EDITOR’S OUTLOOK.

“MINOR MORALS.”

The importance of good breeding can not be too diligently insisted upon. But what is good breeding? This is hardly to be understood as synonymous with good manners, though certainly involving them. Nor is it quite the same thing as exemplary or agreeable behavior, though likely to insure it. The latter is entirely the product of constant practice. Good manners, polished behavior, are the fruit of long discipline—perfection herein being reached only when these manners become habitual, natural, instinctive.

True courtesy, meanwhile, involves something deeper than mere manners or motions. It has its seat in the heart—its root in the moral nature. Fundamentally it consists in an inward kindly, neighborly, tender feeling toward every one, an interest in, and a desire to promote everybody’s welfare. Genuine courtesy, in a word, is born of love, springs from a benevolent disposition, a brotherly, chivalric impulse.

But what is good breeding? It consists in this inward principle of good will, and the outward habit of graceful demeanor combined—it consists in the aforesaid inward gracious impulse, rooted in the heart, and finding natural outward expression, or interpretation, through that disciplined elegance of deportment of which I have spoken. To the inward impulse, or sentiment, duly awakened, the outward, educated habit naturally, instinctively responds; and we have the deportment, or carriage, of the truly polished or accomplished gentleman or lady.

These twin principles, the inward nurture and the outward culture or training, working together, underlie what in the highest sense is to be understood as good breeding.

The practical value of the accomplishment under consideration can not well be overestimated. How charming, truly, this gentlemanly, lady-like conduct—this kindly, graceful, genial way of carrying one’s self socially. True courtesy, verily, is as delightful as a song. More eloquent is it, we may say, than any oratory. It is a fine art. Better still, it is Christian.

Is it not at once a privilege and a duty to promote the pleasure of others? As has just been suggested, how may we more effectually minister to the pleasure of others than by a charming behavior?

By cultivated, agreeable manners, moreover, we immensely enhance our personal influence—our power for good. A person of agreeable manners, by uniformly pleasing, will, naturally, always be popular—have hosts of friends. While, whatever one’s worth or attainments, we yet shun his presence if he be disagreeable or offensive in manner or speech; on the other hand, we instinctively covet the society of one who, in any way, delights us.

The irresistible charm of polished manners, even when cultivated solely for commercial purposes, is well illustrated by a remark said to have been made by Mr. Beecher concerning the clerks in the shops of Paris. They were, he said, so polite and engaging in their attentions that his first impression always was that he must have met them somewhere before. And who has not, indeed, under the influence of the benign spirit, the genial and engaging manners, the kindly and obliging offices of the accomplished tradesman, often felt his prejudices give way, his original intentions to purchase nothing yield, and, instead, a purpose gradually spring up in his mind to do just the opposite of what he originally designed?

Nothing can be more evident, therefore, than that this matter of manners and breeding is a no unimportant part of one’s education, constituting, truly, a no insignificant part of every true man’s character. How greatly, then, does that youth stand in his own light, who, for any cause, neglects his manners. The thoroughly courteous youth, other things equal, will surely win his way to success. Personally agreeable in all his ways, he conciliates opposing prejudices, charms the indifferent, and makes every one he meets his friend. The boorish man, on the contrary, as inevitably blocks his way to fortune by awakening, on the part of those with whom he has to do, only sentiments of aversion and disgust.

Girls, for some reason, seem to take more naturally and kindly to graceful ways, to gentle courtesies, than boys. Young America, we think, is characteristically boorish, if not clownish. The boy of the period manifestly places no adequate value on good manners. Doubtless this matter of breeding—this careful cultivation of a genial and amiable deportment—is sadly neglected in our day. The youth of our day should be taught not only that rudeness and vulgarity never pay; but that while awkwardness is disagreeable and burdensome, the slightest approach to rowdyism is detestable and unpardonable.

Some one has very happily represented good manners as “minor morals.” And certain it is that vulgarity and vice are intimately related; that the low, vulgar fellow will ever be found but a few removes from a positively vicious one.

