*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 53011 ***

  TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

  Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.

  Bold text is denoted by =equal signs=.

  Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
  corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
  the text and consultation of external sources.

  More detail can be found at the end of the book.




BY ALFRED AYRES.


Some Ill-used Words.

  A Manual for the use of those who desire to Write and Speak
  Correctly. 18mo. Cloth, $1.00.


The Orthoëpist.

  A Pronouncing Manual, containing about Four Thousand Five Hundred
  Words, including a considerable number of the Names of Foreign
  Authors, Artists, etc., that are often mispronounced. Revised and
  enlarged. 18mo. Cloth, $1.25.


The Verbalist.

  A Manual devoted to Brief Discussions of the Right and the Wrong
  Use of Words, and to some Other Matters of Interest to those who
  would Speak and Write with Propriety. 18mo. Cloth, $1.25.


The Mentor.

  A Little Book for the Guidance of such Men and Boys as would
  Appear to Advantage in the Society of Persons of the Better Sort.
  18mo. Cloth, $1.00.


Acting and Actors;

  ELOCUTION AND ELOCUTIONISTS. With Preface by Harrison Grey Fiske;
  Introduction by Edgar S. Werner; Prologue by James A. Waldron.


_Grammar without a Master._

The English Grammar

  OF WILLIAM COBBETT. Carefully Revised and Annotated. 18mo. Cloth,
  $1.00,


New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.




  THE MENTOR

  _A LITTLE BOOK_

  FOR THE GUIDANCE OF SUCH MEN AND BOYS
  AS WOULD APPEAR TO ADVANTAGE IN
  THE SOCIETY OF PERSONS OF
  THE BETTER SORT


  BY

  ALFRED AYRES

  AUTHOR OF THE ORTHOËPIST, THE VERBALIST, ETC.

  Virtue itself offends when coupled with
  forbidding manners.--MIDDLETON.

  Well dressed, well bred, well carriaged,
  Is ticket good enough to pass us readily
  Through every door.--COWPER.

  A good manner is the best thing in the
  world, either to get one a good name or to
  supply the want of it.--ANONYMOUS.

[Illustration: (publisher’s colophon)]

  NEW YORK
  D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
  1902




  COPYRIGHT, 1884,
  BY FUNK AND WAGNALLS.

  COPYRIGHT, 1894,
  BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.




PREFATORY NOTE.

  To select well among old things is almost equal to inventing new
  ones.--TRUBLET.


To be welcome in the society of persons of the better sort, who
are always persons of culture and refinement, we must ourselves
be persons of culture and refinement, _i.e._, we must know and
practise the usages that obtain in refined society, and have some
acquaintance with letters and art.

In this world it is only like that seeks like. Those that have
nothing in common, whose culture and breeding are unlike, whose
thoughts are on different things, never seek the society of one
another. What points of sympathy are there between the town gallant
and the country spark, between the city belle and the dairymaid? If
one would be received in the better social circles, one’s culture
must be of the kind found there, and, above all, one’s manners must
be marked by the observance of those usages that are to refined
social commerce what the oil is to the engine.

It is often said that wealth is the surest passport to the better
circles of society. Nothing could be further from the truth. The
surest passport to the better circles of society is moral worth,
supplemented with education, a thing that is made up of two
other things--instruction and breeding. True, a little money is
necessary to make one’s self presentable, but this little will
always suffice. Wealth, we know, contributes greatly to men’s
social success, and for good and obvious reasons; but it does
not contribute more to social success than does distinction in
intellectual pursuits. Laudable achievements will ever have quite
as large a following as plethoric purses. Lands and goods are not
the things we set the highest value on, many as there are that seem
to think so.

This little book will be, I trust, of some service to those men
that would better their acquaintance with the usages that govern in
the polite world; and I am sure that he that learns half as much by
reading it as I have learned in making it will feel well repaid for
the time he gives to it.

  A. A.


  Manners are the ornament of action.--SMILES.

  Manners are the lesser morals of life.--ARISTOTLE.

  Little minds are vexed with trifles.--LA ROCHEFOUCAULD.

  It is always easy to say a rude thing, but never wise.--STACY.

  Marriage is the true road to Paradise.--DE LA FERRIÈRE.

  Guard the manners if you would protect the morals.--DAVIDSON.

  Anger blows out the lamp of the mind.--ROBERT G. INGERSOLL.

  Good temper is the essence of good manners.--ANONYMOUS.

  Politeness is the expression or imitation of social
  virtues.--DUCLOS.

  Some people get into the bad habit of being unhappy.--GEORGE
  ELIOT.

  He that has no character is not a man: he is only a
  thing.--CHAMFORT.

  Contempt should be the best concealed of our
  sentiments.--ANONYMOUS.

  Sow good services; sweet remembrances will grow from them.--MME.
  DE STAËL.

  Good manners are the shadows of virtues, if not virtues
  themselves.--ANONYMOUS.

  Consideration for woman is the measure of a nation’s progress in
  social life.--GRÉGOIRE.

  In all professions and occupations, good manners are necessary to
  success.--MRS. WARD.

  Self-love is a balloon filled with wind, from which tempests
  emerge when pricked.--VOLTAIRE.

  Manners are the hypocrisies of nations; the hypocrisies are more
  or less perfected.--BALZAC.

  An earthly father who cannot govern by affection is not fit to be
  a father.--ROBERT G. INGERSOLL.

  It is generally allowed that the forming and the perfecting of
  the character is difficult.--ANONYMOUS.

  Respect your wife. Heap earth around that flower, but never drop
  any in the chalice.--A. DE MUSSET.

  Good manners is the art of making easy the persons with whom we
  are brought into contact.--ANONYMOUS.

  One should choose for a wife only such a woman as one would
  choose for a friend, were she a man.--JOUBERT.

  It is a great misfortune not to have enough wit to speak well, or
  not enough judgment to keep silent.--LA BRUYÈRE.

  Experience and observation in society are the chief means by
  which one acquires the polish that society demands.--ANONYMOUS.

  Let what you say be to the purpose, and let it be so said
  that if we forget the speech we may recollect the manner of
  it.--ANONYMOUS.

  The art of conversation consists less in showing one’s own
  wit than in giving opportunity for the display of the wit of
  others.--LA BRUYÈRE.

  There is no surer proof of low origin, or of an innate meanness
  of disposition, than to be always talking and thinking of being
  genteel.--HAZLITT.

  Were we as eloquent as angels, we should please some men,
  some women, and some children, much more by listening than by
  talking.--LACON.

  If you speak the sense of an angel in bad words, and with a
  disagreeable utterance, nobody will hear you twice who can help
  it.--CHESTERFIELD.

  One of the most effectual ways of pleasing and of making one’s
  self loved is to be cheerful; joy softens more hearts than
  tears.--MME. DE SARTORY.

  To live with our enemies as if they may some time become
  our friends, and to live with our friends as if they may
  some time become our enemies, is not a moral but a political
  maxim.--ANONYMOUS.

  There is no flattery so exquisite as the flattery of listening.
  It may be doubted whether the greatest mind is ever proof against
  it. Socrates may have loved Plato best of all his disciples
  because he listened best.--ANONYMOUS.

      Though conversation in its better part
      May be esteemed a gift, and not an art,
      Yet much depends, as in the tiller’s toil,
      On culture and the sowing of the soil.
                                     --COWPER.




CONTENTS


  PERSONAL APPEARANCE,                                        page 11

  Dress, p. 12. Jewelry, watches, etc., p. 18. The hair, p. 21.
  The beard, p. 22. The nails, p. 24. The teeth, p. 24. Canes,
  p. 27. Full dress, p. 28. Dress at informal gatherings, p. 29,
  etc., etc., etc.

  AT THE DINNER-TABLE,                                        page 31

  Invitations and answers, p. 32. Punctuality, p. 33. How to
  enter the drawing-room, p. 34. When dinner is announced,
  p. 36. Bearing at the table, p. 37. Soup, p. 39. Fish, p. 40.
  The knife and fork, p. 40. Asparagus, p. 43. The spoon
  controversy, p. 45. Boiled eggs, p. 47. Wine-drinking, p. 53.
  Finger-bowls and doilies, p. 55. When to fold your napkin,
  and when not to, p. 56, etc., etc., etc.

  IN PUBLIC,                                                  page 58

  How to walk, p. 59. To stand, p. 60. To sit, p. 61. Salutations,
  p. 61. The lady--which side in the street, p. 67. In
  public conveyances, p. 67. In a carriage, p. 68. How to carry
  umbrella or cane, p. 68. Hand-shaking, p. 70. Street introductions,
  p. 71. Street recognitions, p. 72. Smoking, p. 73.
  Humming and whistling, p. 76. The ball-room, p. 77. Party
  calls, p. 98. Card-playing, p. 98. Places of amusement, p.
  100. Applause, p. 105. Remain to the end, p. 106. Bar-rooms,
  p. 108, etc., etc.

  CONVERSATION,                                              page 109

  CALLS AND CARDS,                                             “  156

  ODDS AND ENDS,                                               “  169

  WHAT IS A GENTLEMAN?                                         “  199




  _Simple nature, however defective, is better than the
  least objectionable affectation; and, defects for defects,
  those that are natural are more bearable than affected
  virtues._--SAINT-EVREMOND.




PERSONAL APPEARANCE.

  Dress changes the manners.--VOLTAIRE.

  Whose garments wither shall receive faded smiles.--SHERIDAN
  KNOWLES.

  Men of sense follow fashion so far that they are neither
  conspicuous for their excess nor peculiar by their opposition to
  it.--ANONYMOUS.


The famous French painter, Girard, when quite young, was the bearer
of a letter of introduction to a high officer at the court of
Napoleon I. Girard was poorly dressed, and his reception was cold;
but the courtier discovered in him such evidences of talent and
good sense that on Girard’s rising to take leave, he arose also,
and accompanied him to the antechamber.

The change in the courtier’s manner was so marked that Girard could
not suppress an expression of surprise.

“My young friend,” said the courtier, “we receive strangers
according to their dress; we take leave of them according to their
merits.”

Good clothes are far from being sufficient to gain one admittance
to the better circles of society, but without them admittance is
impossible. When we go out into the world, it is not sufficient to
do as others do, we must also dress as others dress.

He is best dressed whose dress attracts least attention; and in
order not to attract attention, one’s dress must be seasonable,
appropriate, conform to the prevailing fashion, without going in
the least beyond it, and appear to be comfortable.

It requires something more than a full purse to enable one to dress
well: it requires sense, taste, refinement. Indeed, dress may be
considered in the light of a fine art. It is a pretty sure index of
character, and few dress really well that would not be considered
persons of culture.

