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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Laws of Etiquette, by A Gentleman
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: The Laws of Etiquette
+
+Author: A Gentleman
+
+Release Date: August 7, 2002 [eBook #5681]
+[Most recently updated: September 8, 2021]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: Holly Ingraham
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAWS OF ETIQUETTE ***
+
+
+
+
+The Laws of Etiquette
+
+or,
+Short Rules and Reflections
+
+for
+CONDUCT IN SOCIETY.
+
+by A Gentleman
+
+PHILADELPHIA:
+
+1836.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber’s Note: Note the inconsistency of “Brummell” in one place
+of the original, and “Brummel” all other places. Also “Shakspeare,”
+“Don Quixotte,” “Sir Piercy,” and “Esop” are as in the original.
+
+
+Contents
+
+ PREFACE
+ INTRODUCTION
+ CHAPTER I. GOOD BREEDING.
+ CHAPTER II. DRESS.
+ CHAPTER III. SALUTATIONS.
+ CHAPTER IV. THE DRAWING-ROOM. COMPANY. CONVERSATION.
+ CHAPTER V. THE ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY.
+ CHAPTER VI. LETTERS.
+ CHAPTER VII. VISITS.
+ CHAPTER VIII. APPOINTMENTS AND PUNCTUALITY.
+ CHAPTER IX. DINNER.
+ CHAPTER X. TRAVELLING.
+ CHAPTER XI. BALLS.
+ CHAPTER XII. FUNERALS.
+ CHAPTER XIII. SERVANTS.
+ CHAPTER XIV. FASHION.
+ CHAPTER XV. MISCELLANEOUS.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+The author of the present volume has endeavoured to embody, in as short
+a space as possible, some of the results of his own experience and
+observation in society, and submits the work to the public, with the
+hope that the remarks which are contained in it, may prove available
+for the benefit of others. It is, of course, scarcely possible that
+anything original should be found in a volume like this: almost all
+that it contains must have fallen under the notice of every man of
+penetration who has been in the habit of frequenting good society. Many
+of the precepts have probably been contained in works of a similar
+character which have appeared in England and France since the days of
+Lord Chesterfield. Nothing however has been copied from them in the
+compilation of this work, the author having in fact scarcely any
+acquaintance with books of this description, and many years having
+elapsed since he has opened even the pages of the noble oracle. He has
+drawn entirely from his own resources, with the exception of some hints
+for arrangement, and a few brief reflections, which have been derived
+from the French.
+
+The present volume is almost apart from criticism. It has no
+pretensions to be judged as a literary work—its sole merit depending
+upon its correctness and fitness of application. Upon these grounds he
+ventures to hope for it a favourable reception.
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+The great error into which nearly all foreigners and most Americans
+fall, who write or speak of society in this country, arises from
+confounding the political with the social system. In most other
+countries, in England, France, and all those nations whose government
+is monarchical or aristocratic, these systems are indeed similar.
+Society is there intimately connected with the government, and the
+distinctions in one are the origin of gradations in the other. The
+chief part of the society of the kingdom is assembled in the capital,
+and the same persons who legislate for the country legislate also for
+it. But in America the two systems are totally unconnected, and
+altogether different in character. In remodelling the form of the
+administration, society remained unrepublican. There is perfect freedom
+of political privilege, all are the same upon the hustings, or at a
+political meeting; but this equality does not extend to the
+drawing-room or the parlour. None are excluded from the highest
+councils of the nation, but it does not follow that all can enter into
+the highest ranks, of society. In point of fact, we think that there is
+more exclusiveness in the society of this country, than there is in
+that even of England—far more than there is in France. And the
+explanation may perhaps be found in the fact which we hate mentioned
+above. There being _there_ less danger of permanent disarrangement or
+confusion of ranks by the occasional admission of the low-born
+aspirant, there does not exist the same necessity for a jealous
+guarding of the barriers as there does here. The distinction of
+classes, also, after the first or second, is actually more clearly
+defined, and more rigidly observed in America, than in any country of
+Europe. Persons unaccustomed to look searchingly at these matters, may
+be surprised to hear it; but we know from observation, that there are
+among the respectable, in any city of the United States, at least ten
+distinct ranks. We cannot, of course, here point them out, because we
+could not do it without mentioning names.
+
+Every man is naturally desirous of finding entrance into the best
+society of his country, and it becomes therefore a matter of importance
+to ascertain what qualifications are demanded for admittance.
+
+A writer who is popularly unpopular, has remarked, that the test of
+standing in Boston, is literary eminence; in New York, wealth; and in
+Philadelphia, purity of blood.
+
+To this remark, we can only oppose our opinion, that none of these are
+indispensable, and none of them sufficient. The society of this
+country, unlike that of England, does not court literary talent. We
+have cases in our recollection, which prove the remark, in relation to
+the highest ranks, even of Boston. Wealth has no pretensions to be the
+standard anywhere. In New York, the Liverpool of America, although the
+rich may make greater display and _bruit_, yet all of the merely rich,
+will find that there does exist a small and unchanging circle, whether
+above or below them, ‘it is not ours to say,’ yet completely apart from
+them, into which they would rejoice to find entrance, and from which
+they would be glad to receive emigrants.
+
+Whatever may be the accomplishments necessary to render one capable of
+reaching the highest platform of social eminence, and it is not easy to
+define clearly what they are, there is one thing, and one alone, which
+will enable any man to _retain_ his station there; and that is, GOOD
+BREEDING. Without it, we believe that literature, wealth, and even
+blood, will be unsuccessful. By it, if it co-exist with a certain
+capacity of affording pleasure by conversation, any one, we imagine,
+could frequent the very best society in every city of America, and
+_perhaps the very best alone._ To obtain, then, the manners of a
+gentleman is a matter of no small importance.
+
+We do not pretend that a man will be metamorphosed into a gentleman by
+reading this book, or any other book. Refined manners are like refined
+style which Cicero compares to the colour of the cheeks, which is not
+acquired by sudden or violent exposure to heat, but by continual
+walking in the sun. Good manners can certainly only be acquired by much
+usage in good company. But there are a number of little forms,
+imperiously enacted by custom, which may be taught in this manner, and
+the conscious ignorance of which often prevents persons from going into
+company at all.
+
+These forms may be abundantly absurd, but still they _must_ be attended
+to; for one half the world does and always will observe them, and the
+other half is at a great disadvantage if it does not. Intercourse is
+constantly taking place, and an awkward man of letters, in the society
+of a polished man of the world, is like a strong man contending with a
+skilful fencer. Mr. Addison says, that he once saw the ablest
+mathematician in the kingdom utterly embarrassed, from not knowing
+whether he ought to stand or sit when my lord duke drank his health.
+
+Some of the many errors which are liable to be committed through
+ignorance of usage, are pleasantly pointed out in the following story,
+which is related by a French writer.
+
+The Abbé Cosson, professor in the _Collége Mazarin_, thoroughly
+accomplished in the art of teaching, saturated with Greek, Latin, and
+literature, considered himself a perfect well of science: he had no
+conception that a man who knew all Persius and Horace by heart could
+possibly commit an error—above all, an error at table. But it was not
+long before he discovered his mistake. One day, after dining with the
+Abbé de Radonvillers at Versailles, in company with several courtiers
+and marshals of France, he was boasting of the rare acquaintance with
+etiquette and custom which he had exhibited at dinner. The Abbé
+Delille, who heard this eulogy upon his own conduct, interrupted his
+harangue, by offering to wager that he had committed at least a hundred
+improprieties at the table. “How is it possible!” exclaimed Cosson. “I
+did exactly like the rest of the company.”
+
+“What absurdity!” said the other. “You did a thousand things which no
+one else did. First, when you sat down at the table, what did you do
+with your napkin?” “My napkin? Why just what every body else did with
+theirs. I unfolded it entire]y, and fastened it to my buttonhole.”
+“Well, my dear friend,” said Delille, “you were the only one that did
+_that_, at all events. No one hangs up his napkin in that style; they
+are contented with placing it on their knees. And what did you, do when
+you took your soup?” “Like the others, I believe. I took my spoon in
+one hand, and my fork in the other—” “Your fork! Who ever eat soup with
+a fork?—But to proceed; after your soup, what did you eat?” “A fresh
+egg.” “And what did you do with the shell?” “Handed it to the servant
+who stood behind my chair.” “With out breaking it?” “Without breaking
+it, of course.” “Well, my dear Abbé, nobody ever eats an egg without
+breaking the shell. And after your egg—?” “I asked the Abbé
+Radonvillers to send me a piece of the hen near him.” “Bless my soul! a
+piece of the _hen_? You never speak of hens excepting in the barn-yard.
+You should have asked for fowl or chicken. But you say nothing of your
+mode of drinking.” “Like all the rest, I asked for _claret_ and
+_champagne._” “Let me inform you, then, that persons always ask for
+_claret wine_ and _champagne wine._ But, tell me, how did you eat your
+bread?” “Surely I did that properly. I cut it with my knife, in the
+most regular manner possible.” “Bread should always be broken, not cut.
+But the coffee, how did you manage it?” “It was rather too hot, and I
+poured a little of it into my saucer.” “Well, you committed here the
+greatest fault of all. You should never pour your coffee into the
+saucer, but always drink it from the cup.” The poor Abbé was
+confounded. He felt that though one might be master of the seven
+sciences, yet that there was another species of knowledge which, if
+less dignified, was equally important.
+
+This occurred many years ago, but there is not one of the observances
+neglected by the Abbé Cosson, which is not enforced with equal
+rigidness in the present day.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+GOOD BREEDING.
+
+
+The formalities of refined society were at first established for the
+purpose of facilitating the intercourse of persons of the same
+standing, and increasing the happiness of all to whom they apply. They
+are now kept up, both to assist the convenience of intercourse and to
+prevent too great familiarity. If they are carried too far, and escape
+from the control of good sense, they become impediments to enjoyment.
+Among the Chinese they serve only the purpose of annoying to an
+incalculable degree. “The government,” says De Marcy, in writing of
+China, “constantly applies itself to preserve, not only in the court
+and among the great, but among the people themselves, a constant habit
+of civility and courtesy. The Chinese have an infinity of books upon
+such subjects; one of these treatises contains more than three thousand
+articles.— Everything is pointed out with the most minute detail; the
+manner of saluting, of visiting, of making presents, of writing
+letters, of eating, etc.: and these customs have the force of laws—no
+one can dispense with them. There is a special tribunal at Peking, of
+which it is one of the chief duties, to ensure the observance of these
+civil ordinances?”
+
+One would think that one was here reading an account of the capital of
+France. It depends, then, upon the spirit in which these forms are
+observed, whether their result shall be beneficial or not. The French
+and the Chinese are the most formal of all the nations. Yet the one is
+the stiffest and most distant; the other, the easiest and most social.
+
+“We may define politeness,” says La Bruyère, “though we cannot tell
+where to fix it in practice. It observes received usages and customs,
+is bound to times and places, and is not the same thing in the two
+sexes or in different conditions. Wit alone cannot obtain it: it is
+acquired and brought to perfection by emulation. Some dispositions
+alone are susceptible of politeness, as others are only capable of
+great talents or solid virtues. It is true politeness puts merit
+forward, and renders it agreeable, and a man must have eminent
+qualifications to support himself without it.” Perhaps even the
+greatest merit cannot successfully straggle against unfortunate and
+disagreeable manners. Lord Chesterfield says that the Duke of
+Marlborough owed his first promotions to the suavity of his manners,
+and that without it he could not have risen.
+
+La Bruyère has elsewhere given this happy definition of politeness, the
+other passage being rather a description of it. “Politeness seems to be
+a certain care, by the manner of our words and actions, to make others
+pleased with us and themselves.”
+
+We must here stop to point out an error which is often committed both
+in practice and opinion, and which consists in confounding together the
+gentleman and the man of fashion. No two characters can be more
+distinct than these. Good sense and self-respect are the foundations of
+the one—notoriety and influence the objects of the other. Men of
+fashion are to be seen everywhere: a pure and mere gentleman is the
+rarest thing alive. Brummel was a man of fashion; but it would be a
+perversion of terms to apply to him “a very expressive word in our
+language,—a word, denoting an assemblage of many real virtues and of
+many qualities approaching to virtues, and an union of manners at once
+pleasing and commanding respect,— the word gentleman.”* The requisites
+to compose this last character are natural ease of manner, and an
+acquaintance with the “outward habit of encounter”—dignity and
+self-possession—a respect for all the decencies of life, and perfect
+freedom from all affectation. Dr. Johnson’s bearing during his
+interview with the king showed him to be a thorough gentleman, and
+demonstrates how rare and elevated that character is. When his majesty
+expressed in the language of compliment his high opinion of Johnson’s
+merits, the latter bowed in silence. If Chesterfield could have
+retained sufficient presence of mind to have done the same on such an
+occasion, he would have applauded himself to the end of his days. So
+delicate is the nature of those qualities that constitute a gentleman,
+that there is but one exhibition of this description of persons in all
+the literary and dramatic fictions from Shakespeare downward. Scott has
+not attempted it. Bulwer, in “Pelham,” has shot wide of the mark. It
+was reserved for the author of two very singular productions,
+“Sydenham” and its continuation “Alice Paulet”—works of extraordinary
+merits and extraordinary faults—to portray this character completely,
+in the person of Mr. Paulet.
+
+* Charles Butler’s Reminiscences
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+DRESS.
