bstinate to change; although,
to their credit be it said, if approached in the right way they will
generally try to correct tricks of speech or manner. But with our
children there should be no peradventure. Upon us is laid the
responsibility of making them what we choose, of developing them into
gentlemen, or neglecting them until they become boors. It is never too
early to begin. First impressions are lasting ones, and the child who,
from the beginning, is trained to observe the "small, sweet
courtesies," not only when in company, but in the nursery and with the
members of his own family, will never forget them. We often observe
"that man does as well as he can, but he is not the gentleman born."
That should, of itself, be a lesson to us mothers, to teach our
children, not only by precept but by example, to keep alive the
"altar-fire" of conventionality, and thus to make life warm,
beautiful, poetic. After all, may not what the impulsive girl whom I
quoted at the beginning of this talk termed the "sham" of life, be the
real, though hidden side? We read that "the things which are seen are
temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal."

CHAPTER XXVII.

FAMILIAR OR INTIMATE?

"What makes the difference between those two carriages?" I asked a
wagon builder, while examining two light vehicles of the same general
build and design. One cost twice as much as the other, and looked as
if it were worth four times as much.

"Some of it is in the material, but more in the finishing," was the
response. "This is of pretty fair wood, but simply planed and painted,
while this"--pointing to the more costly equipage--"is as hard as a
rock, and has been rubbed smooth, then polished until the surface is
as fine as silk. Then it is flowed all over with the best varnish,
left to dry ten days, and over-flowed again. That makes all the
difference in the look of wagons. Two of them may be built just alike,
and one will look like a grocer's errand-cart, while the other is a
regulation gentleman's turnout. It is all the effect of polish and
finish."

Involuntarily my mind reverted to Mr. Turveydrop and his modest
assurance that "we do our best to polish, polish, polish."

The carriage builder struck the right chord when he affirmed that
"finish made all the difference," and it applies as truly to flesh and
blood as to insensate wood. Only the wood has sometimes the advantage
of taking more kindly to improvement than do