In dress, as in all things else, the golden rule is to avoid
extremes. The man of sense and taste never wears anything that is
“loud,” flashy, or peculiar; he yields always to fashion, but never
is a slave to it.

The first thing to be considered in the replenishing of one’s
wardrobe is the material. This should always be good. Low priced
stuffs are rarely, if ever, cheap, and they are certainly not cheap
unless, though low-priced, they are of good quality. As a rule, one
suit of clothes that costs fifty dollars does more service than two
suits that cost the same sum. And then the low-priced suit never
looks well, while the high-priced suit looks well to the last, if
it is kept clean and care is taken to have it occasionally pressed
into shape--a fact that few men properly appreciate.

      “Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
      But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy,
      For the apparel oft proclaims the man.”

There is but one way to get a good fitting shirt, and that is to
have it made. Nor is this all. You must try one on and have it
“fitted,” and then have the others made exactly like the pattern
shirt. Nearly every man has one shoulder lower than the other, and
if this peculiarity is not considered, the bosom of a shirt will
never sit smoothly. It will bulge on the low-shoulder side. For
several reasons it is better to have shirts made open in the back.
Yet open-backed shirts are less worn now than they were; indeed,
the fastidious nowadays wear only shirts open in front. They fit
better around the neck. It is better to have the collar separate
and for some reasons the cuffs also--dress shirts excepted,
perhaps. Let your collars always be in and strictly within the
fashion, unless you would look like a rowdy, in which case you
are at liberty to go to any extreme you please and to gratify
any vulgar caprice you may chance to have. Your cuffs should be
no larger than is necessary to admit of your slipping your hand
through them when they are buttoned. Why should a man wear a cuff
so large that one may see up to his elbow? A cuff so large that it
slips down over the hand has an unæsthetic, slouchy look, besides
being in the way and being very uncomfortable in warm weather.
Colored shirts may be worn travelling, in the country, and, some
say, in the morning in town; but most men of taste prefer white.
The pattern of colored shirts should always be small and the color
quiet.

If the coat, trousers, and vest of business and morning suits are
not made of the same cloth, the coat and vest should be of the
same, and be darker than the trousers. Men that cannot or do not
choose to spend much money with their tailor, should always select
dark stuffs. A dark morning suit may be worn on many occasions
where the wearing of a light suit would be in singularly bad taste.
The fashion should be followed, but beware of going to extremes,
if you would not be taken for one of those vulgar, empty-headed
fops that, if spring-bottomed trousers, for example, are the mode,
insist on theirs being made to bell out at the bottom till their
legs look as though they had been put on bottom up. The wrinkles
and “knees” should be pressed out of trousers about every two
weeks. The more closely woven the cloth the longer a garment keeps
its shape. The vest should be kept buttoned from bottom to top,
and the buttons on both coat and vest should be renewed as soon as
they begin to show the effects of wear. There is always something
“Jakey” in the appearance of a man that goes about with his vest
half buttoned. Both coat and vest should be made snug around the
waist and loose over the chest. A garment that is tight around the
waist tends to make the wearer stand straight, while one that is
tight over the chest tends to make him stoop. The carriage of men
that do not wear suspenders is generally better than that of men
that do wear them. If a single-breasted garment is too tight over
the chest, the trouble is generally beyond remedy, as the tailor
cannot add to the front; in a double-breasted garment, the moving
of the buttons generally suffices.

Single-breasted overcoats, made with a “fly,” are most worn, and
are, from every point of view, the most desirable. A short-waisted,
double-breasted overcoat has been a good deal worn by quite
young men of late. It is fashionable, and would, perhaps, become
generally popular, if it did not tend to make the wearer look like
a footman. The man of taste always selects for his overcoats dark,
quiet colors.

There is nothing a man wears in which he shows his sense or his
want of it more than in his boots and shoes. The man of sense
and taste has his shoes made long, broad in the sole and in the
shank, and with a big and only moderately high heel. No matter
what the fashion chances to be, if you see a man that pinches his
toes, you may be sure it would take a very small hat to pinch
his head. The shoe that does not look comfortable never looks
well. There are many of the New York women that wear shoes that
distort the feet and are most uncomfortable; such shoes, however,
are rarely, if ever, seen on the feet of the New York ladies.
Many persons have one foot longer than the other. In such cases,
the shoe for the longer foot must be made longer than the other,
otherwise the longer foot will look to be the shorter when clothed.
This, is something that few shoemakers know. The cloth of the
tops of gaiters should always be dark. Fancy shoe leather is, if
possible, more offensive than flashy neckties. Short, narrow-toed,
high-heeled shoes often cause the big-toe nails to grow into the
flesh. If taken in time, the trouble is easily remedied by scraping
the nail on the top, cutting it in a semilunar form, with the
concavity looking forward, and raising the corners and putting a
bit of cork or cotton under them. The nails of the big toes should
always be thus cut, care being taken to leave the corners long.

In nothing that a man wears is it less desirable--in New York, at
least--to be among the first to adopt a new fashion than in the
hat, especially the silk hat. Here, the new styles in silk hats
are first seen, as a rule, on the heads of the ward politicians,
the keepers of the drinking saloons, and the gamblers. The least
desirable hat for city wear is the soft felt. Besides having a
slouchy look, it is not easy to get it off one’s head gracefully in
saluting an acquaintance in the street. They are little worn by any
but a few long-haired men, who affect the picturesque.

A man’s jewelry should be good and simple. False jewelry, like
every other form of falsehood, is vulgar. Unlike a woman’s jewelry,
a man’s should always seem to serve a purpose. To this rule there
is, as we shall see, but one exception.

A man’s watch, to be in thoroughly good taste, should never be very
large, nor very thick, nor elaborately chased, nor should it have
a hunting-case, unless his business or pleasure renders him liable
to break a crystal, when he is out of the easy reach of a jeweller
to replace it. Very large, fancifully chased watches always have
a common, cheap look; no man of any taste ever chooses one. As
a rule, the more valuable the watch the plainer the case. The
hunting-cased watch is carried largely by men that, in a measure
at least, want a watch for the same reason that a peacock wants a
tail. Probably as desirable a watch, in appearance at least, as
could be found anywhere, is a plain-cased open-faced watch, sold
by Tiffany & Co. It has what they call their extra thin movement.
Nothing in the way of a watch could be more tasteful.

The watch-chain should always be small and the pattern plain. If
the links are chased, the chasing must not be elaborate. Nothing
does more toward vulgarizing a man’s appearance than a big,
elaborately chased watch-chain. Indeed, the young man that wears
such a chain and attaches it in one of the lower button-holes of
his vest has taken a long stride toward making himself look like a
barber’s apprentice. Watch-chains that go around the neck are no
longer worn. The vest-chain should be attached nearly as high up as
it will reach, in a button-hole, and not in a hole specially made
for the purpose.

If a locket or seal is worn, it should be very plain. If a man
wears a ring, it should be on the third finger of the left hand.
This is the only piece of jewelry a man is allowed to wear that
does not seem to serve a purpose. Some Englishmen of culture and
high social position wear nowadays more than one ring, and wear
rings on the little finger as well as on the third; but this is an
example that neither taste nor discretion would counsel an American
to follow. All kinds of rings are worn by men except cluster rings;
they are worn by women only. Scarf-rings and collar-buttons with
settings are in very bad taste. Diamond studs are not worn by men
of the better sort, even when in evening dress; they are considered
vulgar and ostentatious. Three studs in a dress shirt are to
be preferred to one. Indeed, the single stud is as unartistic
as anything well could be. Fashion changes in jewelry, as in
everything else; but if a man follows the rule: “Plain, good, and
seem to serve a purpose,” he will never go far wrong.

It should not be necessary to add that the wearing of imitation
diamonds is the very extreme of vulgarity. A man of taste would as
soon be seen with rings in his ears as with an imitation diamond
pin or stud in his shirt bosom. The genuine diamond or none, and
that never in a breastpin, unless you do not object to being taken
for a horse-jockey; and never in a stud, unless you are in full
evening dress, and, even then, plain gold or white enamelled studs
are to be preferred. Scarf-pins should, in strictness, be worn
only in Claudent, Ascot, and puff scarfs; permissible, however, in
four-in-hands.

Nowadays, with few exceptions, men wear the hair very short, and
the exceptions are not found among men of taste. The most artistic
and becoming cut is that that trims the hair very short on the
sides and back of the head, and leaves it comparatively long on the
top, for the reason that a high head is always more pleasing than
a low, broad one. The “part” should be high up--in the middle, if
one chooses to put it there. Parting the hair down the back of the
head, as some men do, is only a little less objectionable than the
plastering of a lock down on the forehead--a fashion much affected
by bartenders and waiters in oyster saloons. The head should be
frequently washed, especially in warm weather; otherwise, the hair
will have a disagreeable odor. Brushing with a brush that reaches
the skin tends to keep the hair from falling out. Pomatums and
other inventions of the barbers are no longer used.

Most men look best with a full beard, if it is kept properly
trimmed and is otherwise properly cared for. A man with a beard
that reaches down over his chest or with a moustache that is so
long as to be in the way is a disgusting object to look on. Men
that wear such beards are generally men that are not happy unless
they make donkeys of themselves in some way--if not in one, then
in another. If a man shaves a part of the face only, he should
shave that part that is most prominent. A man with a prominent
chin and thin cheeks should shave his chin and let his beard grow
on the sides of his face; on the contrary, a man with a retreating
or a light chin and full cheeks should shave his cheeks and let
his beard grow on his chin. In short, the beard should be so
trimmed, if worn full, or so cut, if only a part is worn, as to
give regularity to the outline of the face. The eccentricities some
men indulge in in cutting their beards is in very bad taste; so
also is the training of the moustache to the right and the left _à
la grenadier_. This practice gives a man the appearance of having
nothing else to do or to think of; and then it is pretty sure to
get him into the habit of continually tugging at his moustache--a
habit that is not quite so bad as would be that of sucking his
fingers, but the difference is not great. The color nature has
given to a man’s beard is always the one best suited to his
complexion. He that changes that color, no matter what the color
is, only vulgarizes his appearance.

Every man, no matter who he is, should be able to shave himself
quickly and well. If he has difficulty in learning to use the
razor, he should persevere in his endeavors to learn, allowing
nothing short of the loss of at least one ear to discourage him.
The man that shaves at all should shave every day; no man looks
presentable with a two days’ growth of beard on his face. Shaving
should be as much a part of the regular morning toilet as the
brushing of the hair. Several razors are necessary, as all razors
“tire” by continual use. The microscope has shown that this tiring
is due to the disarranging of the particles of the steel, and
that when a razor is allowed to rest for a sufficient length of
time, the particles readjust themselves, restoring the razor to
its original usefulness. Much depends on having a good strap and
knowing how to use it.