+
+
+First impressions are apt to be permanent; it is therefore of
+importance that they should be favourable. The dress of an individual
+is that circumstance from which you first form your opinion of him. It
+is even more prominent than manner, It is indeed the only thing which
+is remarked in a casual encounter, or during the first interview. It,
+therefore, should be the first care.
+
+What style is to our thoughts, dress is to our persons. It may supply
+the place of more solid qualities, and without it the most solid are
+of little avail. Numbers have owed their elevation to their attention
+to the toilet. Place, fortune, marriage have all been lost by
+neglecting it. A man need not mingle long with the world to find
+occasion to exclaim with Sedaine, “Ah! mon habit, que je vous
+remercie!” In spite of the proverb, the dress often _does_ make the
+monk.
+
+Your dress should always be consistent with your age and your natural
+exterior. That which looks outr, on one man, will be agreeable on
+another. As success in this respect depends almost entirely upon
+particular circumstances and personal peculiarities, it is impossible
+to give general directions of much importance. We can only point out
+the field for study and research; it belongs to each one’s own genius
+and industry to deduce the results. However ugly you may be, rest
+assured that there is some style of habiliment which will make you
+passable.
+
+If, for example, you have a stain upon your cheek which rivals in
+brilliancy the best Chateau-Margout; or, are afflicted with a nose
+whose lustre dims the ruby, you may employ such hues of dress, that the
+eye, instead of being shocked by the strangeness of the defect, will be
+charmed by the graceful harmony of the colours. Every one cannot indeed
+be an Adonis, but it is his own fault if he is an Esop.
+
+If you have bad, squinting eyes, which have lost their lashes and are
+bordered with red, you should wear spectacles. If the defect be great,
+your glasses should be coloured. In such cases emulate the sky rather
+than the sea: green spectacles are an abomination, fitted only for
+students in divinity,— blue ones are respectable and even _distingué._
+
+Almost every defect of face may be concealed by a judicious use and
+arrangement of hair. Take care, however, that your hair be not of one
+colour and your whiskers of another; and let your wig be large enough
+to cover the _whole_ of your red or white hair.
+
+It is evident, therefore, that though a man may be ugly, there is no
+necessity for his being shocking. Would that all men were convinced of
+this! I verily believe that if Mr. — in his walking-dress, and Mr. — in
+his evening costume were to meet alone, in some solitary place, where
+there was nothing to divert their attention from one another, they
+would expire of mutual hideousness.
+
+If you have any defect, so striking and so ridiculous as to procure you
+a _nickname_ then indeed there is but one remedy,—renounce society.
+
+In the morning, before eleven o’clock even if you go out, you should
+not be dressed. You would be stamped a _parvenu_ if you were seen in
+anything better than a reputable old frock coat. If you remain at home,
+and are a bachelor, it is permitted to receive visitors in a morning
+gown. In summer, calico; in winter, figured cloth, faced with fur. At
+dinner, a coat, of course, is indispensable.
+
+The effect of a frock coat is to conceal the height. If, therefore, you
+are beneath the ordinary statue, or much above it, you should affect
+frock coats on all occasions that etiquette permits.
+
+Before going to a ball or party it is not sufficient that you consult
+your mirror twenty times. You must be personally inspected by your
+servant or a friend. Through defect of this, I once saw a gentleman
+enter a ball-room, attired with scrupulous elegance, but with one of
+his suspenders curling in graceful festoons about his feet. His glass
+could not show what was behind.
+
+If you are about to present yourself in a company composed only of men,
+you may wear boots. If there be but one lady present, pumps and
+silk-stockings are indispensable.
+
+There is a common proverb which says, that if a man be well dressed as
+to head and feet, he may present himself everywhere. The assertion is
+as false as Mr. Kemble’s voice. Happy indeed if it were necessary to
+perfect only the extremities. The coat, the waistcoat, the gloves, and,
+above all, the cravat, must be alike ignorant of blemish.
+
+Upon the subject of the cravat—(for heaven’s sake and Brummel’s, never
+appear in a stock after twelve o’clock)—We cannot at present say
+anything. If we were to say anything, we could not be content without
+saying all, and to say all would require a folio. A book has been
+published upon the subject, entitled “The Cravat considered in its
+moral, literary, political, military, and religious attributes.” This
+and a clever, though less profound, treatise on “The art of tying the
+Cravat,” are as indispensable to a gentleman as an ice at twelve
+o’clock.
+
+When we speak of excellence in dress we do not mean richness of
+clothing, nor manifested elaboration. Faultless propriety, perfect
+harmony, and a refined simplicity,—these are the charms which fascinate
+here.
+
+It is as great a sin to be finical in dress as to be negligent.
+
+Upon this subject the ladies are the only infallible oracles. Apart
+from the perfection to which they must of necessity arrive, from
+devoting their entire existence to such considerations, they seem to be
+endued with an inexpressible tact, a sort of sixth sense, which reveals
+intuitively the proper distinctions. That your dress is approved by a
+man is nothing;—you cannot enjoy the high satisfaction of being
+perfectly comme il faut, until your performance has received the seal
+of a woman’s approbation.
+
+If the benefits to be derived from cultivating your exterior do not
+appear sufficiently powerful to induce attention, the inconveniences
+arising from too great disregard may perhaps prevail. Sir Matthew Hale,
+in the earlier part of his life, dressed so badly that he was once
+seized by the press-gang. Not long since, as I entered the hall of a
+public hotel, I saw a person so villainously habited, that supposing
+him to be one of the servants, I desired him to take my luggage
+upstairs, and was on the point of offering him a shilling, when I
+discovered that I was addressing the Honorable Mr. * * *, one of the
+most eminent American statesmen.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+SALUTATIONS.
+
+
+The salutation, says a French writer, is the touchstone of good
+breeding. According to circumstances, it should be respectful, cordial,
+civil, affectionate or familiar:—an inclination of the head, a gesture
+with the hand, the touching or doffing of the hat.
+
+If you remove your hat you need not at the same time bend the dorsal
+vertebræ of your body, unless you wish to be very reverential, as in
+saluting a bishop.
+
+It is a mark of high breeding not to speak to a lady in the street,
+until you perceive that she has noticed you by an inclination of the
+head.
+
+Some ladies _courtesy_ in the street, a movement not gracefully
+consistent with locomotion. They should always _bow._
+
+If an individual of the lowest rank, or without any rank at all, takes
+off his hat to you, you should do the same in return. A bow, says La
+Fontaine, is a note drawn at sight. If you acknowledge it, you must pay
+the full amount. The two best-bred men in England, Charles the Second
+and George the Fourth, never failed to take off their hats to the
+meanest of their subjects.
+
+Avoid condescending bows to your friends and equals. If you meet a rich
+parvenu, whose consequence you wish to reprove, you may salute him in a
+very patronizing manner: or else, in acknowledging his bow, look
+somewhat surprised and say, “Mister—eh—eh?”
+
+If you have remarkably fine teeth, you may smile affectionately upon
+the bowee, without speaking.
+
+In passing ladies of rank, whom you meet in society, bow, but do not
+speak.
+
+If you have anything to say to any one in the street, especially a
+lady, however intimate you may be, do not stop the person, but turn
+round and walk in company; you can take leave at the end of the street.
+
+If there is any one of your acquaintance, with whom you have a
+difference, do not avoid looking at him, unless from the nature of
+things the quarrel is necessarily for life. It is almost always better
+to bow with cold civility, though without speaking.
+
+As a general rule never _cut_ any one in the street. Even political and
+steamboat acquaintances should be noticed by the slightest movement in
+the world. If they presume to converse with you, or stop you to
+introduce their companion, it is then time to use your eye-glass, and
+say, “I never knew you.”
+
+If you address a lady in the open air, you remain uncovered until she
+has desired you _twice_ to put on your hat. In general, if you are in
+any place where _etiquette_ requires you to remain uncovered or
+standing, and a lady, or one much your superior, requests you to be
+covered or to sit, you may how off the command. If it is repeated, you
+should comply. You thereby pay the person a marked, but delicate,
+compliment, by allowing their will to be superior to the general
+obligations of etiquette.
+
+When two Americans, who “have not been introduced,” meet in some public
+place, as in a theatre, a stagecoach, or a steamboat, they will sit for
+an hour staring in one another’s faces, but without a word of
+conversation. This form of unpoliteness has been adopted from the
+English, and it is as little worthy of imitation as the form of their
+government. Good sense and convenience are the foundations of good
+breeding; and it is assuredly vastly more reasonable and more agreeable
+to enjoy a passing gratification, when no sequent evil is to be
+apprehended, than to be rendered uncomfortable by an ill-founded pride.
+It is therefore better to carry on an easy and civil conversation. A
+snuff-box, or some polite accommodation rendered, may serve for an
+opening. Talk only about generalities,—the play, the roads, the
+weather. Avoid speaking of persons or politics, for, if the individual
+is of the opposite party to yourself, you will be engaged in a
+controversy: if he holds the same opinions, you will be overwhelmed
+with a flood of vulgar intelligence, which may soil your mind. Be
+reservedly civil while the colloquy lasts, and let the acquaintance
+cease with the occasion.
+
+When you are introduced to a gentleman do not give your hand, but
+merely bow with politeness: and if you have requested the introduction,
+or know the person by reputation, you may make a speech. I am aware
+that high authority might easily be found in this country to sanction
+the custom of giving the hand upon a first meeting, but it is
+undoubtedly a solecism in manners. The habit has been adopted by us,
+with some improvement for the worse, from France. When two Frenchmen
+are presented to one another, each _presses_ the other’s hand with
+delicate affection. The English, however, never do so: and the
+practice, if abstractly correct, is altogether inconsistent with the
+caution of manner which is characteristic of their nation and our own.
+If we are to follow the French, in shaking hands with one whom we have
+never before seen, we should certainly imitate them also in kissing our
+_intimate_ male acquaintances. If, however, you ought only to bow to a
+new acquaintance, you surely should do more to old ones. If you meet an
+intimate friend fifty times in a morning, give your hand every time,—an
+observance of propriety, which, though worthy of universal adoption, is
+in this country only followed by the purists in politeness. The
+requisitions of etiquette, if they should be obeyed at all, should be
+obeyed fully. This decent formality prevents acquaintance from being
+too distant, while, at the same time, it preserves the “familiar” from
+becoming “vulgar.” They may be little things, but
+
+“These little things are great to little men.”
+
+Goldsmith.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+THE DRAWING-ROOM. COMPANY. CONVERSATION.
+
+
+The grand object for which a gentleman exists, is to excel in company.
+Conversation is the mean of his distinction,—the drawing-room the scene
+of his glory.
+
+When you enter a drawing-room, where there is a ball or a party, you
+salute the lady of the house before speaking to any one else. Even your
+most intimate friends are enveloped in an opaque atmosphere until you
+have made your bow to your entertainer. We must take occasion here to
+obelize a custom which prevails too generally in this country. The
+company enter the back door of the back parlour, and the mistress of
+the house is seated at the other extremity of the front parlour. It is
+therefore necessary to traverse the length of two rooms in order to
+reach her. A voyage of this kind is by no means an easy undertaking,
+when there are Circes and Calypsos assailing one on every side; and
+when one has reached the conclusion, one cannot perhaps distinguish the
+object of one’s search at a _coup d’œil._ It would be in every point of
+view more appropriate if the lady were to stand directly opposite to
+the door of the back parlour. Such is the custom in the best companies
+abroad. Upon a single gentleman entering at a late hour, it is not so
+obligatory to speak first to the mistress of the ceremonies. He may be
+allowed to converge his way up to her. When you leave a room before the
+others, go without speaking to any one, and, if possible, unseen.
+
+Never permit the sanctity of the drawing-room to be violated by a boot.
+
+Fashionable society is divided into _sets_, in all of which there is
+some peculiarity of manner, or some dominant tone of feeling. It is
+necessary to study these peculiarities before entering the circle.
+
+In each of these sets there is generally some _gentleman_, who rules,
+and gives it its character, or, rather, who is not ruler, but the first
+and most favoured subject, and the prime minister of the ladies’ will.
+Him you must endeavour to imitate, taking care not to imitate him so
+well as to excel him. To differ in manner or opinion from him is to
+render yourself unfit for that circle. To speak disrespectfully of him
+is to insult personally every lady who composes it.
+
+In company, though none are “free,” yet all are “equal.” All therefore
+whom you meet, should be treated with equal respect, although interest
+may dictate toward each different degrees of attention. It is
+disrespectful to the inviter to shun any of her guests. Those whom she
+has honoured by asking to her house, you should sanction by admitting
+to your acquaintance.
+
+If you meet any one whom you have never heard of before at the table of
+a gentleman, or in the drawing-room of a lady, you may converse with
+him with entire propriety. The form of “introduction” is nothing more
+than a statement by a mutual friend that two gentlemen are by rank and
+manners fit acquaintances for one another. All this may be presumed
+from the fact, that both meet at a respectable house. This is the
+theory of the matter. Custom, however, requires that you should take
+the earliest opportunity afterwards to be regularly presented to such
+an one.
+
+Men of all sorts of occupations meet in society. As they go there to
+unbend their minds and escape from the fetters of business, you should
+never, in an evening, speak to a man about his professions. Do not talk
+of politics with a journalist, of fevers to a physician, of stocks to a
+broker,—nor, unless you wish to enrage him to the utmost, of
+education to a collegian. The error which is here condemned is often
+committed from mere good nature and a desire to be affable. But it
+betrays to a gentleman, ignorance of the world—to a philosopher,
+ignorance of human nature. The one considers that “Tous les hommes sont
+égaux devant la politesse:” the other remembers that though it may be
+agreeable to be patronised and assisted, yet it is still more agreeable
+to be treated as if you needed no patronage, and were above assistance.