Love, refinement, social cultivation are all closely allied with righteousness; these, always and everywhere, constitute the true gentleman and lady.

THE COUNCILS AT BALTIMORE.

It was a noteworthy fact that two of the three great religious bodies of this country were holding councils in the same city in the last days of 1884. The city of Baltimore enjoys the distinction of being both a Catholic and a Methodist city. The former is the older claimant, since it was founded by English Catholics; but Methodism, also founded by Englishmen, has a Baltimore history which occasioned the centennial conference of last month. It was in Baltimore, Christmas 1784, that a few circuit riders organized the Methodist Episcopal Church. It is doubtless through the effectiveness of that organization that Methodism holds its position as the religious union of the largest population embraced in any one organization in this country. The Catholics are ordinarily reckoned the most numerous, because they count population and Methodists count only members; but taking the former basis as a common measure, the various branches of Methodism are doubtless the most numerous; and it is probable that by the same tests the Baptists outnumber the Catholics. If the Presbyterian bodies could be counted together, and the Lutherans and Congregationalists included, we should have a third great body of Protestants which may possibly outnumber the Catholics. Two other communions, the Protestant Episcopal and the Unitarian, would be in the first rank of religious influence if we attempted to measure and compare by this test. Taking account of members only, the most difficult problem of religious statistics is to determine whether any religious organization is relatively increasing. The unattached population, and the independent Protestant organizations, have been growing in numbers for a score of years; and the Protestant communions can not count by population without including the same persons in more than one church. It is not surprising that the Catholics most easily make an imposing array in the statistical tables. The precise count is not important in this place. The Catholics and Methodists are large bodies of American Christians, and they have some common features as well as some striking contrasts.

Both communions owe their success (if we take worldly measurement) to their vigorous management and subordination of their clergy for the good of the common cause. A Methodist itinerant and a Catholic priest resemble each other very little, but they are alike in being men who are “sent,” and who “obey orders.” Their personal choices and well-being are subordinated to a service and devotion. They alike resign at the doors of the temple their rights to serve and please themselves. It may be said that all Christians should do this; but this self-surrender is to the priest and the itinerants objective as well as subjective. It means that they go where they are sent by a human authority which they identify with the divine will. They are sacrificed to the general good; they suffer that others may rejoice—always under an external and visible authority. Another point of resemblance is the practical liberty of laymen in both churches. Theoretically the Catholic and the Methodist laymen are both bound to considerable service and duties. Methodism began in a rigor of religious duties which makes one wonder how John Wesley missed founding a new Catholic order of world-renouncing priests and lay brothers. Catholicism is theoretically even more rigorous. In the progress of this century, both laities have achieved more liberty than is good for them; the priest and the itinerant serve and sacrifice for all. A bright-eyed Methodist editor called attention some years ago to the fact that his church tolerates no heresy in ministers and pays little attention to the doctrinal vagaries of its laymen. It is doubtless true of both Catholics and Methodists; though neither church is prepared to make any admission of the sort or ever will be. The theory in each case calls for sound believing; and it is probably a just judgment which says that liberty is the atmosphere required for the growth of sound faith.

Another point of resemblance between Catholic and Methodist is that both communions have had a great mission to preach to the poor; and that they have preached to such effect that large numbers of their poor have become rich, not so obviously in faith as in worldly goods. We mean not to sneer, but to put our finger on the objective reality which lies before us. He is a careless man who fails to see that Methodism and Catholicism have produced industry, thrift, temperance and wealth in classes of people who were miserably poor at the outset. The fact has long been understood of Methodists; a special fact has obscured this large one among Catholics. There has been a steady inflow of poverty from the Old World and the Catholics have received into their communion a very large portion of this poverty. Their needy have been most abundantly recruited and continue to be. But at the same time their poor have grown wealthy all over the land. The Puritan farmer is disappearing in New England and the Irish Catholic is taking his place. Wealthy Catholics abound in all the large cities.