The nails should be kept moderately long--very short nails have a
plebeian look--and be so cut that they are a little more pointed
than the upper ends of the nails are. They should not be scraped,
and in cutting care should be taken not to encroach too much on the
angles. Either practice, in time, results in serious injury. They
cannot be kept in good shape without using a file. Of course the
nails should be kept scrupulously clean.

The teeth of most persons, if properly cared for from childhood,
will not only never ache, but will also last a lifetime. But how
few sets of teeth are properly cared for from childhood! The
condition of their children’s teeth is a matter that comparatively
few parents pay any attention to until the children complain of
having the toothache, whereas they should see that their children’s
teeth are kept scrupulously clean, that the cavities in them are
filled before they get large enough to do any serious harm,
and that a dentist’s aid is called in, if necessary, to secure
regularity. Art can do more--much more--than most people think
to make a child’s teeth grow in regular. It has been often said
that the chief reason so many Americans have bad teeth is that
they eat so much candy and other sweetmeats. This is an error.
This is not the chief reason. The chief reason is that we, in
common with many persons of other nations, do not use our teeth
sufficiently; we live almost exclusively on food that requires
very little masticating; and as for the front teeth, we scarcely
use them at all. The child that is fed on hard-tack is likely to
have much better teeth than the child that is fed on porridge. Next
to disuse, acids--pickles, lemons, and the like--probably do the
teeth most harm. Then come the practices that tend to disarrange
the stomach--eating between meals and the eating of unwholesome
food--and the habit of breathing with the mouth open.

There are many foolish persons that think that dentists do more
harm than good, and that some of them do not hesitate to bore holes
in their patients’ teeth and then fill them in order to increase
the amount of their bills. They do nothing of the sort. Not that
there are no dentists that would be sufficiently dishonest to do
such a thing, but they would not get paid for their labor, it would
be so great. The chief harm dentists do is in extracting aching
teeth, in compliance with the wishes of their patients, when the
teeth should be treated and preserved by filling. A tooth must
be in a sorry condition when a dentist will extract it for one
of his own family. Let any one that would keep his teeth go to a
good dentist, and submit to his discretion, and not presume to
dictate in a matter he knows nothing about. No man that does not
keep his teeth clean looks like a gentleman, if he shows them. If
one’s teeth have been neglected until they have become discolored
and have accumulated a covering of tartar, one must first go to
a dentist and have the discoloration and tartar removed, after
which it is not a difficult matter to keep them in good condition.
A toothbrush should not be too wide, and should be used on one
row of teeth at a time. A very wide brush, used on both rows at
a time, never reaches the edges of the gum--the points where the
tartar always begins to accumulate. The tooth-powder used must be
soluble; if it is not, it gets between the gums and the neck of
the tooth, remains there, and tends to inflame the periosteum. For
this reason, neither pulverized charcoal nor cigar-ashes should
be used. As a brush does not reach between the teeth, a sharpened
stick should occasionally be used with a powder. At long intervals
a little pumice-stone, if necessary, may also be used with a stick,
but great care should be taken not to let it get under the edge of
the gums. Dentists generally use orange wood.

Men that do not have their hair frequently cut, keep their faces
clean shaven, and their teeth clean are never welcome in the
society of ladies, should they chance to know any. They may be well
received by women of the lower orders, but women that are ladies
are never drawn toward men that do not have the appearance of
being neat in their persons. Ladies may and often do tolerate such
men; in fact, they are often compelled to tolerate them, but they
generally do it with ill-concealed reluctance.

Men of taste that carry canes select those that are strong, plain,
stiff, light, and small. Very large canes are in very bad taste,
especially for young men.

A few hints concerning the wearing of a man’s clothes should
suffice.

A full-dress suit consists of a swallow-tailed coat, a low white
or black single-breasted vest, black trousers, a white necktie, a
stand-up collar, (?) a high black hat, and, properly, of a pair of
very light kid gloves.

This dress should never be worn until evening, _i.e._, never
previously to the dinner hour, no matter what the occasion. There
are a few men, in the large cities, where they dine late--at six or
seven o’clock--that put on their dress suits regularly every day
before dinner and wear them for the rest of the day.

A white necktie should never be worn except with a full-dress suit,
save by clergymen and a few elderly men that never wear any other
color.

Black trousers should never be worn except with a dress coat, save
at funerals.

A high hat should not be worn with a sack coat, especially if the
color is light.

A low hat should not be worn with a long coat--a double-breasted
frock, for example.

Straw hats should be worn only with light summer suits.

Dark suits are to be preferred for Sundays, especially in town, and
light suits should never be worn to church anywhere.

Double-breasted frock coats should always be of black or gray
material.

At small, informal gatherings most men consider themselves
sufficiently dressed when they wear black frock coats and dark
trousers. Indeed, there is no good reason why men should appear
in full dress on any occasion where the ladies do not wear full
dress. At public entertainments, for example, where the ladies
wear their bonnets, the man that wears a black frock coat, dark
trousers, and light kid gloves is better dressed--because more
appropriately--than he that wears a full-dress suit. True,
the practice of wearing such a suit on such occasions entails
additional expense, as otherwise a business or walking suit and a
dress suit may be made to serve for all occasions.

At home, the first consideration with pretty nearly every man will
always be comfort. No man, however, that has any regard for the
proprieties will ever appear at the table, whether there are any
strangers present or not, or will show himself to any one with whom
he is not on a familiar footing, in his shirt-sleeves.




AT THE DINNER-TABLE.

  Good humor makes one dish a feast.--WASHINGTON.

  Animals feed, men eat; but only men of intelligence know how to
  eat.--BRILLAT-SAVARIN.


Some philosopher has very truthfully said that he must be a very
great man that can afford to ignore social observances. He might
have added that of all places--in English-speaking countries at
least--the one where a man can least afford to ignore social
observances is the dinner-table. It is there that the well-bred man
and the ill-bred man are the most strongly contrasted; and the man
that does not there conform to those usages that constitute what
is called manners is likely soon to find the doors of the better
houses closed against him. Indeed, such men are not likely ever to
find their way within them.

“Dinner-parties rank first among all entertainments, being of
more frequent occurrence, and having more social significance than
any other form of entertainment. An invitation to dinner conveys
a greater mark of esteem, or friendship and cordiality toward the
guest invited, than is conveyed with an invitation to any other
social gathering, it being the highest social compliment that is
offered by one person to another. It is also a civility that can be
easily interchanged, which in itself gives it an advantage over all
other civilities.”

An invitation to dine should be promptly replied to, whether you
accept or decline. It may run thus:

_Mr. and Mrs. ---- request the favor_ [or _pleasure_] _of Mr.
----’s company at dinner on ----day, the ----, at ---- o’clock_.

The reply, if an acceptance, may be worded thus:

_Mr. ---- has the pleasure to accept Mr. and Mrs. ----’s kind
invitation to dinner on the ----._

If the invitation be declined, some good reason should be stated:

_Mr. ---- regrets that, owing to a previous engagement_ [or _in
consequence of leaving town_, etc.] _he cannot have the pleasure
of accepting Mr. and Mrs. ----’s kind invitation for the ----_.

The answer, whether affirmative or negative, should be addressed to
the mistress of the house, and despatched within twenty-four hours,
if possible, of the receipt of the invitation.

Having accepted an invitation, be punctual. “To be too late is
a crime, and to be too early a blunder.” You should not fail to
arrive within a very few minutes after the time named, say within
five, or ten at most. “Dinner,” somebody has said, “is the hope
of the hungry, the occupation of the idle, the rest of the weary,
and the consolation of the miserable!” It is certainly the event
of the day that should be honored with punctuality. In general,
well-bred people and people that dine out frequently, make a point
of arriving in good time. It is not well to arrive before the hour
named, as you might find no one in the drawing-room to receive you.

“It is said that Beau Brummell had, among other follies, that of
choosing to be always too late for dinner. Whenever he was invited
he liked to be waited for. He considered it a proof of his fashion
and consequence; and the higher the rank of his entertainer, the
later was the arrival of this impudent parvenu. The Marquis of
Abercorn had on several occasions submitted silently to this trial
of his patience, but at length he resolved to bear it no longer.
Accordingly, one day, when he had invited Brummell to dine, he
desired to have the dinner on the table punctually at the appointed
time. The servants obeyed, and Brummell and the cheese arrived
together. The wondering Beau was desired by the master of the house
to sit down. He vouchsafed no apology for what had happened, but
coolly said, ‘I hope, Mr. Brummell, cheese is not disagreeable to
you.’ The story runs that Brummell was never again late at that
house.”

On entering the drawing-room, without looking to the right or the
left, you will go and pay your respects to the hostess, then to the
other members of the family, and finally to any acquaintances you
may recognize.

Should you be stopped, on your way to the hostess, by an
acquaintance ignorant of the proprieties, you will not refuse to
respond to his greeting, but will make the response as brief as
civility will permit.

Take good care that you do not offer your hand either to hostess,
host, or to any other member of the family. For obvious reasons,
any offer to shake hands should come from them.

On leaving, you may offer your hand to those of your entertainers
that offered their hands to you when you arrived. But if the family
is large, it is as well to confine your formal leave-taking to the
hostess and the host. It is better not to go about the drawing-room
to hunt up and take leave of all the members of the family, as
some men do, especially if you are among the first to take leave.
Of course it is still worse to go the rounds and take leave of the
whole company individually. In such a proceeding there is always
something egotistic and patronizing. In a word, never make more ado
in leave-taking, whatever the occasion, than is really necessary.

If there is a lady with you, you will not enter the drawing-room
arm in arm nor side by side. The lady, or the ladies--if more than
one--will enter the room in advance of you.

Gentlemen do not wear gloves at dinner-parties.

When dinner is announced, the hostess will give the signal to
leave the drawing-room. A gentleman does not choose the lady he
will take in to dinner. The choice is made for him either by his
host or his hostess. Offer whichever arm you please. On this point
the authorities differ. Most men prefer to have a lady take the
right arm. In some countries this is a matter of real importance,
the right side being the place of honor. In passing through doors
you will take the lead, until you reach the dining-room, when you
may let the lady pass first. Should there be a flight of steps to
descend that are so narrow that it is necessary to proceed single
file, you may allow the lady to pass first, or--better perhaps--go
a step or two in advance of her. If you go down side by side, give
her the side toward the wall.

Arrived at the dining-room, you will assist your lady to be seated,
and wait till all the other ladies are in their places before you
take your seat. The host remains standing in his place until all
his guests are seated.