+
+Sir Joshua Reynolds once received from two noblemen invitations to
+visit them on Sunday morning. The first, whom he waited upon, welcomed
+him with the most obsequious condescension, treated him with all the
+attention in the world, professed that he was so desirous of seeing
+him, that he had mentioned Sunday as the time for his visit, supposing
+him to be too much engaged during the week, to spare time enough for
+the purpose, concluded his compliments by an eulogy on painting, and
+smiled him affectionately to the door. Sir Joshua left him, to call
+upon the other. That one received him with respectful civility, and
+behaved to him as he would have behaved to an equal in the
+peerage:—said nothing about Raphael nor Correggio, but conversed with
+ease about literature and men. This nobleman was the Earl of
+Chesterfield. Sir Joshua felt, that though the one had said that he
+respected him, the other had proved that he did, and went away from
+this one gratified rather than from the first. Reader, there is wisdom
+in this anecdote. Mark, learn, and inwardly digest it: and let this be
+the moral which you deduce,—that there is distinction in society, but
+that there are no distinctions.
+
+The great business in company is conversation. It should be studied as
+art. Style in conversation is as important, and as capable of
+cultivation as style in writing. The manner of saying things is what
+gives them their value.
+
+The most important requisite for succeeding here, is constant and
+unfaltering attention. That which Churchill has noted as the greatest
+virtue on the stage, is also the most necessary in company,—to be
+“always attentive to the business of the scene.” Your understanding
+should, like your person, be armed at all points. Never go into society
+with your mind _en deshabille._ It is fatal to success to be all absent
+or _distrait._ The secret of conversation has been said to consist in
+building upon the remark of your companion. Men of the strongest minds,
+who have solitary habits and bookish dispositions, rarely excel in
+sprightly colloquy, because they seize upon the _thing_ itself,—the
+subject abstractly,—instead of attending to the _language_ of other
+speakers, and do not cultivate _verbal_ pleasantries and refinements.
+He who does otherwise gains a reputation for quickness, and pleases by
+showing that he has regarded the observation of others.
+
+It is an error to suppose that conversation consists in talking. A more
+important thing is to listen discreetly. Mirabeau said, that to succeed
+in the world, it is necessary to submit to be taught many things which
+you understand, by persons who know nothing about them. Flattery is the
+smoothest path to success; and the most refined and gratifying
+compliment you can pay, is to listen. “The wit of conversation consists
+more in finding it in others,” says La Bruyère, “than in showing a
+great deal yourself: he who goes from your conversation pleased with
+himself and his own wit, is perfectly well pleased with you. Most men
+had rather please than admire you, and seek less to be instructed,—nay,
+delighted,—than to be approved and applauded. The most delicate
+pleasure is to please another.”
+
+It is certainly proper enough to convince others of your merits. But
+the highest idea which you can give a man of your own penetration, is
+to be thoroughly impressed with his.
+
+Patience is a social engine, as well as a Christian virtue. To listen,
+to wait, and to be wearied are the certain elements of good fortune.
+
+If there be any foreigner present at a dinner party, or small evening
+party, who does not understand the language which is spoken, good
+breeding requires that the conversation should be carried on entirely
+in his language. Even among your most intimate friends, never address
+any one in a language not understood by all the others. It is as bad as
+whispering.
+
+Never speak to any one in company about a private affair which is not
+understood by others, as asking how _that_ matter is coming on, &c. In
+so doing you indicate your opinion that the rest are _de trop._ If you
+wish to make any such inquiries, always explain to others the business
+about which you inquire, if the subject admit of it.
+
+If upon the entrance of a visitor you continue a conversation begun
+before, you should always explain the subject to the new-comer.
+
+If there is any one in the company whom you do not know, be careful how
+you let off any epigrams or pleasant little sarcasms. You might be very
+witty upon halters to a man whose father had been hanged. The first
+requisite for successful conversation is to know your company well.
+
+We have spoken above of the necessity of relinquishing the prerogative
+of our race, and being contented with recipient silence. There is
+another precept of a kindred nature to be observed, namely, not to talk
+too well when you do talk. You do not raise yourself much in the
+opinion of another, if at the same time that you amuse him, you wound
+him in the nicest point,—his self-love. Besides irritating vanity, a
+constant flow of wit is excessively fatiguing to the listeners. A witty
+man is an agreeable acquaintance, but a tiresome friend. “The wit of
+the company, next to the butt of the company,” says Mrs. Montagu, “is
+the meanest person in it. The great duty of conversation is to follow
+suit, as you do at whist: if the eldest hand plays the deuce of
+diamonds, let not his next neighbour dash down the king of hearts,
+because his hand is full of honours. I do not love to see a man of wit
+win all the tricks in conversation.”
+
+In addressing any one, always look at him; and if there are several
+present, you will please more by directing some portion of your
+conversation, as an anecdote or statement, to each one individually in
+turn. This was the great secret of Sheridan’s charming manner. His
+bon-mots were not numerous.
+
+Never ask a question under any circumstances. In the first place it is
+too proud; in the second place, it may be very inconvenient or very
+awkward to give a reply. A lady lately inquired of what branch of
+medical practice a certain gentleman was professor. He held the chair
+of _midwifery_!
+
+It is indispensable for conversation to be well acquainted with the
+current news and the historical events of the last few years. It is not
+convenient to be quite so far behind the rest of the world in such
+matters, as the Courier des Etats-Unis. That sapient journal lately
+announced the dethronement of Charles X. We may expect soon to hear of
+the accession of Louis Philippe.
+
+In society never quote. If you get entangled in a dispute with some
+learned blockhead, you may silence him with a few extemporary
+quotations. Select the author for whom he has the greatest admiration,
+and give him a passage in the style of that writer, which most
+pointedly condemns the opinion he supports. If it does not convince
+him, he will be so much stunned with amazement that you can make your
+escape, and avoid the unpleasant necessity of knocking him down.
+
+The ordinary weapons which one employs in social encounter, are,
+whether dignified or not, always at least honourable. There are some,
+however, who habitually prefer to bribe the judge, rather than
+strengthen their cause. The instrument of such is flattery. There are,
+indeed, cases in which a man of honour may use the same weapon; as
+there are cases in which a poisoned sword may be employed for
+self-defence.
+
+Flattery prevails over all, always, and in all places; it conquers the
+conqueror of Danäe: few are beneath it, none above it: the court, the
+camp, the church, are the scenes of its victories, and all mankind the
+subjects of its triumphs. It will be acknowledged, then, that a man
+possesses no very contemptible power who can flatter skillfully.
+
+The power of flattery may be derived from several sources. It may be,
+that the person flattered, finding himself gratified, and conscious
+that it is to the flatterer that he is indebted for this gratification,
+feels an obligation to him, without inquiring the reason; or it may be,
+that imagining ourselves to stand high in the good opinion of the one
+that praises us, We comply with what he desires, rather than forfeit
+that esteem: or, finally, flattery may be only a marked politeness, and
+we submit ourselves to the control of the flatterer rather than be
+guilty of the rudeness of opposing him.
+
+Flattery never should be direct. It should not be stated, but inferred.
+It is better acted than uttered. Flattery should seem to be the
+unwitting and even unwilling expression of genuine admiration. Some
+very weak persons do not require that expressions of praise and esteem
+toward them should be sincere. They are pleased with the incense,
+although they perceive whence it arises: they are pleased that they are
+of importance enough to have their favour courted. But in most eases it
+is necessary that the flattery should appear to be the honest offspring
+of the feelings. _Such_ flattery _must_ succeed; for, it is founded
+upon a principle in our nature which is as deep as life; namely, that
+we always love those who we think love us.
+
+It is sometimes flattery to accept praises.
+
+Never flatter one person in the presence of another.
+
+Never commend a lady’s musical skill to another lady who herself plays.
+
+It has often, however, a good effect to praise one man to his
+particular friend, if it be for something to which that friend has
+himself no pretensions.
+
+It is an error to imagine that men are less intoxicated with flattery
+than women. The only difference is that esteem must be expressed to
+women, but proved to men.
+
+Flattery is of course efficacious to obtain positive benefits. It is
+of, more constant use, however, for purposes of defence. You conquer an
+attack of rudeness by courtesy: you avert an attack of accusation by
+flattery. Every:one remembers the anecdote of Dr. Johnson and Mr.
+Ewing. “Prince,” said Napoleon to Talleyrand, “they tell me that you
+sometimes speculate improperly in the funds.” “They do me wrong then,”
+said Talleyrand. “But how did you acquire so much money!” “I bought
+stock the day before you were proclaimed First Consul,” replied the
+ex-bishop, “and I sold it the day after.”
+
+Compliments are light skirmishes in the war of flattery, for the
+purpose of obtaining an occasional object. They are little false coins
+that you receive with one hand and pay away with the other. To flatter
+requires a profound knowledge of human nature and of the character of
+your subject; to compliment skillfully, it is sufficient that you are a
+pupil of Spurzheim.
+
+It is a common practice with men to abstain from grave conversation
+with women. And the habit is in general judicious. If the woman is
+young, gay and trifling, talk to her only of the latest fashions, the
+gossip of the day, etc. But this in other cases is not to be done. Most
+women who are a little old, particularly married women — and even some
+who are young — wish to obtain a reputation for intellect and an
+acquaintance With science. You therefore pay them a real compliment,
+and gratify their self-love, by conversing occasionally upon grave
+matters, which they do not understand, and do not really relish. You
+may interrupt a discussion on the beauty of a dahlia, by observing that
+as you know that they take an interest in such things you mention the
+discovery of a new method of analyzing curves of double curvature. Men
+who talk only of trifles will rarely be popular with women past
+twenty-five.
+
+Talk to a mother about her children. Women are never tired of hearing
+of themselves and their children.
+
+If you go to a house where there are children you should take especial
+care to conciliate their good will by a little manly _tete-a-tete_,
+otherwise you may get a ball against your skins, or be tumbled from a
+three-legged chair.
+
+To be able to converse with women you must study their vocabulary. You
+would make a great mistake in interpreting _never, forever_, as they
+are explained in Johnson.
+
+Do not be for ever telling a woman that she is handsome, witty, etc.
+She knows that a vast deal better than you do.
+
+Do not allow your love for one woman to prevent your paying attention
+to others. The object of your love is the only one who ought to
+perceive it.
+
+A little pride, which reminds you what is due to yourself, and a little
+good nature, which suggests what is due to others, are the
+pre-requisites for the moral constitution of a gentleman.
+
+Too much vivacity and too much inertness are both fatal to politeness.
+By the former we are hurried too far, by the latter we are kept too
+much back.
+
+_Nil admirari_, the precept of stoicism, is the precept for conduct
+among gentlemen. All excitement must be studiously avoided. When you
+are with ladies the case is different. Among them, wonder,
+astonishment, ecstacy, and enthusiasm, are necessary in order to be
+believed.
+
+Never dispute in the presence of other persons. If a man states an
+opinion which you cannot adopt, say nothing. If he states a fact which
+is of little importance, you may carelessly assent. When you differ let
+it be indirectly; rather a want of assent than actual dissent.
+
+If you wish to inquire about anything, do not do it by asking a
+question; but introduce the subject, and give the person an opportunity
+of saying as much as he finds it agreeable to impart. Do not even say,
+“How is your brother to-day?” but “I hope your brother is quite well.”
+
+Never ask a lady a question about anything whatever.
+
+It is a point of courtly etiquette which is observed rigorously by
+every one who draws nigh, that a question must never be put to a king.
+
+Never ask a question about the price of a thing. This horrible error is
+often committed by a _nouveau riche._
+
+If you have accepted an invitation to a party never fail to keep your
+promise. It is cruel to the lady of the house to accept, and then send
+an apology at the last moment. Especially do not break your word on
+account of bad weather. You may be certain that many others will, and
+the inciter will be mortified by the paucity of her guests. A cloak and
+a carriage will secure you from all inconvenience, and you will be
+conferring a real benefit.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+THE ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY.
+
+
+Women, particularly women a little on the decline, are those who make
+the reputation of a young man. When the lustre of their distinction
+begins to fade, a slight feeling of less wonted leisure, perhaps a
+little spite, makes them observe attentively those who surround them.
+Eager to gain new admirers, they encourage the first steps of a
+_debutant_ in the career of society, and exert themselves to fit him to
+do honour to their patronage.
+
+A young man, therefore, in entering the world, cannot be too attentive
+to conciliate the goodwill of women. Their approbation and support will
+serve him instead of a thousand good qualities. Their judgment
+dispenses with fortune, talent, and even intelligence. “Les hommes font
+les lois: les femmes font les reputations.”
+
+The desire of pleasing is, of course, the basis of social connexion.
+Persons who enter society with the intention of producing an effect,
+and of being distinguished, however clever they may be, are never
+agreeable. They are always tiresome, and often ridiculous. Persons, who
+enter life with such pretensions, have no opportunity for improving
+themselves and profiting by experience. They are not in a proper state
+to _observe_: indeed, they look only for the effect which they produce,
+and with that they are not often gratified. They thrust themselves into
+all conversations, indulge in continual anecdotes, which are varied
+only by dull disquisitions, listen to others with impatience and
+heedlessness, and are angry that they seem to be attending to
+themselves. Such men go through scenes of pleasure, enjoying nothing.
