s she wishes she had not been called by a
name which had a vulgar short one to it: she would like to have been
either Camilla or Henrietta. She thinks my name sweetly pretty; but she
wonders why we call Hester, Hatty, which she says is quite low and ugly,
and hardly, is the proper short for Hester. She says Hatty and Gatty
are properly short for Harriet, and Hester should be Essie, which is
much prettier. But then we call Esther Langridge, Essie, and we could
not do with two Essies. I know Father used to call Mamma, Gatty, but
Grandmamma said she always thought it so vulgar.

Grandmamma was always talking about things being vulgar, and so is
Cecilia. I notice that some people--for instance, my Aunt Kezia and
Flora--never seem to think whether things are vulgar or not. Cecilia
says that is because they are so vulgar they don't know it. I wonder if
it be. But Cecilia says--she said I was not to repeat it, though--that
my Aunt Kezia and Sophy are below vulgarity. When we were dressing one
morning, I asked Flora what she thought. She is as genteel in her
manners as Cecilia herself, only in quite a different way. Cecilia
behaves as if she wanted you to notice how genteel she is. Flora is
just herself: it seems to come natural to her, as if she never thought
about it. So I asked Flora what she thought "vulgarity" meant, and if
people could be below vulgarity.

"I should not think they could get below it," said she. "It is easy to
get above it, if you only go the right way. How can you get below a
thing which is down at the bottom?"

"But how would you do, Flora, not to be vulgar?"

"Learn good manners and then never think about them."

"But you must keep, up your company manners," said I.

"Why have any?" said she.

"What, always have one's company manners on!" cried I, "and be
courtesying and bowing to one's sisters as if they were people one had
never seen before?"

"Nay, those are ceremonies, not manners," said Flora. "By manners, I do
not understand ceremonies, but just the way you behave to anybody at any
time. It is not a ceremony to set a chair for a lame man, nor to shut a
door lest the draught blow on a sick woman. It is not a ceremony to eat
with a knife and fork, or to see that somebody else is comfortable
before you make yourself so."

"Why, but that is just kindness!" cried I.

"What are manners but kindness?" said Flora. "Let a maiden only try to
be as kind as she can to every crea