Abroad, the question of precedency is a very important one. In this
country it is perhaps sufficient for the younger persons to yield
the _pas_ to the older in passing from the drawing-room to the
dining-room.

A man’s bearing at the table depends very much upon the distance he
sits from it. He should sit rather close; indeed, it is rare that
we see any one sit too near the table, while we often see people
sit too far from it. This is a fault that is wellnigh universal
with the Germans--a people whose table manners I would not counsel
any one to copy. Sit close to the table, and sit erect.

If no grace is said, you will immediately proceed to unfold your
napkin and spread it over your lap. There are those that would
tell you partly to unfold it and throw it over one knee; others
would tell you to throw it over both knees; but when it is simply
thrown over your knees, it cannot serve the purpose for which
it is supplied--that of protecting your clothing. In fact, the
clothing of no man that has a heavy moustache is out of danger,
unless he virtually makes a bib of his napkin, a thing that from
time immemorial has been considered a sin against good usage. Men
that are not slaves to fickle fashion, to the dicta of nobody knows
whom, will use their napkins so as to accomplish the object for
which they are provided. A man of sense, however, will consider the
occasion, and be governed somewhat by it.

Previously to being served and during the waits that occur between
the courses, do not play with the knives, the forks, the spoons,
or with anything that is before you. Leave everything as you find
it, unless you should find a piece of bread on your right hand, in
which case you may remove it to your left.

As soon as you are helped, begin to eat, or at least begin to
occupy yourself with what you have before you. Do not wait till
your neighbors are served--a custom that was long ago abandoned.

Never offer to pass to another a plate to which you have been
helped. What your host or hostess sends you you should retain.

The second course, at all formal dinners, however served, is
usually a soup, which, if its consistency and the beard on your
upper lip will admit of it, you will take from the side of the
spoon, being careful the while to make no noise. Better far to put
your spoon into your mouth, handle and all, than to make a noise
in sipping your soup, as some people do, that can be heard all
over the dining-room; better also put your spoon into your mouth
than to slobber or to bespatter yourself. The writer would have to
materially shorten his moustache, or to go without his daily dish
of soup, if he had to take it from the side of the spoon. He is
not willing to do either. Soup, when practicable, should be sipped
from the side of the spoon, not, as most people suppose, because
there is any objection to putting a spoon in the mouth, but because
to put the spoon in the mouth the elbow must be extended, whereas,
when we sip from the side of the spoon, the elbow remains almost
stationary at the side, the spoon being manipulated wholly with
the forearm--a much more graceful movement, because simpler than
that that the putting of the spoon in the mouth renders necessary.
Not only soup, but everything else eaten with a spoon should be
sipped from its side when practicable, but then only. For any one
to attempt to sip from the side of the spoon certain soups that are
usually served nearly as thick as porridge--pea, bean, and tomato
with rice, for example--is absurd. Nothing has a more vulgar look
than an obvious endeavor to be fine. The spoon should be filled by
an outward rather than an inward movement, and the plate should
never be tilted to get the last teaspoonful. If your soup is too
hot, do not blow it, but wait till it cools. In eating it sit
upright, and do not rest your forearms on the table.

Silver fish-knives are now found on most tables. Where there are
none, fish should be eaten with a bit of bread in the left hand
and a fork in the right. Neither soup nor fish, where there is any
ceremony, is ever offered, much less accepted, twice.

At the table, the most difficult and the most important thing to
learn is to use the knife and fork thoroughly well. To do this both
must be so held that the ends of the handles are directly in the
palms of the hand, _i.e._, when the point of the knife is used.

At all tables where four-tined forks are provided, the knife should
be used only to divide the food, never to convey it to the mouth.
For this purpose, we use either the fork, a spoon, or the fingers.

As the fork is now used almost exclusively to convey all kinds of
food that have any consistency to the mouth, it is very desirable
that one should know how to use it properly. There is a right and
a wrong way, a skilful and an awkward way to use it, as well as to
use any other implement.

The fork must not be used in the left hand with the tines pointing
upward, _i.e._, spoon fashion. Persons that so use it, though
they may and generally do think they are doing quite the proper
thing, are really doing as awkward a thing as it would be possible
for them to do at the table. They have--they will doubtless be
surprised to hear--their lesson but half learned.

Food that is conveyed to the mouth with the fork held in the left
hand should be taken up either on the point of the tines, or on
their convex side. In the right hand, the fork may be used with the
tines pointing upward or downward, as one will.

Previously to the advent of the four-tined silver fork, which was
introduced into England from the Continent about the year 1814
or 1815, everybody ate with the knife--the Chesterfields, the
Brummels, the Blessingtons, the Savarins, and all. The fastidious
were very careful, however, not to put the knife into the mouth
edge first. That was avoided by the well bred then as much as the
putting the knife into the mouth at all is avoided by the well bred
now.

Eating with the knife is not, in itself, a grievous offence; it
does not, as some pretend, endanger the lips, even though the knife
is used edge first. It is simply a matter of prejudice. Yet your
lady hostess would rather you would speak ill of her friends and
make bad puns than eat with your knife at her table. Why? Because
your eating with your knife at her table would argue, nowadays,
that she associated with low-bred, uncultured people.

Should you, however, find yourself at a table where they have the
old-fashioned steel forks, eat with your knife, as the others do,
and do not let it be seen that you have any objection to doing so,
nor let it be known that you ever do otherwise. He that advised us
“to do in Rome as the Romans do” was a true gentleman.

The fork is used in eating such vegetables as can be easily managed
with it; those that cannot be easily managed with it are eaten
with a dessert-spoon--peas, stewed tomatoes, and succotash, for
example, especially when they are served in small dishes. A high
English authority says: “Eat peas with a dessert-spoon, and curry
also.”

Asparagus may be handled with the fingers of the left hand. So may
Saratoga potatoes and olives. On this subject we recently clipped
the following paragraph from one of our periodicals: “That there is
a variety of ways to eat asparagus, one may convince one’s self by
a single visit to the dining-room of any of our fashionable summer
hotels. There one will see all the methods of carrying the stalk
to the mouth. But the Paris _Figaro_, in one of its ‘Conseils par
Jour,’ on ‘How is Asparagus Eaten in Good Society?’ says: ‘One must
carefully abstain from taking the stalk in the fingers to dip it in
the sauce and afterward put it in the mouth, as a great many people
do. The tip should be cut off and eaten by means of the fork, the
rest of the stalk being laid aside on the plate, of course without
being touched by the fingers. Those that proceed in any other way
are barbarians.’ We may observe, in reply to ‘Pau de Paris,’ that
many persons belonging to the best society do not hesitate to
eat asparagus _à la bonne franquette_, and yet are by no means
‘barbarians.’ We do not agree with our confrère for two reasons.
In the first place, the exquisite vegetable cannot be properly
appreciated unless eaten in the way that excites the ire of our
contemporary. Our second reason is that, from an art point of view,
there cannot be a more charming sight than to see a pretty woman
‘caressing’ a piece of asparagus.”

Green corn should be cut from the cob and then eaten with a fork.
First run your knife through the middle of each row of kernels and
then cut them off. A dull knife is the best, because it does not
really cut the kernels off, but forces them out of the hulls.

Cheese is eaten with a fork, or is placed, with a knife, on bits
of bread and carried to the mouth with the thumb and finger, care
being taken not to touch the cheese.

Pies and _pâtés_, as a rule, are eaten with a fork only. Sometimes,
however, it is necessary to use a knife to divide the crust, but
not often.

“Jellies, blanc-mange, iced puddings, and the like are eaten,”
says an English authority, “with a fork, as are all sweets
sufficiently substantial to admit of it.” This may be very
sensible, but it will seem to many persons, as it does to the
writer, to be very senseless. By and by the fork mania will banish
the spoon altogether.

In a late number of the London _Queen_ this fork-and-spoon question
is discussed as follows: “But to go back to the debatable lands
of our own compatriots, and the odd things that some do, and the
undecided cases that still give rise to controversy. There is that
battlefield of the fork and the spoon, and whether the former ought
to be used for all sweets whatsoever, with the exception of custard
and gooseberry food, which answer the question for themselves; or
whether it is not better to use a spoon where slipperiness is an
element, and ‘the solution of continuity’ a condition. Some people
hunt their ice, for example, with a fork, which lets the melting
margin drop through the prongs; and some stick their small trident
into jelly, at the risk of seeing the whole thing slip off like
an amorphous, translucent, gold-colored snake. The same with such
compounds as custard pudding, _crème renversée_, and the like,
where it is a feat of skill to skewer the separate morsels deftly,
and where a small sea of unutilized juice is left on the plate.
This monotonous use of the fork and craven fear of the vulgarity
lying in the spoon seems to us mere table snobbery. It is a
well-known English axiom that the fork is to be used in preference
to the spoon when possible and convenient. But the people who use
it always--when scarcely possible and decidedly inconvenient--are
people so desperately afraid of not doing the right thing, that
they do the wrong out of very flunkeyism and of fear of Mrs. Grundy
in the corner. It is the same with the law of eating all soft meats
with the fork only, abjuring the knife. On the one hand, you will
see people courageously hewing with their knives at sweetbread,
_suprême de volaille_, and the like; on the other, the snobbish
fine work themselves into a fever with their forks against a
cutlet, and would not for the lives of them use a knife to cut with
ease that which by main force and at great discomfort they can tear
asunder with a fork.”

If you have occasion to help yourself from a dish, or if any one
else helps you, move your plate quite close to the dish.

At a dinner served in courses, it is better, as a rule, not to take
a second supply of anything. It might delay the dinner.

The English eat boiled eggs from the shell, a custom that is
followed to some extent in this country; but most Americans prefer
to break them, or to have them broken, into a glass, a mode that
certainly has its advantages, and that will commend itself to those
that have not time to dawdle over their breakfast. In noticing a
little book on manners that recently appeared, the New York _Sun_
feelingly inveighs in this wise against eating boiled eggs from a
glass:

“We are glad to think that the time has gone by when Americans with
any pretensions to refinement needed to be informed that an egg
beaten up in a glass is an unsightly mess that has often turned the
stomach of the squeamish looker-on. Those who cannot learn to eat
boiled eggs from the shell will do well to avoid them altogether.
If the author of this hand-book had watched American experiments
with exhaustive attention, he might have deemed it well to add
that no part of the contents of the egg should be allowed to
drip down the outside of the shell, and that the eggshell, when
depleted, should be broken before being deposited on the plate.”

It would seem to be as unpleasant to the writer of this paragraph
to see an egg eaten from a glass as it is to a Bavarian to see a
man wait till he gets over the threshold of a lager-beer saloon
before he takes his hat off. A matter of mere prejudice in both
cases. If an egg broken into a glass is really “an unsightly mess,”
then let us have some opaque egg-glasses.