+They are equally disagreeable to themselves and others. Young men
+should, therefore, content themselves with being natural. Let them
+present themselves with a modest assurance: let them observe, hear, and
+examine, and before long they will rival their models.
+
+The conversation of those women who are not the most lavishly supplied
+with personal beauty, will be of the most advantage to the young
+aspirant. Such persons have cultivated their manners and conversation
+more than those who can rely upon their natural endowments. The absence
+of pride and pretension has improved their good nature and their
+affability. They are not too much occupied in contemplating their own
+charms, to be disposed to indulge in gentle criticism on others. One
+acquires from them an elegance in one’s manners as well as one’s
+expressions. Their kindness pardons every error, and to instruct or
+reprove, their acts are so delicate that the lesson which they give,
+always without offending, is sure to be profitable, though it may be
+often unperceived.
+
+Women observe all the delicacies of propriety in manners, and all the
+shades of impropriety, much better than men; not only because they
+attend to them earlier and longer, but because their perceptions are
+more refined than those of the other sex, who are habitually employed
+about greater things. Women divine, rather than arrive at, proper
+conclusions.
+
+The whims and caprices of women in society should of course be
+tolerated by men, who themselves require toleration for greater
+inconveniences. But this must not be carried too far. There are certain
+limits to empire which, if they themselves forget, should be pointed
+out to them with delicacy and politeness. You should be the slave of
+women, but not of all their fancies.
+
+Compliment is the language of intercourse from men to women. But be
+careful to avoid elaborate and common-place forms of gallant speech. Do
+not strive to make those long eulogies on a woman, which have the
+regularity and nice dependency of a proposition in Euclid, and might be
+fittingly concluded by Q. E. D. Do not be always undervaluing her rival
+in a woman’s presence, nor mistaking a woman’s daughter for her sister.
+These antiquated and exploded attempts denote a person who has learned
+the world more from books than men.
+
+The quality which a young man should most affect in intercourse with
+gentlemen, is a decent modesty: but he must avoid all bashfulness or
+timidity. His flights must not go too far; but, so far as they go, let
+them be marked by perfect assurance.
+
+Among persons who are much your seniors behave with the utmost
+respectful deference. As they find themselves sliding out of importance
+they may be easily conciliated by a little respect.
+
+By far the most important thing to be attended to, is ease of manner.
+Grace may be added afterwards, or be omitted altogether: it is of much
+less moment than is commonly believed. Perfect propriety and entire
+ease are sufficient qualifications for standing in society, and
+abundant prerequisites for distinction.
+
+There is the most delicate shade of difference between civility and
+intrusiveness, familiarity and common-place, pleasantry and sharpness,
+the natural and the rude, gaiety and carelessness; hence the
+inconveniences of society, and the errors of its members. To define
+well in conduct these distinctions, is the great art of a man of the
+world. It is easy to know what to do; the difficulty is to know what to
+avoid.
+
+Long usage—a sort of moral magnetism, a tact acquired by frequent and
+long associating with others—alone give those qualities which keep one
+always from error, and entitle him to the name of a thorough gentleman.
+
+A young man upon first entering into society should select those
+persons who are most celebrated for the propriety and elegance of their
+manners. He should frequent their company and imitate their conduct.
+There is a disposition inherent, in all, which has been noticed by
+Horace and by Dr. Johnson, to imitate faults, because they are more
+readily observed and more easily followed. There are, also, many
+foibles of manner and many refinements of affectation, which sit
+agreeably upon one man, which if adopted by another would become
+unpleasant. There are even some excellences of deportment which would
+not suit another whose character is different. For successful imitation
+in anything, good sense is indispensable. It is requisite correctly to
+appreciate the natural differences between your model and yourself, and
+to introduce such modifications in the copy as may be consistent with
+it.
+
+Let not any man imagine, that he shall easily acquire these qualities
+which will constitute him a gentleman. It is necessary not only to
+exert the highest degree of art, but to attain also that higher
+accomplishment of concealing art. The serene and elevated dignity which
+mark that character, are the result of untiring and arduous effort.
+After the sculpture has attained the shape of propriety, it remains to
+smooth off all the marks of the chisel. “A gentleman,” says a
+celebrated French author, “is one who has reflected deeply upon all the
+obligations which belong to his station, and who has applied himself
+ardently to fulfil them with grace.”
+
+Polite without importunity, gallant without being offensive, attentive
+to the comfort of all; employing a well-regulated kindness, witty at
+the proper times, discreet, indulgent, generous, he exercises, in his
+sphere, a high degree of moral authority; he it is, and he alone, that
+one should imitate.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+LETTERS.
+
+
+Always remember that the terms of compliment at the close of a
+letter—“I have the honour to be your very obedient servant,” etc. are
+merely forms—“signifying nothing.” Do not therefore avoid them on
+account of pride, or a dislike to the person addressed. Do not presume,
+as some do, to found expectations of favour or promotion from great men
+who profess themselves your obliged servant.
+
+In writing a letter of business it is extremely vulgar to use satin or
+glazed gold-edged paper. Always employ, on such occasions, plain
+American paper. Place the date at the top of the page, and if you
+please, the name of the person at the top also, just above the ‘Sir;’
+though this last is indifferent.
+
+In letters to gentlemen always place the date at the end of the letter,
+below his name. Use the best paper, but not figured, and never fail to
+enclose it in an envelope. Attention to these matters is indispensable.
+
+To a person whom you do not know well, say Sir, not ‘Dear Sir.’ It
+formerly was usual in writing to a distinguished man to employ the form
+‘Respected Sir,’ or something of the kind. This is now out of fashion.
+
+There are a great many forms observed by the French in their letters,
+which are necessary to be known before addressing one of that nation.
+You will find them in their books upon such subjects, or learn them
+from your French master. One custom of theirs is worthy of adoption
+among us: to proportion the distance between the ‘Sir’ and the first
+line of the letter, to the rank of the person to whom you write. Among
+the French to neglect attending to this would give mortal offence. It
+obtains also in other European nations. When the Duke of Buckingham was
+at the court of Spain, some letters passed between the Spanish minister
+Olivez and himself,—the two proudest men on earth. The Spaniard wrote a
+letter to the Englishman, and put the ‘Monsieur’ on a line with the
+beginning of his letter. The other, in his reply, placed the ‘Monsieur’
+a little below it.
+
+A note of invitation or reply is always to be enclosed in an envelope.
+
+Wafers are now entirely exploded. A letter of business is sealed with
+red wax, and marked with some common stamp. Letters to gentlemen demand
+red wax sealed with your arms. In notes to ladies employ coloured wax,
+but not perfumed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+VISITS.
+
+
+Of visits there are various sorts; visits of congratulation, visits of
+condolence, visits of ceremony, visits of friendship. To each belong
+different customs.
+
+A visit and an insult must be always returned.
+
+Visits of ceremony should be very short. Go at some time when business
+demands the employment of every moment. In visits of friendship adopt a
+different course.
+
+If you call to see an acquaintance at lodgings, and cannot find any one
+to announce you, you knock very lightly at the door, and wait some time
+before entering. If you are in too great a hurry, you might find the
+person drawing off a night-cap.
+
+Respectable visitors should be received and treated with the utmost
+courtesy. But if a tiresome fellow, after wearying all his friends,
+becomes weary of himself, and arrives to bestow his tediousness upon
+you, pull out your watch with restlessness, talk about your great
+occupations and the value of time. Politeness is one thing; to be made
+a convenience of is another.
+
+The style of your conversation should always be in keeping with the
+character of the visit. You must not talk about literature in a visit
+of condolence, nor about political economy in a visit of ceremony.
+
+When a lady visits you, upon her retiring, you offer her your arm, and
+conduct her to her carriage. If you are visiting at the same time with
+another lady, you should take leave at the same time, and hand her into
+her carriage.
+
+After a hall, a dinner, or a concert, you visit during the week.
+
+Pay the first visit to a friend just returned from a voyage.
+
+Annual visits are paid to persons with whom you have a cool
+acquaintance, They visit you in the autumn, you return a card in the
+spring.
+
+In paying a visit under ordinary circumstances, you leave a single
+card. If there be residing in the family, a married daughter, an
+unmarried sister, a transient guest, or any person in a distinct
+situation from the mistress of the house, you leave two cards, one for
+each party. If you are acquainted with only one member of a family, as
+the husband, or the wife, and you wish to indicate that your visit is
+to both, you leave two cards. Ladies have a fashion of pinching down
+one corner of a card to denote that the visit is to only one of two
+parties in a house, and two corners, or one side of the card, when the
+visit is to both; but this is a transient mode, and of dubious
+respectability.
+
+If, in paying a morning visit, you are not recognized when you enter,
+mention your name immediately. If you call to visit one member, and you
+find others only in the parlour, introduce yourself to them. Much
+awkwardness may occur through defect of attention to this point.
+
+When a gentleman is about to be married, he sends cards, a day or two
+before the event, to all whom he is in the habit of visiting. These
+visits are never paid in person, but the cards sent by a servant, at
+any hour in the morning; or the gentleman goes in a carriage, and sends
+them in. After marriage, some day is appointed and made known to all,
+as the day on which he receives company. His friends then all call upon
+him. Would that this also were performed by cards!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+APPOINTMENTS AND PUNCTUALITY.
+
+
+When you make an appointment, always be exact in observing it. In some
+places, and on some occasions, a quarter of an hour’s _grace_ is given.
+This depends on custom, and it is always better not to avail yourself
+of it. In Philadelphia it is necessary to be punctual to a second, for
+there everybody breathes by the State-house clock If you make an
+appointment to meet anywhere, your body must be in a right line with
+the frame of the door at the instant the first stroke of the great
+clock sounds. If you are a moment later, your character is gone. It is
+useless to plead the evidence of your watch, or detention by a friend.
+You read your condemnation in the action of the old fellows who, with
+polite regard to your feelings, simultaneously pull out their vast
+chronometers, as you enter. The tardy man is worse off than the
+murderer. _He_ may be pardoned by one person, (the Governor); the
+unpunctual is pardoned by none. _Haud inexpectus loquor._
+
+If you make an appointment with another at your own house, you should
+be invisible to the rest of the world, and consecrate your time solely
+to him.
+
+If you make an appointment with a lady, especially if it be upon a
+promenade, or other public place, you must be there a little before the
+time.
+
+If you accept an appointment at the house of a public officer, or a man
+of business, be very punctual, transact the affair with despatch, and
+retire the moment it is finished.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+DINNER.
+
+
+The hour of dinner has been said, by Dr. Johnson, to be the most
+important hour in civilized life. The etiquette of the dinner-table has
+a prominence commensurate with the dignity of the ceremony. Like the
+historian of Peter Bell, we commence at the commencement, and thence
+proceed to the moment when you take leave officially, or vanish unseen.
+
+In order to dine, the first requisite is—to be invited. The length of
+time which the invitation precedes the dinner is always proportioned to
+the grandeur of the occasion, and varies from two days to two weeks. To
+an invitation received less than two days in advance, you will lose
+little by replying in the negative, for as it was probably sent as soon
+as the preparations of the host commenced, you may be sure that there
+will be little on the table fit to eat. Those abominations, y’clept
+“plain family dinners,” eschew like the plague.
+
+You reply to a note of invitation immediately, and in the most direct
+and unequivocal terms. If you accept, you arrive at the house
+rigorously at the hour specified. It is equally inconvenient to be too
+late and to be too early. If you fall into the latter error, you find
+every thing in disorder; the master of the house is in his
+dressing-room, changing his waistcoat; the lady is still in the pantry;
+the fire not yet lighted in the parlour. If by accident or
+thoughtlessness you arrive too soon, you may pretend that you called to
+inquire the exact hour at which they dine, having mislaid the note, and
+then retire to walk for an appetite. If you are too late, the evil is
+still greater, and indeed almost without a remedy. Your delay spoils
+the dinner and destroys the appetite and temper of the guests; and you
+yourself are so much embarrassed at the inconvenience you have
+occasioned, that you commit a thousand errors at table. If you do not
+reach the house until dinner is served, you had better retire to a
+restaurateurs, and thence send an apology, and not interrupt the
+harmony of the courses by awkward excuses and cold acceptances.
+
+When the guests have all entered, and been presented to one another, if
+any delay occurs, the conversation should be of the lightest and least
+exciting kind; mere common-places about the weather and late arrivals.
+You should not amuse the company by animated relations of one person
+who has just cut his throat from ear to ear, or of another who, the
+evening before, was choked by a tough beef-steak and was buried that
+morning.
+
+When dinner is announced, the inviter rises and requests all to walk to
+the dining-room. He then leads the way, that they may not be at a loss
+to know whither they should proceed. Each gentleman offers his arm to a
+lady, and they follow in solemn order.
+
+The great distinction now becomes evident between the host and the
+guests, which distinction it is the chief effort of good breeding to
+remove. To perform faultlessly the honours of the table, is one of the
+most difficult things in society: it might indeed be asserted without
+much fear of contradiction, that no man has as yet ever reached exact
+propriety in his office as host, has hit the mean between exerting
+himself too much and too little. His great business is to put every one
+entirely at his ease, to gratify all his desires, and make him, in a
+word, absolutely contented with men and things. To accomplish this, he
+must have the genius of tact to perceive, and the genius of finesse to
+execute; ease and frankness of manner; a knowledge of the world that
+nothing can surprise; a calmness of temper that nothing can disturb,
+and a kindness of disposition that can never be exhausted. When he
+receives others, he must be content to forget himself; he must
+relinquish all desire to shine, and even all attempts to please his
+guests by conversation, and rather, do all in his power to let them
+please one another. He behaves to them without agitation, without
+affectation; he pays attention without an air of protection; he
+encourages the timid, draws out the silent, and directs conversation
+without Sustaining it himself. He who does not do all this, is wanting
+in his duty as host; he who does, is more than mortal.
