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diff --git a/5681-h/5681-h.htm b/5681-h/5681-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4f06c90 --- /dev/null +++ b/5681-h/5681-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3443 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Laws of Etiquette, by A Gentleman</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.footnote {font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Laws of Etiquette, by A Gentleman</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Laws of Etiquette</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: A Gentleman</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 7, 2002 [eBook #5681]<br /> +[Most recently updated: September 8, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Holly Ingraham</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAWS OF ETIQUETTE ***</div> + +<h1>The Laws of Etiquette</h1> + +<h3>or,<br /> +Short Rules and Reflections<br /> +for<br /> +CONDUCT IN SOCIETY.</h3> + +<h2 class="no-break">by A Gentleman</h2> + +<h4>PHILADELPHIA:</h4> + +<h5>1836.</h5> + +<hr /> + +<p class="letter"> +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. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#pref01">PREFACE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#pref02">INTRODUCTION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I. GOOD BREEDING.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II. DRESS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III. SALUTATIONS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV. THE DRAWING-ROOM. COMPANY. CONVERSATION.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V. THE ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI. LETTERS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII. VISITS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII. APPOINTMENTS AND PUNCTUALITY.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX. DINNER.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X. TRAVELLING.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI. BALLS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII. FUNERALS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII. SERVANTS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV. FASHION.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV. MISCELLANEOUS.</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="pref01"></a>PREFACE</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="pref02"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<p> +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 <i>there</i> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>bruit</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>retain</i> 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 <i>perhaps the very best alone.</i> To obtain, then, the manners +of a gentleman is a matter of no small importance. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +These forms may be abundantly absurd, but still they <i>must</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The Abbé Cosson, professor in the <i>Collége Mazarin</i>, 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>that</i>, 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 <i>hen</i>? 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 +<i>claret</i> and <i>champagne.</i>” “Let me inform you, then, that +persons always ask for <i>claret wine</i> and <i>champagne wine.</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.<br /> +GOOD BREEDING.</h2> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* Charles Butler’s Reminiscences +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.<br /> +DRESS.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>does</i> make the monk. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>distingué.</i> +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>whole</i> +of your red or white hair. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +If you have any defect, so striking and so ridiculous as to procure you a +<i>nickname</i> then indeed there is but one remedy,—renounce society. +</p> + +<p> +In the morning, before eleven o’clock even if you go out, you should not +be dressed. You would be stamped a <i>parvenu</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +It is as great a sin to be finical in dress as to be negligent. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.<br /> +SALUTATIONS.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Some ladies <i>courtesy</i> in the street, a movement not gracefully consistent +with locomotion. They should always <i>bow.</i> +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +If you have remarkably fine teeth, you may smile affectionately upon the bowee, +without speaking. +</p> + +<p> +In passing ladies of rank, whom you meet in society, bow, but do not speak. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +As a general rule never <i>cut</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +If you address a lady in the open air, you remain uncovered until she has +desired you <i>twice</i> to put on your hat. In general, if you are in any +place where <i>etiquette</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>presses</i> 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 <i>intimate</i> 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 +</p> + +<p> +“These little things are great to little men.” +</p> + +<p> +Goldsmith. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br /> +THE DRAWING-ROOM. COMPANY. CONVERSATION.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>coup d’œil.</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +Never permit the sanctity of the drawing-room to be violated by a boot. +</p> + +<p> +Fashionable society is divided into <i>sets</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +In each of these sets there is generally some <i>gentleman</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>en +deshabille.</i> It is fatal to success to be all absent or <i>distrait.</i> 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 <i>thing</i> itself,—the subject abstractly,—instead of +attending to the <i>language</i> of other speakers, and do not cultivate +<i>verbal</i> pleasantries and refinements. He who does otherwise gains a +reputation for quickness, and pleases by showing that he has regarded the +observation of others. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Never speak to any one in company about a private affair which is not +understood by others, as asking how <i>that</i> matter is coming on, &c. In +so doing you indicate your opinion that the rest are <i>de trop.