Bread should be broken. To butter a large piece of bread and then
bite it, as children do, is something the knowing never do.

In eating game or poultry do not touch the bones with your fingers.
To take a bone in the fingers for the purpose of picking it is
looked upon as being a very inelegant proceeding.

Never gesticulate with your knife or fork in your hand, nor hold
them pointing upward when you are not using them; keep them down on
your plate.

Never load up your fork with food until you are ready to convey it
to your mouth, unless you are famishing and you think your life
depends on your not losing a second.

Never put your own knife into the butter or the salt if there is a
butter-knife and a salt-spoon. If you are compelled to use your own
knife, first wipe it as clean as possible on your bread.

Never use your own knife or fork to help another. Use rather the
knife or fork of the person you help.

Never send your knife and fork, or either of them, on your plate
when you send for a second supply. There are several good reasons
for not doing so, and not one good reason for doing so. Never hold
your knife and fork meanwhile in your hand, either, but lay them
down, and that, too, with something under them--a piece of bread,
for example--to protect the table-cloth. Never carry your food to
your mouth with any curves or flourishes, unless you want to look
as though you were airing your company manners. Better a pound of
awkwardness at any time than an ounce of self-consciousness.

Never use a steel knife to cut fruit if there is a silver one.

Never stick your elbows out when you use your knife and fork. Keep
them close to your sides.

Having finished using your knife and fork, lay them on your plate,
side by side, with the handles pointing a little to your right.
This will be taken by an experienced waiter as an intimation that
you are ready to have your plate removed.

Whenever you use the fingers to convey anything to the mouth or to
remove anything from the mouth, let it be the fingers of the left
hand.

When you eat a fruit that has a pit or a skin that is not
swallowed, the pit or skin must be removed from the mouth with the
fingers of the left hand, or with a spoon or fork in the right. Any
other mode is most offensive.

Tea, coffee, chocolate and the like are drunk from the cup and
never from the saucer. Put your spoon in the saucer should you send
your cup to be refilled; otherwise, it may be left in the cup.
Never blow your tea or coffee; if it is too hot to be drunk, wait
till it cools.

In handling glasses, keep your fingers a goodly distance from the
top, but do not go to the other extreme; and if you handle a goblet
or a wine-glass, take hold of the stem only. Take hold of the bowl
just above the stem.

In helping yourself to butter, take at once as much as you think
you shall require, and try to leave the roll in as good shape as
you find it. In returning the knife, do not stick it into the roll,
but lay it on the side of the plate.

In masticating your food, keep your mouth shut; otherwise you will
make a noise that will be very offensive to those around you.

Don’t eat in a mincing, dainty manner, as though you had no
appetite, nor devour your food as though you were famishing. Eat as
though you relished your food, but not as though you were afraid
you would not get enough.

Don’t attempt to talk with a full mouth. One thing at a time is as
much as any man can do well.

Few men talk well when they do nothing else, and few men chew their
food well when they have nothing else to do.

Partake sparingly of delicacies, which are generally served in
small quantities, and decline them if offered a second time.

Should you find a worm or an insect in your salad or in a plate of
fruit, hand your plate to a waiter, without comment, and he will
bring you another.

See that the lady that you escorted to the table is well helped.
Anticipate her wants, if possible.

Never tip your chair, nor lounge back in it, nor put your thumbs in
the arm holes of your waistcoat.

Never hitch up your sleeves, as some men have the habit of doing,
as though you were going to make mud pies.

If the conversation tends to be general--and it should tend to be
general at a small dinner-party--take good heed that you, at least,
listen, which is the only sure way I know of for every man to
appear to advantage.

Never, under any circumstances, no matter where you are, cry out
“Waiter!” No man of any breeding ever does it. Wait till you can
catch the attendant’s eye, and by a nod bring him to you.

Unless you are asked to do so, never select any particular part of
a dish; but if you are asked choose promptly, though you may have
no preference.

If a dish is distasteful to you decline it, and without comment.

Never put bones or the pits of fruit on the table-cloth. Put them
on the side of your plate.

Always wipe your mouth before drinking, in order that you may not
grease the brim of your glass with your lips.

Taking wine with people and the drinking of toasts at private
dinners are no longer the fashion. Every one drinks much or little
or none at all as he chooses, without attracting attention.

If, however, you should find yourself at a table where the old
custom is observed, you will not invite your host to take wine with
you; it is his privilege to invite you.

If you are invited to drink with an acquaintance, and you do not
drink wine, bow, raise your glass of water, and drink with him.
If you do drink wine, take the same sort as that selected by the
person you drink with.

It is considered ill bred to empty your glass on these occasions
or to drink a full glass of wine at a draught on any occasion.

While on the subject of wine-drinking, it may not be amiss to
observe that in England it is considered inelegant to say “port
wine” or “sherry wine.” In England they always say “port” or
“sherry.” On the other hand, no well-bred Frenchman ever speaks
of wines in any other way than as “_Vin de Champagne_,” “_Vin de
Bordeaux_,” and so on. Thus we see that what is the wrong thing to
do in one country is the right thing to do in another.

Do not offer a lady wine till she has finished her soup.

Do not hesitate to take the last piece on a dish or the last glass
of wine in a decanter simply because it is the last. To do so is to
indirectly express the fear that you would exhaust the supply.

Avoid picking your teeth at the table if possible; but if pick them
you must, do it, if you can, when you are not observed. “There
is one continental custom,” says the London _Queen_, “which the
true-born Briton holds in holy horror--that is, the use of those
convenient little lengths of wood which to every foreigner are as
necessary to his comfort as a napkin for his mouth or water for his
fingers. We English regard the use of the toothpick as a barbarism,
a horror, an indecency, and would not take one of those clean
wooden spills between our lips for all the world. Nevertheless, a
great many of us who would shudder at the iniquity of a toothpick,
thrust our fingers into our mouths and free our back teeth with
these natural ‘cure-dents,’ which gives a singularly wolfish and
awful appearance to the operator, and makes the onlooker regret
the insular prejudice which will not rather use the universal
continental toothpick, wherein, at least, if properly and
delicately done, is no kind of indecency or disgust.”

The procedure with finger-bowls and doilies differs somewhat on
different occasions, the difference depending upon the time the
bowl is brought, and whether a little white napkin comes with it.
If the bowl, with a doily only, comes on your dessert-plate, you
will remove it to your left, placing the doily under it. When you
come to use the bowl, you will wet your fingers in the perfumed
water it contains, and then dry them on your napkin. But if a
little white napkin is brought with the bowl and doily, you will
use that to wipe your fingers on. It is entirely permissible to wet
the corner of your table-napkin, or of the little white napkin that
comes with the bowl, and pass it over your lips. Of course, you
would do this before putting your fingers in the water. If there
are any fruit-stains on your fingers, you will use the bit of lemon
that comes in the water to remove them.

If an accident of any kind soever should occur during dinner, the
cause being who or what it may, you should not seem to note it.

Should you be so unfortunate as to overturn or to break anything,
you would make no apology. You might let your regret appear in your
face, but it would not be proper to put it in words.

Never fold your napkin where you are invited for one meal only,
nor at a hotel or restaurant, but lay it loosely on the table. By
folding it you would intimate that you thought some one else might
use it before it had been sent to the laundry. But if you are at a
friend’s house for a day or two or longer, then you will do with
your napkin as you see the members of the family do with theirs. At
the last meal, however, you should lay your napkin on the table
unfolded.

If the ladies withdraw after dinner, leaving the gentlemen, rise
when they leave the table and remain standing until they have left
the room.

The gentleman that is seated nearest the door or that is quickest
of movement should open the door for the ladies to pass out and
close it after them.

It is no longer the custom for the gentlemen to remain at the table
for more than fifteen or twenty minutes, instead of from three
quarters of an hour to an hour, as formerly. Indeed, there are
those that look upon the custom of remaining at all as a relic of
barbarism.

One should remain in the drawing-room from half an hour to an hour
after dinner. To leave sooner would betray a lack of good breeding.

If you would be what you would like to be--abroad, take care that
you _are_ what you would like to be--at home.




IN PUBLIC.

  Politeness is as natural to delicate natures as perfume is to
  flowers.--DE FINOD.

  Politeness is a curb that holds our worser selves in check.--MME.
  DE BASSANVILLE.

  The surest way to please is to forget one’s self, and to think
  only of others.--MONCRIEF.

  To be polite, it is sufficient to consider the comfort, the
  feelings, and the rights of others.--ANONYMOUS.

  What if the manners imitated are frippery; better frippery than
  brutality; and, after all, there is little danger that the
  intrinsic value of the sturdiest iron will be impaired by a
  coating of even the most diaphanous gilt.--EDGAR ALLAN POE.


We all judge one another, and very properly, too, by externals.
Most men appear like what they are, and there are those that are
so experienced in judging their fellows by their appearance and
bearing, that they rarely err. It is quite as true that the surest
way to appear like a gentleman is to be one, as it is that the
surest way to appear like an honest man is to be one. Life is made
up of little things, and attention to them is evidence of a great
rather than of a little mind. To a large understanding everything
is important, and he that most readily descends to little things is
also the most competent to compass great ones. In another chapter
the subject of appearance is treated of; in this I purpose to treat
more especially of bearing.

If a man would appear like a gentleman, he must walk, stand, and
sit like one. In walking he should, above all, avoid everything
that is unnatural or that smacks of self-consciousness. How often
do we see men in the street whose every movement tells us their
minds are chiefly on themselves! One throws his chest out _à la
dindon_, while another walks with an abnormal stoop; but both
delight in a kind of rolling, swaggering gait and an unnatural
swing of the arms. We all know, when we see such a man, no matter
what his appearance in other respects may be, that he is a person
of low breeding. Not only is a man’s walk an index of his
character and of the grade of his culture, but it is also an index
of the frame of mind he is in. There is the thoughtful walk and
the thoughtless walk, the responsible walk and the careless walk,
the worker’s walk and the idler’s walk, the ingenuous walk and the
insidious walk, and so on. In a word, what there is in us we all
carry in essentially the same way; hence the surest way to have the
carriage of gentility is to have gentility to carry.

It is also necessary that a man should pay attention to the manner
in which he stands, when he is in the presence of others, and
especially when he is in conversation with any one toward whom he
would be at all respectful. Dropping in the hip, spreading the feet
wide apart, putting the hands behind the back, putting the thumbs
into the arm-holes of the vest--in short, standing in a nonchalant,
take-it-easy manner is not permissible. One should stand still
and erect--somewhat _à la militaire_--and the best place for the
hands is where the attraction of gravitation takes them, when the
muscles of the arms are relaxed. This position, to the tyro, seems
unnatural, stiff, and ungraceful, while, in fact, it is natural,
graceful, and respectful. This is one of the first things a dancing
master _should_ teach his pupils, and it always is one of the first
things taught the learner for the stage.