+
+When all are seated, the gentleman at the head of the table sends soup
+to every one, from the pile of plates which stand at his right hand. He
+helps the person at his right hand first, and at his left next, and so
+through the whole.
+
+There are an immensity of petty usages at the dinner table, such as
+those mentioned in the story of the Abbé Delille and the Abbé Cosson in
+the Introduction to this volume, which it would be trifling and tedious
+to enumerate hers, and which will be learned by an observing man after
+assisting at two or three dinners.
+
+You should never ask a gentleman or lady at the table to help you to
+any thing, but always apply to the servants.
+
+Your first duty at the table is to attend to the wants of the lady who
+sits next to you, the second, to attend to your own. In performing the
+first, you should take care that the lady has all that she wishes, yet
+without appearing to direct your attention too much to her plate, for
+nothing is more ill-bred than to watch a person eating. If the lady be
+something of a _gourmande_, and in ever-zealous pursuit of the aroma of
+the wing of a pigeon, should raise an unmanageable portion to her
+mouth, you should cease all conversation with her, and look steadfastly
+into the opposite part of the room.
+
+In France, a dish, after having been placed upon the table for
+approval, is removed by the servants, and carved at a sideboard, and
+after. wards handed to each in succession. This is extremely
+convenient, and worthy of acceptation in this country. But
+unfortunately it does not as yet prevail here. Carving therefore
+becomes an indispensable branch of a gentleman’s education. You should
+no more think of going to a dinner without a knowledge of this art,
+than you should think of going without your shoes. The gentleman of the
+house selects the various dishes in the order in which they should be
+cut, and invites some particular one to perform the office. It is
+excessively awkward to be obliged to decline, yet it is a thing too
+often occurring in,his country. When you carve, you should never rise
+from your seat.
+
+Some persons, in helping their guests, or recommending dishes to their
+taste, preface every such action with an eulogy on its merits, and draw
+every bottle of wine with an account of its virtues. Others, running
+into the contrary extreme, regret or fear that each dish is not exactly
+as it should be; that the cook, etc., etc. Both of these habits are
+grievous errors. You should leave it to your guests alone to approve,
+or suffer one of your intimate friends who is present, to vaunt your
+wine. When you draw a bottle, merely state its age and brand, and of
+what particular vintage it is.
+
+Do not insist upon your guests partaking of particular dishes, never
+ask persons more than once, and never put anything by force upon their
+plates. It is extremely ill-bred, though extremely common, to press
+one to eat of anything. You should do all that you can to make your
+guests feel themselves at home, which they never can do while you are
+so constantly forcing upon their minds the recollection of the
+difference between yourself and them. You should never send away your
+own plate until all your guests have finished.
+
+Before the cloth is removed you do not drink wine unless with another.
+If you are asked to take wine it is uncivil to refuse. When you drink
+with another, you catch the person’s eye and bow with politeness. It is
+not necessary to say anything, but smile with an air of great kindness.
+
+Some one who sits near the lady of the house, should, immediately upon
+the removal of the soup, request the honor of drinking wine with her,
+which movement is the signal for all the others. If this is not done,
+the master of the house should select some lady. _He_ never asks
+gentlemen, but they ask him; this is a refined custom, attended to in
+the best company.
+
+If you have drunk with every one at the table, and wish more wine, you
+must wait till the cloth is removed. The decanter is then sent round
+from the head of the table, each person fills his glass, and all the
+company drinks the Health of all the company. It is enough if you bow
+to the master and mistress of the house, and to your opposite
+neighbour. After this the ladies retire. Some one rises to open the
+door for them, and they go into the parlour, the gentlemen remaining to
+drink more wine.
+
+After the ladies have retired, the service of the decanters is done.
+The host draws the bottles which have been standing in a wine cooler
+since the commencement of the dinner. The bottle goes down the left
+side and up the right, and the same bottle never passes twice. If you
+do not drink, always pass the bottle to your neighbour.
+
+At dinner never call for ale or porter; it is coarse, and injures the
+taste for wine.
+
+It was formerly the custom to drink _porter_ with cheese. One of the
+few real improvements introduced by the “Napoleon of the realms of
+fashion” was to banish this tavern liquor and substitute _port._ The
+dictum of Brummell was thus enunciated: “A gentleman never _malts_, he
+_ports._”
+
+A gentleman should always express his preference for some one sort of
+wine over others; because, as there is always a natural preference for
+one kind, if you say that you are indifferent, you show that you are
+not accustomed to drink wines. Your preference should not of course be
+guided by your real disposition; if you are afflicted by nature with a
+partiality for port, you should never think of indulging it except in
+your closet with your chamber-door locked. The only index of choice is
+fashion;—either permanent fashion (if the phrase may be used), or some
+temporary fashion created by the custom of any individual who happens
+to rule for a season in society. Port was drunk by our ancestors, but
+George the Fourth, upon his accession to the regency, announced his
+royal preference for sherry. It has since been fashionable to like
+sherry. This is what we call a _permanent_ fashion.
+
+Champagne wine is drunk after the removal of the first cloth; that is
+to say, between the meats and the dessert. One servant goes round and
+places before each guest a proper-shaped glass; another follows and
+fills them, and they are immediately drunk. Sometimes this is done
+twice in succession. The bottle does not again make its appearance, and
+it would excite a stare to ask at a later period for a glass of
+champagne wine.
+
+If you should happen to be blessed with those rely nuisances, children,
+and should be entertaining company, never allow them to be brought in
+after dinner, unless they are particularly asked for, and even then it
+is better to say they are at school. Some persons, with the intention
+of paying their court to the father, express great desire to see the
+sons; but they should have some mercy upon the rest of the party,
+particularly as they know that they themselves would be the most
+disturbed of all, if their urgent entreaty was granted.
+
+Never at any time, whether at a formal or a familiar dinner party,
+commit the impropriety of talking to a servant: nor ever address any
+remark about one of them to one of the party. Nothing can be more
+ill-bred. You merely ask for what you want in a grave and civil tone,
+and wait with patience till your order is obeyed.
+
+It is a piece of refined coarseness to employ the fingers instead of
+the fork to effect certain operations at the dinner table, and on some
+other similar occasions. To know how and when to follow the fashion of
+Eden, and when that of more civilized life, is one of the many points
+which distinguish a gentleman from one not a gentleman; or rather, in
+this case, which shows the difference between a man of the world, and
+one who has not “the tune of the time.”* Cardinal Richelieu detected an
+adventurer who passed himself off for a nobleman, by his helping
+himself to olives with a fork. He might have applied the test to a vast
+many other things. Yet, on the other hand, a gentleman would lose his
+reputation, if he were to take up a piece of sugar with his fingers and
+not with the sugar-tongs.
+
+* Shakspeare
+
+
+It is of course needless to say that your own knife should never be
+brought near to the butter, or salt, or to a dish of any kind. If,
+however, a gentleman should send his plate for anything near you, and a
+knife cannot be obtained immediately, you may skillfully avoid all
+censure by using _his_ knife to procure it.
+
+When you send your plate for anything, you leave your knife and fork
+upon it, crossed. When you have done, you lay both in parallel lines on
+one side. A render who occupies himself about greater matters, may
+smile at this precept. It may, indeed, be very absurd, yet such is the
+tyranny of custom, that if you were to cross your knife and fork when
+you have finished, the most reasonable and strong-minded man at the
+table could not help setting you down, in his own mind, as a low-bred
+person. _Magis sequor quam probo._
+
+The chief matter of consideration at the dinner table, as indeed
+everywhere else in the life of a gentleman, is to be perfectly composed
+and at his ease. He speaks deliberately, he performs the most important
+act of the day as if he were performing the most ordinary. Yet there is
+no appearance of trifling or want of gravity in his manner; he
+maintains the dignity which is becoming on so vital an occasion. He
+performs all the ceremonies, yet in the style of one who performs no
+_ceremony_ at all. He goes through all the complicated duties of the
+scene, as if he were “to the manner born.”
+
+Some persons, who cannot draw the nice distinction between too much and
+too little, desiring to be particularly respectable, make a point of
+appearing unconcerned and quite indifferent to enjoyment at dinner.
+Such conduct not only exhibits a want of sense and a profane levity,
+but is in the highest degree rude to your obliging host. He has taken a
+great deal of trouble to give you pleasure, and it is your business to
+be, or at least to appear, pleased. It is one thing, indeed, to stare
+and wonder, and to ask for all the delicacies on the table in the style
+of a person who had lived all his life behind a counter, but it is
+quite another to throw into your manner the spirit and gratified air of
+a man who is indeed not unused to such matters, but who yet esteems
+them at their fall value.
+
+When the Duke of Wellington was at Paris, as commander of the allied
+armies, he was invited to dine with Cambaceres, one of the most
+distinguished statesmen and _gourmands_ of the time of Napoleon. In the
+course of the dinner, his host having helped him to some particularly
+_recherché_ dish, expressed a hope that he found it agreeable. “Very
+good,” said the hero of Waterloo, who was probably speculating upon
+what he would have done if Blucher had not come up: “Very good; but I
+really do not care what I eat.” “Good God!” exclaimed Cambaceres,—as he
+started back and dropped his fork, quite “frighted from his
+propriety,”—“Don’t care what you eat! What _did_ you come here for,
+then?”
+
+After the wine is finished, you retire to the drawing-room, where the
+ladies are assembled; the master of the house rising first from the
+table, but going out of the room last. If you wish to go before this,
+you must vanish unseen.
+
+We conclude this chapter by a word of important counsel to the
+host:—Never make an apology.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+TRAVELLING.
+
+
+It is an extremely difficult affair to travel in a coach, with perfect
+propriety. Ten to one the person next to you is an English nobleman
+_incognito_; and a hundred to one, the man opposite to you is a brute
+or a knave. To behave so that you may not be uncivil to the one, nor a
+dupe to the other, is an art of some niceness.
+
+As the seats are assigned to passengers in the order in which they are
+booked, you should send to have your place taken a day or two before
+the journey, so that you may be certain of a back seat. It is also
+advisable to arrive at the place of departure early, so that you assume
+your place without dispute.
+
+When women appear at the door of the coach to obtain admittance, it is
+a matter of some question to know exactly what conduct it is necessary
+to pursue. If the women are servants, or persons in a low rank of life,
+I do not see upon what ground of politeness or decency you are called
+upon to yield your seat. _Etiquette_, and the deference due to ladies
+have, of course, no operation in the case of such persons.
+Chivalry—(and the gentleman is the legitimate descendant of the knight
+of old)—was ever a devotion to rank rather than to sex. Don Quixotte,
+or Sir Piercy Shafestone would not willingly have given place to
+servant girls. And upon considerations of humanity and regard to
+weakness, the case is no stronger. Such people have nerves considerably
+more robust than you have, and are quite as capable of riding
+backwards, or the top, as yourself. The only reason for _politeness_ in
+the case is, that perhaps the other passengers are of the same standing
+with the women, and might eject you from the window if you refuse to
+give place.
+
+If _ladies_ enter—and a gentleman distinguishes them in an instant—the
+case is altered. The sooner you move the better is it for yourself,
+since the rest will in the end have to concede, and you will give
+yourself a reputation among the party and secure a better seat, by
+rising at once.
+
+The principle that guides you in society is politeness; that which
+guides you in a coach is good humour. You lay aside all attention to
+form, and all strife after effect, and take instead, kindness of
+disposition and a willingness to please. You pay a constant regard to
+the comfort of your. fellow-prisoners. You take care not to lean upon
+the shoulder of your neighbour when you sleep. You are attentive not to
+make the stage wait for you at the stopping-places. When the ladies get
+out, you offer them your arm, and you do the same when the coachman is
+driving rapidly over a rough place. You should make all the
+accommodations to others, which you can do consistently with your own
+convenience; for, after all, the individuals are each like little
+nations; and as, in the one case, the first duty is to your country, so
+in the other, the first duty is to yourself.
+
+Some surly creatures, upon entering a coach, wrap about their persons a
+great coat of cloth, and about their minds a mantle of silence, which
+are not thrown off during the whole journey. This is doing more harm to
+themselves than to others. You should make a point of conversing with
+an appearance of entire freedom, though with real reserve, with all
+those who are so disposed.
+
+One purpose and pleasure of travelling is to gain information, and to
+observe the various characters of persons. You will be asked by others
+about the road you passed over, and it will be awkward if you can give
+no account of it. Converse, therefore, with all. Relate amusing
+stories, chiefly of other countries, and even of other times, so as not
+to offend any one. If engaged in discussion—and a coach is almost the
+only place where discussion should _not_ be avoided—state facts and
+arguments rather than opinions. Never answer impudent questions-and
+never ask them.
+
+At the meals which occur during a journey, you see beautiful
+exemplification of the _dictum_ of Hobbes, “that war is the natural
+state of man.” The entire scene is one of unintermitted war of every
+person with every other person, with the viands, and with good manners.
+You open your mouth only to admit edibles and to bellow to the waiters.
+Your sole object is yourself. You drink wine without asking your
+neighbour to join you; and if he should be so silly as to ask you to
+hand him some specified dish, you blandly comply; but in the passage to
+him, you transfer the whole of its contents to your own plate. There is
+no halving in these matters. Rapacity, roaring, and rapidity are the
+three requisites for dining during a journey. When you have resumed
+your seat in the coach, you are as bland as a morning in spring.