</i> If you +wish to make any such inquiries, always explain to others the business about +which you inquire, if the subject admit of it. +</p> + +<p> +If upon the entrance of a visitor you continue a conversation begun before, you +should always explain the subject to the new-comer. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>midwifery</i>! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>Such</i> flattery <i>must</i> +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. +</p> + +<p> +It is sometimes flattery to accept praises. +</p> + +<p> +Never flatter one person in the presence of another. +</p> + +<p> +Never commend a lady’s musical skill to another lady who herself plays. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Talk to a mother about her children. Women are never tired of hearing of +themselves and their children. +</p> + +<p> +If you go to a house where there are children you should take especial care to +conciliate their good will by a little manly <i>tete-a-tete</i>, otherwise you +may get a ball against your skins, or be tumbled from a three-legged chair. +</p> + +<p> +To be able to converse with women you must study their vocabulary. You would +make a great mistake in interpreting <i>never, forever</i>, as they are +explained in Johnson. +</p> + +<p> +Do not be for ever telling a woman that she is handsome, witty, etc. She knows +that a vast deal better than you do. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Nil admirari</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Never ask a lady a question about anything whatever. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Never ask a question about the price of a thing. This horrible error is often +committed by a <i>nouveau riche.</i> +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.<br /> +THE ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY.</h2> + +<p> +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 <i>debutant</i> in the career of society, and +exert themselves to fit him to do honour to their patronage. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>observe</i>: 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br /> +LETTERS.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +A note of invitation or reply is always to be enclosed in an envelope. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br /> +VISITS.</h2> + +<p> +Of visits there are various sorts; visits of congratulation, visits of +condolence, visits of ceremony, visits of friendship. To each belong different +customs. +</p> + +<p> +A visit and an insult must be always returned. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +After a hall, a dinner, or a concert, you visit during the week. +</p> + +<p> +Pay the first visit to a friend just returned from a voyage. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br /> +APPOINTMENTS AND PUNCTUALITY.</h2> + +<p> +When you make an appointment, always be exact in observing it. In some places, +and on some occasions, a quarter of an hour’s <i>grace</i> 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. +<i>He</i> may be pardoned by one person, (the Governor); the unpunctual is +pardoned by none. <i>Haud inexpectus loquor.</i> +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br /> +DINNER.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +You should never ask a gentleman or lady at the table to help you to any thing, +but always apply to the servants. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>gourmande</i>, +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>He</i> never asks gentlemen, but they ask +him; this is a refined custom, attended to in the best company. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +At dinner never call for ale or porter; it is coarse, and injures the taste for +wine. +</p> + +<p> +It was formerly the custom to drink <i>porter</i> 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 <i>port.</i> The +dictum of Brummell was thus enunciated: “A gentleman never <i>malts</i>, +he <i>ports.</i>” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>permanent</i> fashion. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* Shakspeare +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>his</i> knife to +procure it. +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>Magis sequor quam probo.</i> +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>ceremony</i> at all. He goes through all the complicated duties +of the scene, as if he were “to the manner born.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>gourmands</i> of the time of Napoleon. In the course of the dinner, his +host having helped him to some particularly <i>recherché</i> 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 <i>did</i> +you come here for, then?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +We conclude this chapter by a word of important counsel to the +host:—Never make an apology. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.<br /> +TRAVELLING.</h2> + +<p> +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 +<i>incognito</i>; 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +<i>Etiquette</i>, 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 <i>politeness</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +If <i>ladies</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>not</i> be avoided—state facts and arguments rather than opinions. +Never answer impudent questions-and never ask them. +</p> + +<p> +At the meals which occur during a journey, you see beautiful exemplification of +the <i>dictum</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br /> +BALLS.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +While dancing with a lady whom you have never seen before, you should not talk +to her much. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +If you have no ear, that is, a false one, never dance. +</p> + +<p> +To usurp the seat of a person who is dancing is the height of incivility. +</p> + +<p> +Never go to a public ball. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br /> +FUNERALS.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The coffins of persons of distinction are carried in the hands of bearers, who +walk with their hats off. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +A funeral in the morning, a ball in the evening,—“so runs the world +away.