There are many points of contrast between the two communions. We suggest a single one, still looking at externals and not at creeds. While Methodism has for a quarter of a century been one of the most influential factors in politics—not at all as a machine, but altogether as an influence—Catholicism has during the same period almost lapsed out of sight as a political element. This resulted from the foreign character and training of the majority of the priests and people, and from wise avoidance of occasions of odium by the Catholic prelates. We suggest this contrast without drawing any inferences from it. For the near future, it is safe to predict a change on the Catholic side. Their Baltimore council will, by force of associations which are full of significance, tend to produce change. In Baltimore the Catholic may properly remember his claims to be and live an American of the Americans. That church has had a vast body of foreigners to naturalize; it has done the work under an array of obstacles which seemed too formidable to be overcome. It is a near day when the Americanism of the Catholics of this country will come to the proof of its quality and value. At Baltimore the thoughtful priest must have been moved to remember what claims he has on the country and what claims the country has on him. We shall as a people suffer some bitter trials and humiliations if the Catholics are not to be genuine Americans and ardent patriots. They are too many to be neutral or hostile.

A POOR MAN’S MOTOR.

The labor problem has not yet received a solution. Its central difficulty is to secure to workmen a fair share of the blessings of life. No one supposes that, taking the world together, they do now receive a fair share. In this country, workmen have fared uncommonly well; but there is a belief, resting on some facts, that the actual rewards of labor, as measured in the blessings of life, are rapidly declining, and must go on declining under the existing industrial system. Some theories on the subject are no longer tenable. The workman’s theory that capital robs him is not sound. Money, once worth ten per cent., has fallen to three per cent. for perfectly safe loans; when higher interest is paid, it is paid for conducting the business of lending (as in banks) or for risks of the loans. The government can borrow a thousand and more millions at two and one-half to three per cent.—and this shows what a hard time of it capital is having. The risks of manufacturing probably bleed labor; but the bleeding is not in the form of which the workman thinks. It is not profit but loss which drives the lancet in to the hilt. Political economists have shown (and they are entirely unanimous) that the high profits produce a competition which brings down profits. Capital is cheap; large profits can be made only in conditions which are monopolistic.

Our system of industrial exchange has one very weak place, called credit. This credit is a hole in the net through which industrial gains are dropped into the bottomless sea; and the system is so fixed upon us that there is no hope of reform in our day. To pay when we buy more and more offends something in our make-up. A wise man proposed that one, two and five dollar bills be abolished, in order that we might circulate, as the French do, a large amount of silver. A member of Congress immediately amended the suggestion thus: “No. Put this silver in the United States Treasury, and let us use ‘silver notes.’” We insist upon having even a credit money, and object to “the trouble” of handling coin. This refined and transcendental sentiment, or taste, or æstheticism about coin runs through us. The man who always pays, as well as the sneak who never pays if he can avoid it, says, “Charge it,” when he buys goods. Goods are sold by the manufacturer to the jobber on credit; the jobber sells to the wholesale houses on credit; the wholesale dealers sell to retailers on credit; the retailers sell to consumers on credit. It is within the mark to say, that more is lost in these four credit traps than capital gets—much more. It is not, in fact, the capitalist, but the well-dressed and the shabbily-dressed thieves who cheat and rob labor.

At first sight, the reader will wonder how the losses of the four credits come home to labor. We reply: they are merely the aggregate of the risks incurred in making staple goods—all other risks being insignificant in such manufacturing. The order of things is like this: what the jobber loses the manufacturer loses by the failure of the jobber. The jobber loses what the dealers between him and the consumers lose. Not quite all, perhaps, for the capitals of the dealers must be of some worth; but the consumer has, in the end, to pay all these losses, and the result is an enhanced price. In other words, a bale of goods starts out with a burden of risk which grows as it travels, and adds to the cost of goods so much that the consumer can not buy as much as he needs. The from 250 to 300 or more failures each week tell a part of the workman’s trouble; another vast body of his losses does not go to record at all. It is the fifty-cents-on-a-dollar compromise system between wholesalers and retailers.