Nor is the manner in which a man sits of less importance than the
manner in which he walks or stands. The well-bred man does not loll
and lounge in his chair, unless he is in the society of familiars,
where one’s society strait-jacket may, according to circumstances,
be more or less loosened. In short, that kind of comfort that is
found in lolling and lounging and rocking and tipping back one’s
chair is incompatible with a respectful bearing. Among thoroughly
well-bred people the world over, usage herein is very exacting.

In public, the bow is the proper mode of salutation, also under
certain circumstances in private; and, according to circumstances,
it should be familiar, cordial, respectful, or formal. An
inclination of the head or a gesture with the hand or cane suffices
between men, except when one would be specially deferential to age
or position; but in saluting a lady, the hat should be removed.
A very common mode of doing this in New York, at present,
particularly by the younger men, is to jerk the hat off and sling
it on as hastily as possible. As haste is incompatible with grace,
and as there is an old pantomimic law that “every picture must
be held” for a longer or shorter time, the jerk-and-sling manner
of removing the hat, in salutation, is not to be commended. The
_empressement_ a man puts into his salutations is graduated by
circumstances, the most deferential manner being to carry the hat
down the full length of the arm, keeping it there until the person
saluted has passed. If a man stops to speak to a lady in the street
he should remain uncovered, unless the conversation should be
protracted, which it is sure not to be, if either of the parties
knows and cares to observe the proprieties.

A well-bred man, meeting a lady in a public place, though she
is a near relative--wife, mother, or sister--and though he may
have parted from her but half an hour before, will salute her
as deferentially as he would salute a mere acquaintance. The
passers-by are ignorant of the relationship, and to them his
deferential manner says: “She is a lady.”

Well-bred men often remove their hats when ill-bred men keep them
on; for example, in second-class restaurants and especially in
oyster saloons. Again, the ill-bred man, though he may perhaps
remove his hat in such places, will wear it the entire length of
the room on entering and leaving, whereas the well-bred man carries
his hat as he passes the other guests. So, too, the ill-bred
man often wears his hat until he reaches his seat at a place of
amusement, though his seat is one of those that are farthest from
the entrance.

The well-bred man raises his hat if he passes a lady, though a
stranger, in the hall of a hotel, on the stairs, if he does her
any little service, as the restoring of her fan, her glove, or
anything, or if she makes an inquiry of him or he of her. He
will not, however, as some would have us do, raise his hat if he
passes a lady’s fare in a street car or an omnibus. A lady’s fare
sometimes passes through the hands of several men before it reaches
the cash-box. Should they all raise their hats, or only the first
one, or only the last one, or should no one?

The following defence of my lovely countrywomen will not be wholly
out of place here. It is from “Social Etiquette,” and I fully
agree with the writer--cash-box excepted. She says: “A gentleman
lifts his hat when offering a service to a strange lady. It may be
the restoration of her kerchief or fan, the receiving of her change
to pass it to the cash-box of a stage, the opening of her umbrella
as she descends from a carriage--all the same; he lifts it before
he offers his service, or during the courtesy, if possible. She
bows, and, if she choose, she also smiles her acknowledgment; but
she does the latter faintly, and she does not speak. To say ‘Thank
you!’ is not an excess of acknowledgment, but it has ceased to be
etiquette. A bow may convey more gratitude than speech.”

“This last information is more especially furnished to foreigners,
who consider our ladies ungracious in some of these customs,
and indelicately forward in others. In the matter of thanks to
strangers for any little attentions they bestow upon ladies, we beg
leave to establish our own methods, and no one finds it necessary
to imitate the German, the French, the English, or the Spanish in
these delicate matters.”

The best usage demands that the hat be removed in entering offices
where the occupants are found uncovered.

It is the custom to remove the hats in hotel elevators, when
there are ladies in them; but it is so inconvenient to do so when
the elevator is full, that it would be well if the custom were
abandoned. It is a _surplusage de politesse_, at the best.

Good usage does not demand that a man shall remove his hat when
he has both hands occupied. It is better, however, for a man to
remove his hat, when the occasion demands it, if he can do so at
all easily, as the lady that he salutes may not be aware that,
having both hands occupied, he should not be expected to do so. If
a man is driving, he salutes with a flourish of the whip, if he is
carrying it; if not, the right hand being free, he removes his hat.

A gentleman walking with an acquaintance, lady or gentleman, raises
his hat to those persons that his acquaintance salutes; he does
not, however, do more than simply raise it.

“There may be circumstances,” says the author of “Social
Etiquette,” “when a gentleman may lift his hat to a passing lady,
even though he cannot bow to her. She may be offended with him,
and yet he may respect and feel kindly toward her. He may deserve
her disregard, and it is permitted him to express his continued
reverence by uncovering his head in her presence; but he has no
right to look at her as she passes him. He must drop his eyes.”

If a man meets a lady with whom he is but slightly acquainted, he
should wait for a look of recognition from her before he salutes
her.

“A great deal of nonsense,” says Louise Chandler Moulton, “has been
talked about the question of whose place it is to bow first when a
lady and gentleman meet in the street or in any public assembly. It
is very absurd to say that a man should always wait until a lady
has recognized him. In this, as in most other matters, common-sense
and mutual convenience are the only guides. Many ladies are
near-sighted, many others find great difficulty in remembering
faces. Are they, because of these drawbacks, to be always debarred
of the pleasure of a chance meeting with some agreeable man? The
important thing of course is that a man should not presume.”

“When two people meet who are really acquainted, it is not the
man who should necessarily bow first, or the lady--it is simply
whichever of them is the first to perceive and recognize the other.
If a lady is walking and meets a man whom she knows well, and
who desires to speak with her, he will of course not commit the
awkwardness of keeping her standing in the street, but if he has
time will beg permission to join her for a few moments, and walk
beside her long enough for a brief chat.”

In our wide streets, the custom of giving the lady the wall-side
of the pavement is not rigidly observed, but it should be in the
narrow ones, unless the street is one very much frequented, like
some of our down-town streets, when it is better for the lady to
be always on the gentleman’s right, where she will be less jostled
by the passers-by. When two men walk together, it is usual for the
shorter one to take the upper side of the pavement, which renders
the difference in height less observable.

In public conveyances the well-bred, considerate man offers his
seat to any one that seems to need it more than he does--to the
aged and infirm, for example, no matter what social stratum they
may appear to belong to, to women with bundles or babies in their
arms. Such as these should always take precedence over youth,
beauty, or social position.

In a carriage a gentleman always gives the back seat to ladies
accompanying him. If a gentleman drives out with one lady, he
always places her on his right, which is the seat of honor; unless,
of course, it is a one-seated vehicle, when he drives.

Neither in a carriage nor anywhere else should a man put his arm
over the back of the lady’s seat. If a man were to do so, many
ladies would request him to withdraw it.

If men stop in the street to converse, they should be careful not
to stop where they will be in the way of the passers-by. We often
see the thoughtless and inconsiderate stop directly opposite a
crossing.

In carrying an umbrella or a cane under your arm, do not publish
your awkwardness by carrying it in such a way as to make a cross of
yourself, with the lance end sticking out behind you, endangering
the eyes of others. Place the handle end under your arm, and let
the lance end point forward and downward.

Unless you have something of importance to communicate, do not stop
an acquaintance in the street during business hours, or, perhaps,
it would be better to say at any time.

If an acquaintance should stop you in the street when your time is
limited, you may with perfect propriety courteously excuse yourself
and hasten forward.

When walking with an acquaintance, do not leave him to speak to
another acquaintance without a word of apology. Should you be
walking with a lady, do not leave her alone if you can well avoid
it.

If you see an acquaintance to whom you have something to say in
conversation with some one else, do not go up and take possession
of him after the fashion of the unbred. Let him know that you
would speak with him and wait his leisure. If he is a man of any
breeding, he will not keep you waiting long.

One salutation to a person passing on a promenade or drive is all
that usage requires.

Good usage does not allow a man to smoke when driving or walking
with ladies.

As a rule, a man should not offer to shake hands with a lady when
they meet on neutral ground. In his own house, yes; in hers,
certainly not. “There is a right and a wrong way to shake hands,”
says an English writer. “It is horrible when your unoffending
digits are seized in the sharp compass of a kind of vise, and wrung
and squeezed until you feel as if they were reduced to a jelly. It
is not less horrible when you find them lying in a limp, nerveless
clasp that makes no response to your hearty greeting, but chills
you like a lump of ice. Shake hands as if you meant it--swiftly,
strenuously, and courteously, neither using an undue pressure nor
falling wholly supine. You may judge of the character of a man from
the way in which he shakes hands. As for the cold-blooded creatures
who austerely offer you one or two fingers, I recommend you to
ignore them; look loftily over them, as if unconscious of their
existence and--their fingers. But if a lady does you the honor to
offer you her hand, take it with an air of grateful deference that
will show how you appreciate the honor; do not drop it instantly
as if the touch scared you, nor hold it so long as to cause her a
feeling of uneasiness.”

Tight-fitting gloves--kid and dogskin, for example--should never
be removed to shake hands with any one, nor should a man ever say,
“Excuse my glove.” There is less handshaking done now than formerly.

If you meet an acquaintance in the street when you are walking with
a friend, do not introduce them; nor should you ever introduce
people in public places, unless you have good reason to believe
that the introduction will be agreeable--nay more, is desired by
both parties. The universal introducer is a very unpleasant person
to associate with. In introducing persons, it is the lower that is
introduced to the higher, and, as a rule, the younger to the older,
the gentleman to the lady. No one would think of introducing an
octogenarian to a girl of sixteen.

“The introduction that entitles to recognition having been once
made,” says Mrs. Ward, “it is the duty of the younger person to
recall himself or herself to the recollection of the older person,
if there is much difference in age, by bowing each time of
meeting, until the recognition becomes mutual. As persons advance
in life they look for these attentions on the part of the young,
and it may be, in some instances, that it is the only way the young
have of showing their appreciation of courtesies extended to them
by the old or middle-aged.”

