themselves in the course of centuries an unenviable reputation for
discourtesy. The Italians say "as rude as a Florentine"; and even
the casual tourist (presuming his standard of manners to have been
set by Italy) is disposed to echo the reproach. The Roman, with the
civilization of the world at his back, is naturally, one might say
inevitably, polite. His is that serious and simple dignity which
befits his high inheritance. But the Venetian and the Sienese have
also a grave courtesy of bearing, compared with which the manners
of the Florentine seem needlessly abrupt. We can no more account for
this than we can account for the churlishness of the Vaudois, who
is always at some pains to be rude, and the gentleness of his
neighbour, the Valaisan, to whom breeding is a birthright, born, it
would seem, of generosity of heart, and a scorn of ignoble things.

But such generalizations, at all times perilous, become impossible
in the changing currents of American life, which has as yet no quality
of permanence. The delicate old tests fail to adjust themselves to
our needs. Mr. Page is right theoretically when he says that the
treatment of a servant or of a subordinate is an infallible criterion
of manners, and when he rebukes the "arrogance" of wealthy women to
"their hapless sisters of toil." But the truth is that our hapless
sisters of toil have things pretty much their own way in a country
which is still broadly prosperous and democratic, and our treatment
of them is tempered by a selfish consideration for our own comfort
and convenience. If they are toiling as domestic servants,--a field
in which the demand exceeds the supply,--they hold the key to the
situation; it is sheer foolhardiness to be arrogant to a cook.
Dressmakers and milliners are not humbly seeking for patronage;
theirs is the assured position of people who can give the world what
the world asks; and as for saleswomen, a class upon whom much