Workmen ought to get what consumers pay, less three per cent. on capital and about as much more for risk of ordinary kinds and a fair cost of handling goods. We maintain a system of extraordinary risks, called a credit system, which consumes two or three times as much as capital. It is plain that workmen can not get (we write of such staples as cotton cloth) pay for lost goods. Wherever they are lost, the sums lost can not reach labor. We do not enter into the details of this argument; we have suggested reasons for believing that a cash system would stop one of the great leaks of the industrial system.

There are other great wastes in the existing forms of industrial management which, like the credit system, come out of the bones and blood of the workman. We pass them by to suggest that the industrial system has gone wrong, and can never go right, under the empire of steam. Steam is a centralizer. It concentrates industry, and by packing laborers into a small compass enhances the cost of living and enlarges the area of losses on sales and of distress in hard times. And to go at once to our solution of the labor problem, we will describe it as decentralization. A writer in MacMillan’s Magazine suggests that electric motors may prove to be the decentralizing force. Of course, it is not in the power of any material agent to effect great changes except as it coöperates with our inclinations. The expensiveness of steam machinery coöperated with our inclination to congregate in cities. We have congregated there. The larger half of our growth is in towns. The result is dear food, dear rent, pestilential diseases, moral degradation. When we grow sick of the experiment of building a modern Babel, our inclinations may coöperate with a motor energy which is plebeian and democratic. Let us suppose, then, that a workman can make any of the innumerable small articles which have iron or steel for a material. This workman has his bits of machinery and tools in his house. They do not cost more than a carpenter’s chest of tools. He has the skill; he has the tools; he wants power. But a neighbor tells him that he can buy in quart or gallon cans stored-up electricity, and by a little contrivance, which may cost fifty cents, he can attach his machinery to this democratic motor and be an independent workman, with all the advantages of machinery. He can make all these iron and steel contrivances in the middle of a prairie and sell them to his neighbors for cheap food and cheap rent. The divisibility of electric power may make it the poor man’s friend. You can not buy five cents’ worth of steam; there is now no reason to doubt that electric power may be sold in five-cent packages if there is a demand for it in such form. There is a vast aggregate of small manufacturing. Of course there are great industries to which our solution would not apply; but if half the laborers of the country could work profitably, each man by himself, in his own house—just as cobblers work—then the strain on the large industries, such as iron and steel making, would be so far reduced that workmen in those branches would probably command, permanently, excellent wages.

This article aims to do nothing more than to open a window of hope. We shall need to change a great deal; but the poor man’s motor will probably help us to change. A good many monopolies have grown up because steam favored their growth; others are the fruits of general ignorance. Under the sway of ignorance, the trade-mark becomes a tyrant, a grasping monopolist. For example, there are no patents on sewing machines, but machines of certain firms, wearing a certain trade-mark, command a monopoly price. Any good mechanic can build a good sewing machine for ten dollars. There might be men in every town engaged in supplying the local wants in the matter of sewing machines. No large factories, no heavy transportation bills, no eloquent traveling agents would be needed. There are thousands of things to which the same rule will apply when there is a poor man’s motor and such a diffusion of intelligence that the poor man can make, and people will buy, the home-made articles. The empire of the trade-mark will disappear when the motor and the intelligence come along, and both seem to be coming. It will not be necessary—if the motor arrives—to herd people together like cattle, or to transport goods long distances. The workmen will carry their kits of tools to the villages and live independently and cheaply in the midst of their customers. Is this a dream? But why should it not come true?

REFORMED CRIMINALS.