The author of “Social Etiquette” says: “Ladies who entertain
hospitably and possess hosts of friends are likely to invite many
young gentlemen with whose families they are familiar; but as they
seldom have an opportunity of seeing their young friends except for
a moment or two during an evening party, it would be strange if
sometimes these ladies should not fail to recognize a recent guest
when they meet on the promenade. Young gentlemen are over-sensitive
about these matters, and imagine that there must be a reason for
the apparent indifference. That the lady invites him to her house
is an evidence of her regard, but she cannot charge her memory with
the features of her multitude of young acquaintances, much as she
would like to show this courtesy to them all.”

“Should any one,” says an authority in such matters, “wish to
avoid a bowing acquaintance with a person who has once been
properly introduced, he may do so by looking aside, or dropping the
eyes as the person approaches; for if the eyes meet there is no
alternative, bow he must.”

If a gentleman meets a lady acquaintance in the street, it is
optional with her whether she will stop or not. If the gentleman
has anything to say to her, he should turn and walk with her until
he has said what he has to say. When he takes leave of her he will
bow and raise his hat.

There is no one thing, perhaps, in which the difference between
the well-bred man and the ill-bred man more appears than in the
manner in which, the place where, and the time when they smoke. The
well-bred man does not smoke, nor does he seem to smoke, to show
off, whereas the ill-bred man very often smokes in a self-conscious
manner that seems to say: “Look at me! see how skilfully my lips
hold this cigar; how I can shift it from one side of my mouth to
the other without touching it with my fingers, and how well I can
articulate with it in my mouth; in short, look you what perfect
control I have over my labial muscles, and, having seen, admire!”
In short, there are many low-bred young men--very many--that appear
to smoke only to display their--imagined--grace and skill, when, in
fact, in smoking as they do, where they do, and when they do, they
but publish their vulgarity. Such men are certainly not of the sort
that Shakespeare accuses of having a “vaulting ambition.” As they
smoke chiefly for show, a poor cigar answers their purpose as well
as a good one; consequently, they usually buy of the kind that are
sold at the rate of two for a cent.

The well-bred man, on the contrary, the gentleman, the man that
smokes only for the love of it, puts but as much of his cigar
in his mouth as is necessary in order to draw it, keeps it in
his mouth no longer than is necessary, and never fails to remove
it when he talks, or passes any one toward whom he would be
respectful, especially a lady. Further, our best-bred men never
smoke in any street at an hour when it is much frequented, nor in
any public place where smoking is likely to be offensive to others.

Fortunately, neither “young America” nor “old” is much given to
smoking a pipe outside of his own domicile. When we see a pipe in
our streets or in public places it is generally in the mouth of
either an Englishman, a Canadian, or an Irish hodcarrier.

“Give up to ‘cads’ and ‘snobs’ the practice of smoking in the
streets or in a theatre,” says the author of “The Glass of Fashion.”

“Gentlemen never smoke in the streets, except at night,” says
another.

“A well-bred man will never pass a lady with a cigar in his mouth,
whether he knows her or not, not even in a desert,” says yet
another.

From another writer we have: “In the eyes of persons of the best
culture, a cigar or a cigarette in a man’s mouth, in public places,
vulgarizes his appearance; hence men of the best fashion never
smoke in the street, except at night.”

“In England,” says Mrs. Duffey, “a well-bred man never smokes in
the street. Are we obliged to say that this rule does not hold in
this country, or shall we repeat it with an emphasis on the _well
bred_? At all events, no gentleman will ever insult a lady by
smoking in the streets in her company; and in meeting and saluting
a lady he will always remove his cigar from his mouth.”

Spitting is one of those things that no man should do, if he can
avoid it. If in the street, common decency, it would seem, should
prompt a man to go to the gutter if he finds it necessary to spit;
and if anywhere else, it should prompt him not to spit on the
floor, be the floor carpeted or not. We often see men spit on a
carpet, especially in our theatres, but we never see any man spit
on a carpet of his own.

Another disagreeable habit is that of going about singing, humming,
or whistling. The man that habitually does any one of these things,
either in the street--no matter what the hour--in the halls of
hotels, as he goes up and down stairs, or in his own apartments,
when there is any one within hearing, has the manners of a boor,
and deserves the calaboose for disorderly conduct.

Pointing, too, as a habit should be avoided, especially pointing
with the thumb over the shoulder, which is a very inelegant action.

Another vulgar habit to be avoided is that of going about with a
toothpick in the mouth.

“The ball is the paradise of love,” says an English writer. “In the
happy spring-time of life, when the brain is fertile in pleasant
fancies, and the heart throbs with unexpressed hopes--when every
day brings with it a new pleasure, and every night a new reason for
looking forward with joyous anticipation to the morrow--when our
energies are as exhaustless as our spirits, and no sense of fatigue
or weariness can oppress us, the ball-room becomes an enchanted
world of light and music and perfume, into which that ubiquitous
‘black care’ of the Roman poet durst not intrude, where sorrow
is never seen, and past and future are forgotten in the innocent
intoxications of the present.

“To the young ear, what so delightful as merry music? To the
youthful eye, what so attractive as the spectacle of fair forms
gracefully revolving in the soft, sweet mazes of the mystic dance?
And if we know that ‘at the ball’ we shall meet that ‘other half’
of one’s self--Romeo or Juliet, as the case may be, but Romeo
without his melancholy, and Juliet without her tragedy--can it
be wondered at that it draws us thither with an irresistible
attraction?

“Ah, when the noontide comes, and already the shadows of evening
gather over our downward path, how will remembrance bring back to
us the days when it was bliss to touch one beloved hand, to take
one trusting form in our reverent embrace--when it was joy untold
for Romeo and Juliet to tread the painted floor together, and, side
by side, to circle round and round to the strains of Strauss or
Gung’l! And then, in the pauses of the dance, the brief whisper on
the cool balcony or beneath the broad palms of the conservatory!
And last of all, the privilege of draping those graceful shoulders
with the protecting shawl, and the last sweet pressure of clinging
fingers as Juliet passed into the carriage that was to bear her
from our wistful gaze!”

If a young man would go into society--and every young man should
go into society--and if he learn to dance, as most young men do,
he should learn to dance properly. To compass this end, it is of
the first importance that he select a good teacher. There are not a
few of the dancing-masters nowadays--some of the more fashionable
ones, too--that are quite ignorant of the art they pretend to
teach. As a natural consequence, their pupils dance badly, if
they can be really said to dance at all. They are ungraceful, and
do not mark the time, nor make any perceptible distinction between
the different round dances, whereas each round dance properly has
a distinctive step and movement. In dancing the round dances,
in order to dance gracefully, never bend forward, but carry
yourself erect, and do not bend in the knees; never put your arm
around your partner’s waist farther than is necessary to hold her
securely; never extend your left arm _à la_ pump-handle, but keep
your left hand, firmly holding the lady’s right, opposite and a
little below your left shoulder, and _put it nowhere else_; never
pass around the hall more rapidly than the measure compels you to
pass--rapidity is incompatible with grace--and always point with
the toe to the floor when the foot is raised. Take short steps, and
take them with as little evident muscular exertion as possible.
Grace and ease, or seeming ease, are inseparable.

The most popular of the round dances nowadays is a dance that
is called a waltz, though it is no more like what we called a
waltz twenty-five years ago, nor any more like the only dance
the Europeans call a waltz now, than a minuet is like a country
break-down. Its popularity is largely, if not wholly, due to the
comparative ease with which it is learned. The dancing-masters say
that the “old-fashioned” waltz, as it is now called, is too hard to
learn; that there are few that can learn to dance it well; that the
dancers nowadays care little for grace of movement; that if they
are amused they are content, and so on. If the waltz--the genuine
waltz--is the most difficult of all the round dances to learn,
it is also the most fascinating of them all for the accomplished
dancer, and the most pleasing to the looker-on, because of all the
round dances its movements are made with the most grace, dignity,
precision, and _bienséance_.

If for no other reason, the waltz--so called--of to-day cannot be
danced gracefully on account of the backward movement it demands.
He that has never had any æsthetic training in the movements
of the body, and especially he that has no innate sense of the
graceful may think differently, but this is true nevertheless.
Another reason, and a very important one too, that the movements
of this dance cannot be made gracefully is because they compel
the dancer to carry himself with his shoulders thrown somewhat
forward and with the knees a good deal bent--two things that
are incompatible with graceful physical action. But perhaps the
most serious objection to the waltz of nowadays is the habit of
“reversing” that is indulged in by those that dance it. Reversing
is simply a barbarism, as those that indulge in it do not and
cannot avoid bumping against the other dancers. A man that dances
the round dances well, and does not reverse, never runs against
anybody; he goes just where he wants to go, and goes nowhere else,
and he always wants to go straight around the sides of the hall.
The plea of the reverser is that if he turns one way all the time,
he gets dizzy. Nonsense! In the days when there was no reversing
done, nobody complained of dizziness. If, at first, there is a
tendency that way, it soon wears off. There is surely no pleasure
in dancing, if one is continually jostled, and as long as reversing
is practised, dancers will continue to jostle one another.

No man, of course, can dance the round dances well and gracefully,
unless he has a good partner. If he makes the attempt with a lady
that does not know the steps, or that seems desirous to rest her
head on his shoulder, he will be quite certain not to succeed.
Dancers of the round dances should _always keep as far apart as the
length of the gentleman’s arm will permit, and both should stand
erect, with the shoulders well back_. To dance otherwise is vulgar
in the extreme.

In the round dances, good usage demands that you make frequent
pauses, and that you do not race round and round until the music
ceases. If you would exhibit your powers of endurance, enter the
field as a champion runner.

“I could rave,” says a high English authority, “through three pages
about the innocent enjoyment of a good waltz, its grace and beauty,
but I will be practical instead, and give you a few hints on the
subject.

“The position is the most important point. The lady and gentleman
before starting should stand exactly opposite each other, quite
upright, and not, as is so common in England, painfully close to
each other. If the man’s hand be placed where it should be, at the
centre of the lady’s waist, and not all round it, he will have
as firm a hold and not be obliged to stoop, or bend to his right.
The lady’s head should then be turned a little toward her left
shoulder, and her partner’s somewhat less toward his left, in order
to preserve the balance. Nothing can be more atrocious than to see
a lady lay her head on her partner’s shoulder; she should throw her
head and shoulders a little back.

“Russian men undertake to perform in waltzing the same feat as the
Austrians in riding, and will dance round the room with a glass of
wine in the left hand without spilling a drop. This evenness in
waltzing is certainly very graceful, but it can only be obtained
by a sliding step that is little practised in England. The pace,
again, should not be so rapid as to endanger other couples. The
knees should be very little bent in dancing, and the body still
less so. I do not know whether it is worse to see a man ‘sit
down’ in a waltz, or to find him with his head poked forward over
your young wife’s shoulder, hot, red, wild, and in far too close
proximity to the partner of your bosom, whom he makes literally the
partner of his own.

