is instinct with soul. In aged persons and children—those
who have lived too long to meditate effect, and
those who, as yet, listen only to the inward oracle, we more
frequently see the perfect spell of manner. What a world

of allurement is involved in the common phrase, an unaffected
manner! Nothing is so delightful as what is spontaneous.
A frank expression of sentiment, a native
manner, captivate; thrice happy when the latter is habitual.
Memnon's image imparted not its mysterious
strains except at the touch of the sunbeams, nor will manner
yield its true witchery from any inspiration but that
of the soul.