+
+Never assume any unreal importance in a stage-coach, founded on the
+ignorance of your fellows, and their inability to detect it. It is
+excessively absurd, and can only gratify a momentary and foolish
+vanity; for, whenever you might make use of your importance, you would
+probably be at once discovered. There is an admirable paper upon this
+point in one of Johnson’s Adventurers.
+
+The friendship which has subsisted between travellers terminates with
+the journey. When you get out, a word, a bow, and the most unpleasant
+act of life is finished and forgotten.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+BALLS.
+
+
+Invitations to a ball should be issued at least ten days in advance, in
+order to give an opportunity to the men to clear away engagements; and
+to women, time to prepare the artillery of their toilet. Cards of
+invitation should be sent—not notes.
+
+Upon the entrance of ladies, or persons entitled to deference, the
+master of the house precedes them across the room: he addresses
+compliments to them, and will lose his life to procure them seats.
+
+While dancing with a lady whom you have never seen before, you should
+not talk to her much.
+
+The master of the ceremonies must take care that every lady dances, and
+press into service for that purpose these young gentlemen who are
+hanging round the room like fossils. If desired by him to dance with a
+particular lady you should refuse on no account.
+
+If you have no ear, that is, a false one, never dance.
+
+To usurp the seat of a person who is dancing is the height of
+incivility.
+
+Never go to a public ball.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+FUNERALS.
+
+
+When any member of a family is dead, it is customary to send
+intelligence of the misfortune to all who have been connected with the
+deceased in relations of business or friendship. The letters which are
+sent contain a special invitation to assist at the funeral.
+
+An invitation of this sort should never be refused, though, of course,
+you do not send a reply, for no other reason that I know of, excepting
+the impossibility of framing any formula of acceptance.
+
+You render yourself at the house an hour or two after the time
+specified. If you were to sit long in the mournful circle you might be
+rendered unfit for doing any thing for a week.
+
+Your dress is black, and during the time of waiting you compose your
+visage into a “tristful ’haviour,” and lean in silent solemnity upon
+the top of your cane, thinking about— last night’s party. This is a
+necessary hypocrisy, and assists marvellously the sadness of the
+ceremony. You walk in a procession with the others, your carriage
+following in the street. The first places are yielded to the relations
+of the deceased.
+
+The coffins of persons of distinction are carried in the hands of
+bearers, who walk with their hats off.
+
+You walk with another, in seemly order, and converse in a low tone;
+first upon the property of the defunct, and next upon the politics of
+the day. You walk with the others into the church, where service is
+said over the body. It is optional to go to the grave or not. When you
+go away, you enter your carriage and return to your business or your
+pleasures.
+
+A funeral in the morning, a ball in the evening,—“so runs the world
+away.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+SERVANTS.
+
+
+Servants are a necessary evil. He who shall contrive to obviate their
+necessity, or remove their inconveniences, will render to human comfort
+a greater benefit than has yet been conferred by all the
+useful-knowledge societies of the age. They are domestic spies, who
+continually embarrass the intercourse of the members of a family, or
+possess themselves of private information that renders their presence
+hateful, and their absence dangerous. It is a rare thing to see persons
+who are not controlled by their servants. Theirs, too, is not the only
+kitchen cabinet which begins by serving and ends by ruling.
+
+If we judge from the frequency and inconvenience of an opposite course,
+we should say that the most important precept to be observed is, never
+to be afraid of your servants. We have known many ladies who, without
+any reason in the world, lived in a state of perfect subjugation to
+their servants, who were afraid to give a direction, and who submitted
+to disobedience and insult, where no danger could be apprehended from
+discharging them.
+
+If a servant offends you by any trifling or occasional omission of
+duty, reprove the fault with mild severity; if the error be repeated
+often, and be of a gross description, never hesitate, but discharge the
+servant instantly, without any altercation of language. You cannot
+easily find another who will serve you worse.
+
+As for those precautions which are ordinarily taken, to secure the
+procurence of good servants, they are, without exception, utterly
+useless. The author of the Rambler has remarked, that a written
+_character_ of a servant is worth about as much as a discharge from the
+Old Bailey. I never, but once, took any trouble to inquire what
+reputation a servant had held in former situations. On that occasion, I
+heard that I had engaged the very Shakespeare of menials,— Aristides
+was not more honest,—Zeno more truth-telling,—nor Abdiel more faithful.
+This fellow, after insulting me daily for a week, disappeared with my
+watch and three pair of boots.
+
+Those offices which profess to recommend good domestics, are
+“bosh,—nothing.” In nine cases out of ten, the keepers are in league
+with the servants; and in the tenth, ignorance, dishonesty, or
+carelessness will prevent any benefit resulting from,their
+“intelligence.” All that you can do is, to take the most decent
+creature who applies; trust in Providence, and lock every thing up.
+
+Never speak harshly, or superciliously, or hastily to a servant. There
+are many little actions which distinguish, to the eye of the most
+careless observer, a gentleman from one not a gentleman; but there is
+none more striking than the manner of addressing a servant. Issue your
+commands with gravity and gentleness, and in a reserved manner. Let
+your voice be composed, but avoid a tone of familiarity or sympathy
+with them. It is better in addressing them to use a higher key of
+voice, and not to suffer it to fall at the end of a sentence. The best
+bred man whom we ever had the pleasure of meeting, always employed, in
+addressing servants, such forms of speech as these—“I’ll thank you for
+so and so,”—“Such a thing, if you please,”—with a gentle tone, but
+very elevated key. The perfection of manner, in this particular, is, to
+indicate by your language, that the performance is a favour, and by
+your tone that it is a matter of course.
+
+While, however, you practise the utmost mildness and forbearance in
+your language, avoid the dangerous and common error of exercising too
+great humanity in action. No servant, from the time of the first
+Gibeonite downwards, has ever had too much labour imposed upon him;
+while thousands have been ruined by the mistaken kindness of their
+masters.
+
+Servants should always be allowed, and indeed directed, to go to church
+on Sunday afternoon. For this purpose, dinner is served earlier on that
+day than usual. If it can be accomplished, the servants should be
+induced to attend the same church as the family with whom they live;
+because there may be reason to fear that if they profess to go
+elsewhere, they may not go to church at all; and the habit of wandering
+about the streets with idlers, will speedily ruin the best servant that
+ever stood behind a chair.
+
+Servants should be directed to announce visitors. This is always done
+abroad, and is a convenient custom.
+
+Never allow a female servant to enter a parlour. If all the male
+domestics are gone out, it is better that there should be no attendance
+at all.
+
+Some ladies are in the habit of amusing their friends with accounts of
+the difficulty of getting good servants, etc. This denotes decided ill
+breeding. Such subjects should never be made topics of conversation.
+
+If a servant offends you by any grossness of conduct, never rebuke the
+offence upon the spot, nor indeed notice it at all at the time; for you
+cannot do it without anger, and without giving rise to a _scene._
+Prince Puckler Muskaw was, very properly, turned out of the Travellers’
+Club for throwing a fork at one of the waiters.
+
+In the house of another, or when there is any company present in your
+own, never converse with the servants. This most vulgar, but not
+uncommon, habit, is judiciously censured in that best of novels,—the
+Zeluco of Dr. Moore.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+FASHION.
+
+
+Fashion is a tyranny founded only on assumption. The principle upon
+which its influence rests, is one deeply based in the human heart, and
+one which has long been observed and long practised upon in every
+department of life. In the literary, the religious, and the political
+world, it has been an assured and very profitable conclusion, that the
+public,
+
+“Like women, born to be controlled,
+Stoops to the forward and the bold.”
+
+
+“Qui sibi fidit, dux regit examen,” is a maxim of universal truth.
+Pococurante, in Candide, was admired for despising Homer and Michel
+Angelo; he would have gained little distinction by praising them. The
+judicious application of this rule to society, is the origin of
+fashion. In despair of attaining greatness of quality, it founds its
+distinction only on peculiarity.
+
+We have spoken elsewhere of those complex and very rare
+accomplishments, whose union is requisite to constitute a gentleman. We
+know of but one quality which is demanded for a man of
+fashion,—impudence. An impudence (self-confidence “the wise it call”)
+as impenetrable as the gates of Pandemonium—a coolness and
+imperturbability of self-admiration, which the boaster in Spencer
+might envy—a contempt of every decency, as such, and an utter
+imperviousness to ridicule,—these are the amiable and dignified
+qualities which serve to rear an empire over the weakness and cowardice
+of men.
+
+To define the character of that which is changing even while we survey
+it, is a task of no small difficulty. We imagine that there is only one
+means by which it may be always described, viz., that it consists in an
+entire avoidance of all that is natural and rational. Its essence is
+affectation; effeminacy takes the place of manliness; drawling
+stupidity, of wit; stiffness and hauteur, of ease and civility; and
+self-illustration, of a decent and respectful regard to others.
+
+A man of fashion must never allow himself to be pleased. Nothing is
+more decidedly _de mauvais ton_ than any expression of delight. He must
+never laugh, nor, unless his penetration is very great, must he even
+smile; for he might by ignorance smile at the wrong place or time. All
+real emotion is to be avoided; all sympathy with the great or the
+beautiful is to be shunned; yet the liveliest feeling may be exhibited
+upon the death of a poodle-dog.
+
+At the house of an acquaintance, he must never praise, nor even look,
+at the pictures, the carpets, the curtains, or the ottomans, because if
+he did, it might be supposed that he was not accustomed to such things.
+
+About two years ago, it began to be considered improper to pay
+compliments to women, because if they are not paid gracefully they are
+awkward, and to pay them gracefully is difficult. At the present time
+it is considered dangerous to a man’s pretensions to fashion, in
+England, to speak to women at all. Women are voted bores, and are to be
+treated with refined rudeness.
+
+There is no possible system of manners that will serve to exhibit at
+once the uncivility and the high refinement which should characterize
+the man of fashion. He must therefore have no manners at all. He must
+behave with tame and passive insolence, never breaking into active
+effrontery excepting towards unprotected women and clergymen. Persons
+of no importance he does not see, and is not conscious of their
+existence; those who have the same standing, he treats with easy scorn,
+and he acknowledges the distinction of superiors only by patronizing
+and protecting them. A man of fashion does not despise wealth; he
+cannot but think _that_ valuable which procures to others the honour of
+paying for his suppers.
+
+Fashion is so completely distinguished from good breeding, that it is
+even opposed to it. It is in fact a system of refined vulgarity. What,
+for example can be more vulgar than incessantly _talking_ about forms
+and customs? About silver forks and French soup? A gentleman follows
+these conventional habits; but he follows them as matters of course. He
+looks upon them as the ordinary and essential customs of refined
+society. French forks are to him things as indispensable as a
+table-cloth; and he thinks it as unnecessary to insist upon the one as
+upon the other. If he sees a person who eats with his knife, he
+concludes that that person is ignorant of the usages of the world, but
+he does not shriek and faint away like a Bond-street dandy. If he dines
+at a table where there are no silver forks, he eats his dinner in
+perfect propriety with steel, and exhibits, neither by manner nor by
+speech, that he perceives any error. To be sure, he forms his own
+opinion about the rank of his entertainer, but he leaves it to such
+new-made gentry as Mr. Theodore Hook, in his vulgar fashionable novels,
+to harangue about such delinquencies. The vulgarity of insisting upon
+these matters is scarcely less offensive than the vulgarity of
+neglecting them. Lady Frances Pelham is but one remove better than a
+Brancton.
+
+A man of fashion never goes to the theatre; he is waiting for the
+opera.
+
+He, of course, goes out of town in the summer; or, if he cannot afford
+to do so, he merely closes his window-shutters, and appears to be gone.
+
+Fashion makes all great things little, and all little things great.
+
+It is commonly said, that it requires more wit to perform the part of
+the fool in a farce than that of the master. Without intending any
+offence to the fool by the comparison, we may remark, that qualities of
+an elevated character are required for the support of the _role_ of a
+man of fashion in the solemn farce of life. He must have invention, to
+vary his absurdities when they cease to be striking; he must have wit
+enough to obtain the reputation of a great deal more; and he must
+possess tact to know when and where to crouch, and where and when to
+insult.
+
+Brummel, whose career is one of the most extraordinary on record, must
+have exercised, during the period of his social reign, many qualities
+of conduct which rank among the highest endowments of our race. For an
+obscure individual, without fortune or rank, to have conceived the idea
+of placing himself at the head of society in a country the most
+thoroughly aristocratic in Europe, relying too upon no other weapon
+than well-directed insolence; for the same individual to have triumphed
+splendidly over the highest and the mightiest—to have maintained a
+contest with royalty itself, and to have come off victorious even in
+that struggle—for such an one no ordinary faculties must have been
+demanded. Of the sayings of Brummel which have been preserved, it is
+difficult to distinguish whether they contain real wit, or are only so
+sublimely and so absurdly impudent that they look like witty.
+
+We add here a few anecdotes of Brummel, which will serve to show,
+better than any precepts, the style of conduct which a man of fashion
+may pursue.
