I have seen that boy now for months, but never when his boots and clothes were brushed or when his cravat was not riding proudly above his collar.On occasions I have offered him pins, which he took wearily, doubtless because it was less trouble than to refuse.
The next day, however, his cravat again rode triumphant, mocking my efforts to keep it in its place.His hair, too, has been a cause of wonder to me.How does he manage to have it always so long and so unkempt? More than once, when expecting callers, I have bribed him to have it cut, but it seemed to grow in the night, back to its poetic profusion.
In what does this noble disregard for appearances which characterizes American men originate? Our climate, as some suggest, or discouragement at not all being millionaires? It more likely comes from an absence with us of the military training that abroad goes so far toward licking young men into shape.
I shall never forget the surprise on the face of a French statesman to whom I once expressed my sympathy for his country, laboring under the burden of so vast a standing army.He answered:
"The financial burden is doubtless great; but you have others.
Witness your pension expenditures.With us the money drawn from the people is used in such a way as to be of inestimable value to them.We take the young hobbledehoy farm-hand or mechanic, ignorant, mannerless, uncleanly as he may be, and turn him out at the end of three years with his regiment, self-respecting and well-mannered, with habits of cleanliness and obedience, having acquired a bearing, and a love of order that will cling to and serve him all his life.We do not go so far," he added, "as our English neighbors in drilling men into superb manikins of 'form' and carriage.Our authorities do not consider it necessary.But we reclaim youths from the slovenliness of their native village or workshop and make them tidy and mannerly citizens."These remarks came to mind the other day as I watched a group of New England youths lounging on the steps of the village store, or sitting in rows on a neighboring fence, until I longed to try if even a judicial arrangement of tacks, 'business-end up,' on these favorite seats would infuse any energy into their movements.Icame to the conclusion that my French acquaintance was right, for the only trim-looking men to be seen, were either veterans of our war or youths belonging to the local militia.And nowhere does one see finer specimens of humanity than West Point and Annapolis turn out.