The Nurse

Everybody knows the nurse is either the comfort or the torment of the house. Everyone also knows innumerable young mothers who put up with inexcusable crankiness from a crotchety middle-aged woman because she was " so wonderful" to the baby. And here let it be emphasized that such an one usually turns out to have been not wonderful to the baby at all. That she does not actually abuse a helpless infant is merely granting that she is not a " monster."

Devotion must always be unselfish; the nurse who is really " wonderful" to the baby is pretty sure to be a person who is kind generally. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred the sooner a domineering nurse—old or young—is got rid of, the better. It has been the experience of many a mother whose life had been made perfectly miserable through her belief that if she dismissed the tyrant the baby would suffer, that in the end—there is always an end! —the baby was quite as relieved as the rest of the family when the " right sort" of a kindly and humane person took the tyrant's place.

It is unnecessary to add that one can not be too particular in asking for a nurse's reference and in never failing to get a personal one from the lady she is leaving. Not only is it necessary to have a sweet-tempered, competent and clean person, but her moral character is of utmost importance, since she is to be the constant and inseparable companion of the children whose whole lives are influenced by her example, especially where busy parents give only a small portion of time to their children.

Courtesy To One's Household

In a dignified house, a servant is never spoken to as Jim, Maisie, or Katie, but always as James or Margaret or Katherine, and a butler is called by his last name, nearly always. The Worldly's butler, for instance, is called Hastings, not John. In England, a lady's maid is also called by her last name, and the cook, if married, is addressed as Mrs. and the nurse is always called " Nurse." A chef is usually called " Chef" or else by his last name.

Always abroad, and every really well-bred lady or gentleman here, says " please" in asking that something be brought her or him. " Please get me the book I left on the table in my room! " Or " Please give me some bread! " Or " Some bread, please." Or one can say equally politely and omit the please, " I'd like some toast, " but it is usual and instinctive to every lady or gentleman to add " please."

In refusing a dish at the table, one must say " No, thank you, " or " No, thanks, " or else one shakes one's head. A head can be shaken politely or rudely. To be courteously polite, and yet keep one's walls up is a thing every thoroughbred person knows how to do—and a thing that everyone who is trying to become such must learn to do.

A rule can't be given because there isn't any. As said in another chapter, a well-bred person always lives within the walls of his personal reserve, a vulgarian has no walls—or at least none that do not collapse at the slightest touch. But those who think they appear superior by being rude to others whom fortune has placed below them, might as well, did they but know it, shout their own unexalted origin to the world at large, since by no other method could it be more widely published.