everything is rated by the standard of money.

Yet, this standard is precisely not the ultimate test of the Christianity
on which we have been pluming ourselves through the centuries. Still, no
one can get along without money; and few of us get along very well with
what we have. At least we think so--because everybody else seems to think
that way. We Americans are members of the nation which, materially, is
the richest, most prosperous and most promising in the world. This idea is
dinned into our heads continually by foreign observers, and publicly we
"own the soft impeachment." Privately, each individual American seems
driven with the decision that he must live up to the general conception of
the nation as a whole. And he does, but in less strenuous moments he might
profitably ponder the counsel of Gladstone to his countrymen: "Let us
respect the ancient manners and recollect that, if the true soul of
chivalry has died among us, with it all that is good in society has died.
Let us cherish a sober mind; take for granted that in our best
performances there are latent many errors which in their own time will
come to light."

America, too, has her ancient manners to remember and respect; but, in the
rapid assimilation of new peoples into her economic and social organism,
more pressing concerns take up nearly all her time. The perfection of
manners by intensive cultivation of good taste, some believe, would be the
greatest aid possible to the moralists who are alarmed over the decadence
of the younger generation. Good taste may not make men or women really
virtuous, but it will often save them from what theologians call
"occasions of sin." We may note, too, that grossness in manners forms a
large proportion of the offenses that fanatical reformers foam about.
Besides grossness, there is also the meaner selfishness. Selfishness is at
the polar remove from the worldly manners of the old school, according to