A duty which you will carefully remember throughout your round is that of quiet Christian courtesy; impartially shown to rich, to middling, and to poor. I say impartially, with a view to _both_ ends of the scale. Some men (perhaps not many, but some) seem to think that ministerial courage and fidelity in dealing with well-to-do parishioners demand a certain dropping of the courtesies of life; a very great mistake. Many more men are tempted to forget that their visits to the poorest should be, in the essence of the matter, as courteous as when they go to the portal which carries a brass knocker. At the door of the dingiest cottage, or dingier lodging, never forget that you _ask_ for entrance; it is your neighbour's castle-door; and you are not a sanitary inspector. If you happen to come in at the meal-time of the roughest and dirtiest, apologize as naturally and honestly as you would if you intruded on the wealthy churchwarden's well-set luncheon. Among the very lowest, do all you can to honour parents before their children (I know it is nearly impossible in some sad cases); and always honour old age.
Surely one good maxim on manner with our poorer neighbours is to aim to address them very much as we would address our neighbours of our own class. A patronizing manner is most certainly a very great pity, and almost sure to be resented. But so, too, is the ostentatious "hail-and-well-met" manner which is sometimes assumed; an over-drawn imitation, perhaps, of the workman's manner with his fellows. This is a mistake, because it is almost always unnatural. Few gentlemen get better at others by ceasing to act and speak as gentlemen. Let us talk quite quietly and pleasantly, as just what we are, and as those who most unaffectedly "honour all men," [1 Pet. ii. 17.] and we shall not go far astray; always supposing that the matter of our talk is sensible, true, and to the purpose.