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br /> +SERVANTS.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>character</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Servants should be directed to announce visitors. This is always done abroad, +and is a convenient custom. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>scene.</i> Prince Puckler Muskaw +was, very properly, turned out of the Travellers’ Club for throwing a +fork at one of the waiters. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br /> +FASHION.</h2> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Like women, born to be controlled,<br /> +Stoops to the forward and the bold.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +A man of fashion must never allow himself to be pleased. Nothing is more +decidedly <i>de mauvais ton</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>that</i> valuable which procures to others the honour of +paying for his suppers. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>talking</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +A man of fashion never goes to the theatre; he is waiting for the opera. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Fashion makes all great things little, and all little things great. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>role</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>considering circumstances</i>; 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 <i>new measures.</i>” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>neck</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>carte blanche</i> if he would +disclose the secret of that mysterious cravat. But the “<i>atrox animus +Catonis</i>” 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 <i>you</i>r master +that you have seen <i>his</i> master.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Brummel still lives, an obscure consul in a petty European town. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The devotee of fashion is a trifler unworthy of his race; the <i>mere</i> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br /> +MISCELLANEOUS.</h2> + +<p> +There is nothing more ill bred in the world than continual talking about good +breeding. +</p> + +<p> +You should never employ the word “<i>genteel</i>;” the proper word +is “<i>respectable.</i>” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>you</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Presents are the gauge of friendship. They also serve to increase it, and give +it permanence. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +To persons much your superiors, or gentlemen whom you do not know intimately, +there is but one species of appropriate present—game. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +To children, the only presents which you offer are sugar-plums and bon-bons. +</p> + +<p> +Avoid the habit of employing French words in English conversation; it is in +extremely bad taste to be always employing such expressions as +<i>ci-devant</i>, <i>soi-disant</i>, <i>en masse</i>, <i>couleur de rose</i>, +etc. Do not salute your acquaintances with <i>bon jour</i>, nor reply to every +proposition, <i>volontiers.</i> +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Bourdeaux</i>, and the s in Calais, and on all occasions pronounced +such names just as they are written. +</p> + +<p> +In society, avoid having those peculiar preferences for some subjects, which +are vulgarly denominated. “<i>hobby horses.</i>” They make your +company a <i>bore</i> to all your friends; and some kind-hearted creature will +take advantage of them and <i>trot</i> you, for the amusement of the company. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>fellows.</i> In former times great philosophers were +said to have demons for familiars,—thereby indicating that a familiar man +is the very devil. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>that</i> is always to be avoided. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +A gentleman should never use perfumes; they are agreeable, however, upon +ladies. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>unhelped</i> a person whom he supposes attended to. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>fashionables</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +A dinner—we allude to <i>dinner-parties</i>—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 <i>eating</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +At dinner, avoid taking upon your plate too many things at once. One variety of +meat and one kind of vegetable is the <i>maximum.</i> When you take another +sort of meat, or any dish not properly a vegetable, you always change your +plate. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Never talk about politics at a dinner table or in a drawing room. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>facetiæ</i>, which he was accustomed to read over when he +expected any distinguished company, trusting to an excellent memory to preserve +him from iteration. +</p> + +<p> +If you accompany your wife to a ball, be very careful not to dance with her. +</p> + +<p> +The lady who gives a ball dances but little, and always selects her partners. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>boring</i> to the sight. +</p> + +<p> +To applaud at a play is not <i>fashionable</i>; but it is <i>respectable</i> to +evince by a gentle concurrence of one finger and a hand that you perceive and +enjoy a good stroke in an actor. +</p> + +<p> +If you are at a concert, or a private musical party, never beat time with your +feet or your cane. Nothing is more unpleasant. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +In conversation avoid such phrases as “My <i>dear</i> sir or +madam.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>scenes</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +In ordinary conversation about persons employ the expressions <i>men</i> and +<i>women</i>; <i>gentleman</i> and <i>lady</i> are <i>distinctive</i> +appellations, and not to be used upon general occasions. +</p> + +<p> +You should say <i>forte-piano</i>, not <i>piano-forte</i>: and the <i>street +door</i>, not the <i>front door.</i> +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>agreeable</i> man is one who <i>agrees.</i> +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE END. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAWS OF ETIQUETTE ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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