The French government is considering a proposition to restore the custom of deporting criminals. It is remarkable that the practical argument on this subject is decidedly favorable to this system. The argument against it is a sentimental one. The unsettled question about punishments for other than capital offenses is, how to secure the reform of criminals. Under the best managed prisons, reform of a lasting kind is rare. The best management seems to succeed until the prisoner is set at liberty. Then the reformed man finds himself an object of suspicion to orderly people and of special interest and sympathy to the criminal classes. The former will not employ him and the latter will. The result is, in most cases, that he relapses into crime. Perhaps there is some hope that the better classes may improve in their habits; but unless they do, it is well nigh useless to reform criminals in prison. The poor men who come out into an unsympathetic world which does not believe in their reformation, and in which unreformed ex-convicts are numerous enough to keep the general distrust of their class alive, have nothing like a fair chance to begin the world over again. If there were any hope that prisons could be perfected so as to reform all convicts, public prejudice could be broken down; but it is too much to expect that the general public will acquire a habit of distinguishing between good and bad ex-convicts. This is the difficulty for which no device has yet been found which will take it out of the path of humanitarian prison discipline. No faith is more stable than that which, among the public at large, affirms the total depravity of some men; especially of ex-convicts.

Turning to penal colonies, experience is most favorable to the belief that it opens the road to reform. The reports on the British penal colonies are especially cheerful from this point of view. The majority of the criminals sent abroad during three centuries reformed their lives. Australia ought to be the most disorderly country on the globe, if deporting criminals to a colony could produce a bad society. But notwithstanding the fact that England sent a large criminal population to that colony, Australia is one of the most orderly and respectable of the English dependencies. The only possible explanation is that the official reports are true, and that the convicts did actually reform. If Botany Bay did not reform them, the honest opportunities of that vast island did coöperate with their good purpose and promote their reform. England deported criminals from 1597 to 1867—a period of 270 years. During the War of Independence she suspended deportation and enrolled her convicts in the armies sent to subjugate us. In 1838 more than 100,000 criminals had been sent to Australia. An official report sets forth that in 1850 an enumeration of ex-convicts in Australia accounted for 48,600, and that all of them except an insignificant fraction were living honestly. But it will be said that Australia protested against the continuance of the system. This is not the exact fact. In dealing with the question, the English government threw upon the Australians all the expense of the surveillance of the deported criminals. The colonial government demanded, most righteously that England should pay this bill of expense; but rather than pay it the English Parliament chose to abolish the system of deportation. The colonists did make sentimental objections to receiving convicts, but they did so on the ground that the cost of watching the criminals of England was unjustly thrown upon them. A French writer remarks that in this case, as in the quarrel with us, the money question was allowed to prevail over statesmanship. The British ex-convict is worse off than our own because there are fewer opportunities for men under the reproach of prison service.

The French proposition to resort again to penal colonies, or rather to dumping ship-loads of criminals on new and undeveloped countries, suggests the seriousness of the question. Every French colony will object to receiving the vicious cargoes of humanity; but the objections will lose their violence if the home government shall send a proper proportion of French gold with each cargo. The testimony on the subject seems to show that if the transported men are such as to give signs of real reform, ninety-five per cent. of them will make good citizens. The open country, the new moral scenery, the necessities of that new world, conspire with good resolutions to maintain reformed habits. What shall we do with our reformed prisoners? It is not improbable that in a few years England will imitate France and restore the system of deportation. Why should not we make an experiment? Alaska, at least, might safely be used for the purpose. It would not be difficult to devise a system under which the best class of reformed men should be offered land and a small outfit in some remote corner of our country. By selecting the best, and making their removal voluntary, we might save to society the larger part of the men whom our prisons reform. We do not wish to disguise the fact that, however remote the place, the men who have lived by crime and escaped punishment would endanger the virtue of the ex-convict. But the criminal classes do not flow to the farthest frontiers except in scanty streams; and the Alaskan territory is as yet as safe as a wilderness can be. Some scheme of the sort is worth the devising. We are making little headway under our present best systems, simply because the ex-convict has no chance. Can he be given a fair chance?