+
+When Brummel was at the height of his power, he was once, in the
+company of some gentlemen, speaking of the Prince of Wales as a very
+good sort of man, who behaved himself very decently, _considering
+circumstances_; some one present offered a wager that he would not dare
+to give a direction to this very good sort of man. Brummel looked
+astonished at the remark, and declined accepting a wager upon such
+point. They happened to be dining with the regent the next day, and
+after being pretty well fortified. with wine, Brummel interrupted a
+remark of the prince’s, by exclaiming very mildly and naturally,
+“Wales, ring the bell!” His royal highness immediately obeyed the
+command, and when the servant entered, said to him, with the utmost
+coolness and firmness, “Show Mr. Brummel to his carriage.” The dandy
+was not in the least dejected by his expulsion; but meeting the prince
+regent, walking with a gentleman, the next day in the street, he did
+not bow to him, but stopping the other, drew him aside and said, in a
+loud whisper, “Who is that FAT FRIEND of ours?” It must be remembered
+that the object of this sarcasm was at that time exceedingly annoyed by
+his increasing corpulency; so manifestly so, that Sheridan remarked,
+that “though the regent professed himself a Whig, he believed that in
+his heart he was no friend to _new measures._”
+
+Shortly after this occurrence at Carlton-House, Brummel remarked to one
+of his friends, that “he had half a mind to cut the young one, and
+bring old George into fashion.”
+
+In describing a short visit which he had paid to a nobleman in the
+country, he said, that he had only carried with him a night-cap and a
+silver basin to spit in, “Because, you know, it is utterly impossible
+to spit in clay.”
+
+Brummel was once present at a party to which he had not been invited.
+After he had been some time in the room, the gentleman of the house,
+willing to mortify him, went up to him and said that he believed that
+there must be some mistake, as he did not recollect having had the
+honour of sending him an invitation. “What is the name?” said the other
+very drawlingly, at the same time affecting to feel in his waistcoat
+pocket for a card. “Johnson,” replied the gentleman. “Jauhnson?” said
+Brummel, “oh! I remember now that the name was Thaunson (Thompson); and
+Jauhnson and Thaunson, Thaunson and Jauhnson, you know, are so much the
+same kind of thing.”
+
+Brummel was once asked how much a year he thought would be required to
+keep a single man in clothes. “Why, with tolerable economy,” said he,
+“I think it might be done for £800.”
+
+He once went down to a gentleman’s house in the country, without having
+been asked to do so. He was given to understand, the next morning, that
+his absence would be more agreeable, and he took his departure. Some
+one having heard of his discomfiture, asked him how he liked the
+accommodations there. He replied coolly, that “it was a very decent
+house to spend a single night in.”
+
+We have mentioned that this dreaded arbiter of modes had threatened
+that he would put the prince regent out of fashion. Alas! for the peace
+of the British monarch, this was not an idle boast. His dangerous rival
+resolved in the unfathomable recesses of a mind capacious of such
+things, to commence and to carry on a war whose terror and grandeur
+should astound society, to administer to audacious royalty a lesson
+which should never be forgotten, and finally to retire, when retire he
+must, with mementos of his tremendous power around him, and with the
+mightiest of the earth at his feet. Inventive and deliberate were the
+counsels which he meditated; sublime and resolute was the conduct he
+adopted. He decided, with an originality of genius to which the
+conqueror of Marengo might have vailed, that the _neck_ of the foe was
+the point at which the first fatal shaft of his excommunicating ire
+should be hurled. With rapid and decisive energy he concentrated all
+his powers for instantaneous action. He retired for a day to the
+seclusion of solitude, to summon and to spur the energies of the most
+self-reliant mind in Europe, as the lion draws back to gather courage
+for the leap. As, like the lion, he drew back; so, like the lion, did
+he spring forward upon his prey. At a ball given by the Duchess of
+Devonshire, when the whole assembly were conversing upon his supposed
+disgrace, and insulting by their malevolence one whom they had
+disgusted by their adulation, Brummel suddenly stood in the midst of
+them. Could it be indeed Brummel? Could it be mortal who thus appeared
+with such an encincture of radiant glory about his neck? Every eye was
+upon him, fixed in stupid admiration; every tongue, as it slowly
+recovered from its speechless paralysis, faltered forth “what a
+cravat!” What a cravat indeed! Hundreds that had, a moment before,
+exulted in unwonted freedom, bowed before it with the homage of servile
+adoration. What a cravat! There it stood; there was no doubting its
+entity, no believing it an illusion. There it stood, smooth and stiff,
+yet light and almost transparent; delicate as the music of Ariel, yet
+firm as the spirit of Regulus; bending with the grace of Apollo’s
+locks, yet erect with the majesty of the Olympian Jove: without a
+wrinkle, without an indentation. What a cravat! The regent “saw and
+shook;” and uttering a faint gurgle from beneath the wadded bag which
+surrounded his royal thorax, he was heard to whisper with dismay, “D—n
+him! what a cravat!” The triumph was complete.
+
+It is stated, upon what authority we know not, that his royal highness,
+after passing a sleepless night in vain conjectures, despatched at an
+early hour, one of his privy-counsellors to Brummel, offering _carte
+blanche_ if he would disclose the secret of that mysterious cravat. But
+the “_atrox animus Catonis_” disdained the bribe. He preferred being
+supplicated, to being bought, by kings. “Go,” said he to the messenger,
+with the spirit of Marius mantling in his veins, “Go, and tell _you_r
+master that you have seen _his_ master.”
+
+For the truth of another anecdote, connected with this cravat, we have
+indisputable evidence. A young nobleman of distinguished talents and
+high pretensions as to fortune and rank, saw this fatal band, and eager
+to advance himself in the rolls of fashion, retired to his chamber to
+endeavour to penetrate the method of its construction. He tried every
+sort of known, and many sorts of unknown stiffeners to accomplish the
+end—paper and pasteboard, and wadding, shavings, and shingles, and
+planks,—all were vainly experienced. Gargantua could not have exhibited
+a greater invention of expedients than he did; but vainly. After a
+fortnight of the closest application, ardour of study and anxiety of
+mind combined, brought him to the brink of the grave. His mother having
+ascertained the origin of his complaint, waited upon Brummel, who was
+the only living man that could remove it. She implored him, by every
+human motive, to say but one word, to save the life of her son and
+prevent her own misery. But the tyrant was immoveable, and the young
+man expired a victim of his sternness.
+
+When, at length, yielding to that strong necessity which no man can
+control, Brummel was obliged, like Napoleon, to abdicate, the mystery
+of that mighty cravat was unfolded. There was found, after his
+departure to Calais, written on sheet of paper upon his table, the
+following epigram of scorn: “STARCH IS THE MAN.” The cravat of Brummel
+was merely—starched! Henceforth starch was introduced into every cravat
+in Europe.
+
+Brummel still lives, an obscure consul in a petty European town.
+
+Physically there is something to command our admiration in the history
+of a man who thus lays at his mercy all ranks of men,—the lofty and the
+low, the great, the powerful and the vain: but morally and seriously,
+no character is more despicable than that of the mere man of fashion,
+Seeking nothing but notoriety, his path to that end is over the ruins
+of all that is worthy in our nature. He knows virtue only to despise
+it; he makes himself acquainted with human feelings only to outrage
+them. He commences his career beyond the limits of decency, and ends it
+far in the regions of infamy. Feared by all and respected by none,
+hated by his worshippers and despised by himself, he rules,—an object
+of pity and contempt: and when his power is past, his existence is
+forgotten; he lives on in an, oblivion which is to him worse than
+death, and the stings of memory goad him to the grave.
+
+The devotee of fashion is a trifler unworthy of his race; the _mere_
+gentleman is a character which may in time become somewhat tiresome;
+there is a just mean between the two, where a better conduct than
+either is to be found. It is that of a man who, yielding to others,
+still maintains his self-respect, and whose concessions to folly are
+controlled by good sense; who remembers the value of trifles without
+forgetting the importance of duties, and resolves so to regulate his
+conduct that neither others may be offended by his stiffness, nor
+himself have to regret his levity.
+
+Live therefore among men—to conclude our homily after the manner of
+Quarles—live therefore among men, like them, yet not disliking thyself;
+and let the hues of fashion be reflected from thee, but let them not
+enter and colour thee within.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+MISCELLANEOUS.
+
+
+There is nothing more ill bred in the world than continual talking
+about good breeding.
+
+You should never employ the word “_genteel_;” the proper word is
+“_respectable._”
+
+If you are walking down the street with another person on your arm, and
+stop to say something to one of your friends, do not commit the too
+common and most awkward error of introducing such persons to one
+another. Never introduce morning visitors, who happen to meet in your
+parlour without being acquainted. If _you_ should be so introduced,
+remember that the acquaintance afterwards goes for nothing: you have
+not the slightest right to expect that the other should ever speak to
+you.
+
+If you wish to be introduced to a lady, you must always have her
+consent previously asked; this formality it is not necessary to observe
+in the case of gentlemen alone.
+
+Presents are the gauge of friendship. They also serve to increase it,
+and give it permanence.
+
+Among friends presents ought to be made of things of small value; or,
+if valuable, their worth should be derived from the style of the
+workmanship, or from some accidental circumstance, rather than from the
+inherent and solid richness. Especially never offer to a lady a gift of
+great cost: it is in the highest degree indelicate, and looks as if you
+were desirous of placing her under an obligation to you, and of buying
+her good will. The gifts made by ladies to gentlemen are of the most
+refined nature possible: they should be little articles not purchased,
+but deriving a priceless value as being the offspring of their gentle
+skill; a little picture from their pencil, or a trifle from their
+needle.
+
+To persons much your superiors, or gentlemen whom you do not know
+intimately, there is but one species of appropriate present—game.
+
+If you make a present, and it is praised by the receiver, you should
+not yourself commence undervaluing it. If one is offered to you, always
+accept it; and however small it may be, receive it with civil and
+expressed thanks, without any kind of affectation. Avoid all such
+deprecatory phrases, as “I fear I rob you,” etc.
+
+To children, the only presents which you offer are sugar-plums and
+bon-bons.
+
+Avoid the habit of employing French words in English conversation; it
+is in extremely bad taste to be always employing such expressions as
+_ci-devant_, _soi-disant_, _en masse_, _couleur de rose_, etc. Do not
+salute your acquaintances with _bon jour_, nor reply to every
+proposition, _volontiers._
+
+In speaking of French cities and towns, it is a mark of refinement in
+education to pronounce them rigidly according to English rules of
+speech. Mr. Fox, the best French scholar, and one of the best bred men
+in England, always sounded the x in _Bourdeaux_, and the s in Calais,
+and on all occasions pronounced such names just as they are written.
+
+In society, avoid having those peculiar preferences for some subjects,
+which are vulgarly denominated. “_hobby horses._” They make your
+company a _bore_ to all your friends; and some kind-hearted creature
+will take advantage of them and _trot_ you, for the amusement of the
+company.
+
+A certain degree of reserve, or the appearance of it, should be
+maintained in your intercourse with your most intimate friends. To
+ordinary acquaintances retain the utmost reserve—never allowing them to
+read your feelings, not, on the other hand, attempting to take any
+liberties with them. Familiarity of manner is the greatest vice of
+society. “Ah! allow me, my dear fellow,” says a rough voice, and at the
+same moment a thumb and finger are extended into my snuff-box, which,
+in removing their prey drop half of it upon my clothes,—I look up, and
+recognize a person to whom I was introduced by mistake last night at
+the opera. I would be glad to have less fellowship with such _fellows._
+In former times great philosophers were said to have demons for
+familiars,—thereby indicating that a familiar man is the very devil.
+
+Remember, that all deviations from prescribed forms, on common
+occasions, are vulgar; such as sending invitations, or replies, couched
+in some unusual forms of speech. Always adhere to the immemorial
+phrase,—“Mrs. X. requests the honour of Mr, Y.’s company,” and “Mr. Y.
+has the honour of accepting Mrs. X.’s polite invitation.” Never
+introduce persons with any outlandish or new-coined expressions; but
+perform the operation with mathematical precision—“Mr. A., Mr. A’; Mr.
+A’, Mr. A.”
+
+When two gentlemen are walking with a lady in the street, they should
+not be both upon the same side of her, but one of them should walk upon
+the outside and the other upon the inside.
+
+When you walk with a lady, even if the lady be young and unmarried,
+offer your arm to her. This is always done in France, and is practised
+in this country by the best bred persons. To be sure, this is done only
+to married women in France, because unmarried women never walk alone
+with gentlemen, but as in America the latter have the same freedom as
+the former, this custom should here be extended to them.
+
+If you are walking with a woman who has your arm, and you cross the
+street, it is better not to disengage your arm, and go round upon the
+outside. Such effort evinces a palpable attention to form, and _that_
+is always to be avoided.
+
+A woman should never take the arms of two men, one being upon either
+side; nor should a man carry a woman upon each arm. The latter of these
+iniquities is practised only in Ireland; the former perhaps in
+Kamskatcha. There are, to be sure, some cases in which it is necessary
+for the protection of the women, that they should both take his arm, as
+in coming home from a concert, or in passing, on any occasion, through
+a crowd.
+
+When you receive company in your own house, you should never be much
+dressed. This is a circumstance of the first importance in good
+breeding.
+
+A gentleman should never use perfumes; they are agreeable, however,
+upon ladies.
+
+Avoid the use of proverbs in conversation, and all sorts of cant
+phrases. This error is, I believe, censured by Lord Chesterfield, and
+is one of the most offensively vulgar things which a person can commit.
+We have frequently been astonished to hear such a slang phrase as “the
+whole hog” used by persons who had pretensions to very superior
+standing. We would be disposed to apply to such an expression a
+criticism of Dr. Johnson’s, which rivals it in Coarseness: “It has not
+enough salt to keep it from stinking, enough wit to prevent its being
+offensive.” We do not wish to advocate any false refinement, or to
+encourage any cockney delicacy: but we may be decent without being
+affected. The stable language and raft humour of Crockett and Downing
+may do very well to amuse one in a morning paper, but it exhibits
+little wit and less good sense to adopt them in the drawing-room. This
+matter should be “reformed altogether.”
+
+If a plate be sent to you, at dinner, by the master or mistress of the
+house, you should always take it, without offering it to all your
+neighbours as was in older times considered necessary. The spirit of
+antique manners consisted in exhibiting an attention to ceremony; the
+spirit of modern manners consists in avoiding all possible appearance
+of form. The old custom of deferring punctiliously to others was
+awkward and inconvenient. For, the person, in favor of whom the
+courtesy was shown, shocked at the idea of being exceeded in
+politeness, of course declined it, and a plate was thus often kept
+vibrating between two bowing mandarins, till its contents were cold,
+and the victims of ceremony were deprived of their dinner. In a case
+like this, to reverse the decision which the host has made as to the
+relative standing of his guests, is but a poor compliment to him, as it
+seems to reprove his choice, and may, besides, materially interfere
+with his arrangements by rendering _unhelped_ a person whom he supposes
+attended to.
+
+The same avoidance of too much attention to yielding place is proper in
+most other cases. Shenstone, in some clever verses, has ridiculed the
+folly; and Goldsmith, in his “Vicar,” has censured the inconvenience,
+of such outrageous formality. These things are now managed better. One
+person yields and another accepts without any controversy.
+
+When you are helped to anything at a dinner table, do not wait, with
+your plate untouched, until others have begun to eat. This stiff-piece
+of mannerism is often occurring in the country, and indeed among all
+persons who are not thoroughly bred. As soon as your plate is placed
+before you, you should take up your knife and arrange the table
+furniture around you, if you do not actually eat.
+
+As to the instruments by which the operation of dining is conducted, it
+is a matter of much consequence that entire propriety should be
+observed as to their use. We have said nothing about the use of silver
+forks, because we do not write for savages; and where, excepting among
+savages, shall we find any who at present eat with other than a French
+fork?. There are occasionally to be found some ancients, gentlemen of
+the old school, as it is termed, who persist in preferring steel, and
+who will insist on calling for a steel fork if there is none on the
+table. They consider the modem custom an affectation, and deem that all
+affectation should be avoided. They tread upon the pride of Plato, with
+more pride. There is often affectation in shunning affectation. It is
+better in things not material to submit to the established habits,
+especially when, as in the present case, the balance of convenience is
+decidedly on the part of fashion. The ordinary custom among well bred
+persons, is as follows:—soup is taken with a spoon. Some foolish
+_fashionables_ employ a fork! They might as well make use of a
+broomstick. The fish which follows is eaten with a fork, a knife not
+being used at all. The fork is held in the right hand, and a piece of
+bread in the left. For any dish in which cutting is not indispensable,
+the same arrangement is correct. When you have upon your plate, before
+the dessert, anything partially liquid, or any sauces, you must not
+take them up with a knife, but with a piece of bread, which is to be
+saturated with the juices, and then lifted to the mouth. If such an
+article forms part of the dessert, you should eat it with a spoon. In
+carving, steel instruments alone are employed. For fowls a peculiar
+knife is used, having the blade short and the handle very long. For
+fish a broad and pierced silver blade is used.
+
+A dinner—we allude to _dinner-parties_—in this country, is generally
+despatched with too much hurry. We do not mean, that persons commonly
+eat too fast, but that the courses succeed one another too
+precipitately. Dinner is the last operation of the day, and there is no
+subsequent business which demands haste. It is usually intended,
+especially when there are no ladies, to sit at the table till nine,
+ten, or eleven o’clock, and it is more agreeable that the _eating_
+should be prolonged through a considerable portion of the entire time.
+The conveniences of digestion also require more deliberation, and it
+would therefore not be unpleasant if an interval of a quarter of an
+hour or half an hour were allowed to intervene between the meats and
+the dessert.
+
+At dinner, avoid taking upon your plate too many things at once. One
+variety of meat and one kind of vegetable is the _maximum._ When you
+take another sort of meat, or any dish not properly a vegetable, you
+always change your plate.
+
+The fashion of dining inordinately late in this country is foolish. It
+is borrowed from England without any regard to the difference in
+circumstances between the two nations. In London, the whole system of
+daily duties is much later. The fact of parliament’s sitting during the
+evening and not in the morning, tends to remove the active part of the
+day to a much more advanced hour. When persons rise at ten or two
+o’clock, it is not to be expected that they should dine till eight or
+twelve in the evening. There is nothing of this sort in France. There
+they dine at three, or earlier. We have known some fashionable dinners
+in different cities in this country at so late an hour as eight or nine
+o’clock. This is absurd, where the persons have all breakfasted at
+eight in the morning. From four o’clock till five varies the proper
+hour for a dinner party here.
+
+Never talk about politics at a dinner table or in a drawing room.
+
+When you are going into a company it is of advantage to run over in
+your mind, beforehand, the topics of conversation which you intend to
+bring up, and to arrange the manner in which you will introduce them.
+You may also refresh your general ideas upon the subjects, and run
+through the details of the few very brief and sprightly anecdotes which
+you are going to repeat; and also have in readiness one or two
+brilliant phrases or striking words which you will use upon occasion.
+Further than this it is dangerous to make much preparation. If you
+commit to memory long speeches with the design of delivering them, your
+conversation will become formal, and you will be negligent of the
+observations of your company. It will tend also to impair that habit of
+readiness and quickness which it is necessary to cultivate in order to
+be agreeable.
+
+You must be very careful that you do not repeat the same anecdotes or
+let off the same good things twice to the same person. Richard Sharpe,
+the “conversationist” as he was called in London, kept a regular book
+of entry, in which he recorded where and before whom he had uttered
+severally his choice sayings. The celebrated Bubb Doddington prepared a
+manuscript book of original _facetiæ_, which he was accustomed to read
+over when he expected any distinguished company, trusting to an
+excellent memory to preserve him from iteration.
+
+If you accompany your wife to a ball, be very careful not to dance with
+her.
+
+The lady who gives a ball dances but little, and always selects her
+partners.
+
+If you are visited by any company whom you wish to drive away forever,
+or any friends whom you wish to alienate, entertain them by reading to
+them your own productions.
+
+If you ask a lady to dance, and she is engaged, do not prefer a request
+for her hand at the next set after that, because she may be engaged for
+that also, and for many more; and you would have to run through a long
+list of interrogatories, which would be absurd and awkward.
+
+A gentleman must not expect to shine in society, even the most
+frivolous, without a considerable stock of knowledge. He must be
+acquainted with facts rather than principles. He needs no very sublime
+sciences; but a knowledge of biography and literary history, of the
+fine arts, as painting, engraving, music, etc., will be of great
+service to him.
+
+Some men are always seen in the streets with an umbrella under their
+arm. Such a foible may be permitted to such men as Mr. Southey and the
+Duke of Wellington: but in ordinary men it looks like affectation, and
+the monotony is exceedingly _boring_ to the sight.
+
+To applaud at a play is not _fashionable_; but it is _respectable_ to
+evince by a gentle concurrence of one finger and a hand that you
+perceive and enjoy a good stroke in an actor.
+
+If you are at a concert, or a private musical party, never beat time
+with your feet or your cane. Nothing is more unpleasant.
+
+Few things are more agreeable or more difficult, than to relate
+anecdotes with entire propriety. They should be introduced gracefully,
+have fit connexion with the previous remarks, and be in perfect keeping
+with the company, the subject and the tone of the conversation; they
+should be short, witty and eloquent, and they should be new but not
+far-fetched.
+
+In rapid and eager discourse, when persons are excited and impatient,
+as at a ball or in a promenade, repeat nothing but the spirit and soul
+of a story, leaping over the particulars. There are however many places
+and occasions in which you may bring out the details with advantage,
+precisely, but not tediously. When you repeat a true story be always
+extremely exact. Mem. Not to forget the point of your story, like most
+narrators.
+
+When you are telling a flat anecdote by mistake, laugh egregiously,
+that others may do the same: when you repeat a spirited and striking
+bon mot, be grave and composed, in order that others may not be the
+same.
+
+For one who has travelled much, to hit the proper medium between too
+much reserve and too much intrusion, on the subject of his adventures,
+is not easy. Such a person is expected to give amusement by pleasant
+histories of his travels, and it is agreeable that he should do so, yet
+with moderation; he should not reply to every remark by a memoir,
+commencing, “When I was in Japan.”
+
+Rampant witticisms which require one to laugh, are apt to grow
+fatiguing: it is better to have a sprightly and amusing vein running
+through your conversation, which, betraying no effort, allows one to be
+grave without offence, or to smile without pain.
+
+Punning is now decidedly out of date. It is a silly and displeasing
+thing, when it becomes a habit. Some one has called it the wit of
+fools. It is within the reach of the most trifling, and is often used
+by them to puzzle and degrade the wise. Whatever may be its merits, it
+is now out of fashion.
+
+It is respectable to go to church once on Sunday. When you are there,
+behave with decency. You should never walk in fashionable places on
+Sunday afternoon. It is notoriously vulgar. If your health requires you
+to take the air, you should seek some retired street.
+
+In conversation avoid such phrases as “My _dear_ sir or madam.”
+
+A gentleman is distinguished as much by his composure as by any other
+quality. His exertions are always subdued, and his efforts easy. He is
+never surprised into an exclamation or startled by anything. Throughout
+life he avoids what the French call _scenes_, occasions of exhibition,
+in which the vulgar delight. He of course has feelings, but he never
+exhibits any to the world. He hears of the death of his pointer or the
+loss of an estate with entire calmness when others are present.
+
+It is very difficult for a literary man to preserve the perfect manners
+and exact semblance of a gentleman. He must be able to throw aside all
+the qualities which authorship tends to stamp so deeply upon him, and
+thoroughly to despise the cant of the profession. Yet this must be done
+without any affectation. Upon the whole, unless he has rare tact, he
+will please as much by going into company with all the marks of his
+employment upon his manners, than by awkwardly attempting to throw off
+his load. One would rather see a man with his fingers inked, than to
+see him nervously striving to cover them with a tattered kid glove. As
+to literary ladies, they make up their minds to sacrifice all present
+and personal admiration for future and abiding renown.
+
+It is not considered fashionable to carry a watch. What has a
+fashionable man to do with time? Besides he never goes into those
+obscure parts of the town where there are no public clocks, and his
+servant will tell him when it is time to dress for dinner. A gentleman
+carries his watch in his pantaloons with a plain black ribbon attached.
+It is only worthy of a shop-boy to put it in his waistcoat pocket.
+
+Custom allows to men the privilege of taking snuff, however unneat this
+habit may appear. If you affect the “tangible smell,” always take it
+from a box, and not from your waistcoat pocket or a paper. The common
+opinion, that Napoleon took snuff from his pocket, (which fact, by the
+way, is denied by Bourrienne,) has for ever driven this convenient
+custom from the practice of gentlemen, for the same reason that Lord
+Byron’s anti-neckcloth fashion has compelled every man of sense to bind
+a cravat religiously about his throat. As to taking snuff from a paper,
+it is vile.
+
+Women should abstain most scrupulously from tobacco, for nothing can be
+more fatal to their divinity: they should at least avoid it until past
+fifty;—that is to say, if a woman past fifty can anywhere be found.
+Chewing is permitted only to galley-slaves and metaphysicians.
+
+It was a favourite maxim of Rivarol, “Do you wish to succeed? Cite
+proper names.” Rivarol is dead in exile, having left behind him little
+property and less reputation. Judging from all experience, if we were
+to frame an extreme maxim, it should be, “If you wish to succeed never
+cite a proper name.” It will make you agreeable and hated. Your
+conversation will be listened to with interest, and your company
+shunned with horror. You will obtain the reputation of a gossip and a
+scandal-bearer, and you will soon be obliged either to purchase a razor
+or apply for a passport. If you are holding a tete-a-tete with a
+notorious Mrs. Candour, then, indeed, your tongue should be as sharp
+and nimble as the forked lightning. You must beat her at her own
+weapons, and convince her that it would be dangerous to traduce your
+character to others.
+
+A bachelor is a person who enjoys everything and pays for nothing; a
+married man is one that pays for everything and enjoys nothing. The one
+drives a sulky through life, and is not expected to take care of any
+one but himself: the other keeps a carriage, which is always too full
+to afford him a comfortable seat. Be cautious then how you exchange
+your sulky for a carriage.
+
+In ordinary conversation about persons employ the expressions _men_ and
+_women_; _gentleman_ and _lady_ are _distinctive_ appellations, and not
+to be used upon general occasions.
+
+You should say _forte-piano_, not _piano-forte_: and the _street door_,
+not the _front door._
+
+“A man may have virtue, capacity, and good conduct,” says La Bruyère,
+“and yet be insupportable; the air and manner which we neglect, as
+little things, are frequently what the world judges us by, and makes
+them decide for or against us.”
+
+In your intercourse with the world you must take persons as they are,
+and society as you find it. You must never oppose the one, nor attempt
+to alter the other. Society is a harlequin stage, upon which you never
+appear in your own dress nor without a mask. Keep your real
+dispositions for your fireside, and your real character for your
+private friend. In public, never differ from anybody, nor from
+anything. The _agreeable_ man is one who _agrees._
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
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