“The remarks as to the position in waltzing apply to all round
dances. The calm ease that marks the man of good taste makes even
the swiftest dances graceful and agreeable. Vehemence may be
excused at an election but not in a ball-room.

“Dancing, if it is a mere trifle, is one to which great minds have
not been ashamed to stoop. Locke, for instance, speaks of it as
manly, Plato recommended it, and Socrates learned the Athenian
polka of the day, when he was quite an old man, and liked it very
much. Some one has even gone so far as to call it ‘the logic of the
body;’ and Addison defends himself for making it the subject of a
disquisition.”

“Nothing,” says Mr. Cecil B. Hartley, “will give ease of manner
and a graceful carriage to a man more surely than the knowledge of
dancing. He will, in its practice, acquire easy motion, a light
step, and learn to use both hands and feet well. Some people
being bashful and afraid of attracting attention in a ball-room
or evening party, do not take lessons in dancing, overlooking the
fact that it is those who do not take part in the amusement on such
occasions, not those who do, that attract attention. To all such
men I would say, Learn to dance! You will find dancing one of the
very best means for correcting bashfulness.”

This is all very well and very sensible, but the most weighty
reason why a man should learn to dance lies in the fact that every
man that goes into society should be qualified to take part in
society amusements--in short, to do what others do, and to do it
well.

Here are some injunctions I find in “The Glass of Fashion:”

“Bear yourself with moderation in the liveliest measure. Some
couples go through a waltz as if they were dancing dervishes, and
indulge in an _abandon_ that, to say the least, is indecorous.

“Lead your partner through a quadrille; do not _haul_ her. A lady’s
waist should be sacred, and there can be no excuse for clasping it
as if you wanted to steady yourself by it.

“Dance quietly. Do not go through your steps as if you were
a dancing-master; nor move your limbs wildly, as if you were
executing an Indian war-dance.

“I am not sure that a man in a dress-coat and black trousers,
going through a quadrille or cotillon, can be considered either
a noble or a beautiful sight; but I am sure that it is better he
should dance as if he knew something about it, than like a country
clown who mistakes muscular activity for grace.

“Above all, do not be prone to quarrel in a ball-room; it disturbs
the harmony of the company, and should be avoided, if possible.
Recollect that a thousand little derelictions from strict propriety
may occur through the ignorance or stupidity of the aggressor,
and not from any intention to annoy; remember, also, that really
well-bred women will not thank you for making them conspicuous by
over-officiousness in their defence, unless, indeed, there is a
serious violation of decorum. In small matters, ladies are both
able and willing to take care of themselves, and would prefer being
allowed to overwhelm the unlucky offender in their own way.

“You go to a ball to dance, and not to stand against the wall, or
by the door, with the smirk of priggishness on your foolish face,
as if the whole thing were _a baw_, and everybody in the room
unworthy of your august notice. If Heaven only ‘gave you to see
yourself as others see you,’ rest assured you would adopt no such
idiotic conduct.”

“A man who can dance, and will not dance,” says Mrs. Ward, “ought
to stay away from a ball. Who has not encountered that especial
type of ill-bred man who lounges around doorways or strolls through
a suite of rooms, looking as if there were not a creature present
worth dancing with!”

“A gentleman of genuine politeness,” says Mrs. Duffey, “will not
give all his time and attention to the belles of the evening, but
will at least devote a little thought to the wall-flowers who
sit forlorn and unattended, and who but for him might have no
opportunity to dance.” The wall-flower is a plant found in every
ball-room, yet no young lady, no matter how plain and uninteresting
she may be, need ever be one. Let her learn to dance well and she
will always have partners.

At balls, the right of introducing rests mainly with the ladies and
gentlemen of the house, but a chaperone may introduce a gentleman
to her charge, and if a man is intimate with a young lady he may
ask her permission to introduce a friend.

An invitation to a private ball, like other invitations, should be
answered immediately.

The ball demands the fullest of toilets: dress suit, white necktie,
stand-up collar, and straw-colored gloves, which look white at
night. The gloves should be worn the whole evening, except at
supper, after which men that can afford it often put on a fresh
pair.

If alone, go from the dressing-room to the ball-room and pay your
respects to the host and hostess. If there are young ladies in the
family, take the earliest opportunity to speak to them and to ask
one of them to dance the first set with you. If she is engaged, you
may ask her to dance with you later in the evening, and then you
are at liberty to look for a partner among the guests.

In asking a lady to dance with you, if you know her but slightly,
or if you have but just been introduced to her, it is sufficient
to say: “Shall I, or may I, have the honor, or the pleasure, of
dancing the next set with you?” or “Will you honor me with your
hand for the next set?” “An applicant for this honor is always
careful to recognize the office and authority of the chaperone when
making his request. This is considered no more respect than is due
to the lady who has kindly undertaken the care of the young lady at
a ball.”

At the end of every dance, says an authority, a gentleman should
offer his right arm to his partner, and at least take her once
around the room before consigning her to her chaperone. Another
authority says that a gentleman should return the lady directly to
her chaperone as soon as the dance is finished. He may linger here
to converse with her, but not elsewhere.

At a ball a gentleman is introduced to a lady only that he may ask
her to dance with him--the acquaintance, therefore, rarely goes
any farther. Whether it shall or not is entirely optional with the
lady. Should they meet afterward, the gentleman will wait for a
recognition before he speaks.

Nor should a gentleman that is introduced to a young lady at a ball
ask her for more than two dances the same evening. Indeed, the
showing of marked preferences in society is always in questionable
taste. It is certain that it is in the best circles that we see
least of it.

A gentleman taking a lady in to supper should reconduct her to the
ball-room; the fact of friends joining her, in the supper-room,
would not relieve him of the duty. “While the lady is supping you
must stand by and talk to her,” says “The Man in the Club-Window,”
“attending to every want, and the most you can take yourself is a
glass of champagne when you help her. You then lead her up-stairs
again, and if you are not wanted there any more, you may steal down
and do a little quiet refreshment on your own account. As long,
however, as there are many ladies at the table, you have no right
to begin. Nothing marks a man here so much as gorging at supper.
Balls are meant for dancing, not for eating.”

In an English work of high authority, entitled “Mixing in Good
Society,” I find the following admonitions:

“Never enter a ball-room in other than full evening dress, and
white or light kid gloves.

“A gentleman cannot be too careful not to injure a lady’s dress.
This he is sure to do if he dances a round dance with her without
gloves.”

“The young women of the country,” says Col. Donan, “send forth a
huge, universal wail of indignant protest against the ungloved
men who persist in leaving their finger-marks on the backs of
delicately tinted dresses at fashionable germans, hops and balls.
From Cape Cod to Corpus Christi, no dancing party ever takes place
that is not followed by a day of lamentation and execration on
the part of the unhappy girls who wake from dreams of waltz and
galop and quadrille, to find their dainty costumes ruined by the
bare-paw prints of men for whose ruthless crime against decency
there is no excuse. The fashion of going without gloves originated
in the vilest foreign flunkeyism. The Prince of Wales forgot his
gloves one evening when he went to the opera, and consequently was
compelled to appear with his hands uncovered. The next evening
every asinine toady and swell in the theatre showed his hands in
native nakedness, and the vulgar apery was promptly caught up on
this side of the ocean. Let gentlemen remember that no ungloved man
can pretend to be fully dressed.

“It is an affront to a lady to hold her hand behind you, or on your
hip, when dancing a round dance.

“Never forget a ball-room engagement. It is the greatest neglect
and slight that a gentleman can offer a lady.

“If a lady happens to forget a previous engagement, and stand up
with another partner, the gentleman whom she has thus slighted is
bound to believe that she has acted from inadvertence, and should
by no means suffer his pride to master his good temper. To cause a
disagreeable scene in a private ball-room is to affront your host
and hostess, and to make yourself absurd. In a public room it is
not less reprehensible.

“Always remember that good breeding and good temper--or the
appearance of good temper--are inseparably connected.

“However much pleasure a man may take in a lady’s society, he must
not ask her to dance too frequently. Engaged persons would do well
to bear this in mind. A ball is too formal a place for any one to
indulge in personal preferences of any kind.

“Lastly, a gentleman should not go to a ball unless he has
previously made up his mind to be agreeable; that is, to dance
with the plainest as well as with the most beautiful; to take down
an elderly chaperone to supper, instead of her lovely charge,
with a good grace; to enter into the spirit of the dance, instead
of hanging about the doorway; to abstain from immoderate eating,
drinking, or talking; to submit to trifling annoyances with
cheerfulness; in fact, to forget himself, and contribute as much as
possible to the amusement of others.”

If a gentleman that is invited to a house on the occasion of an
entertainment is not acquainted with all the members of the family,
his first duty, after speaking to the host and hostess, is to ask
some common friend to introduce him to those members that he does
not know.

“Though not customary for married persons to dance together in
society, those men who wish to show their wives the compliment of
such an unusual attention, if they possess any independence, will
not be deterred,” says Mrs. Ward, “from doing so by their fear of
any comments from Mrs. Grundy.”

“The sooner we recover from the effects of the Puritanical idea
that clergymen ought never to be seen at balls, the better for
all who attend them,” says Mrs. Ward. “Where it is wrong for a
clergyman to go, it is wrong for any member of his church to be
seen.”

The sons of a house where an entertainment is given must for that
evening refrain from engaging in any flirtations, or from showing
in any way their preferences. Nothing is more at variance with good
breeding than for them to do otherwise. It is their imperative duty
to see that no one is neglected.

A gentleman should not take a vacant seat next to a lady that is a
stranger to him, nor next to an acquaintance without first asking
her permission.

Always give your partner your undivided attention. To let your eyes
wander about the room, or to betray an interest in others, is the
reverse of flattering to her.

When you conduct your partner back to her seat, do not remain too
long in conversation with her. We go into society to take part in a
general interchange of civilities, and not to engage in prolonged
tête-à-têtes.

There is a very old injunction that says that you should never wait
till the music begins to engage your partner.

Though a gentleman would naturally give special attention to a
lady he escorted to a ball, he should leave her every opportunity
to accept the attentions of others. Any attempt to monopolize
her society, though she were his betrothed, would be thoroughly
plebeian. He should call for her punctually, taking a bouquet for
her if he chooses, or, better, if the spirit moves him, sending one
in the afternoon with his card. Arrived, he leaves her at the door
of the ladies’ dressing-room, and himself goes to the gentlemen’s.
Having arranged his dress and put on his white kid gloves, he goes
and waits at the ladies’ room till his companion appears, when he
escorts her to the ball-room. Having exchanged salutations with
the hostess, he leads her to a seat. He will dance the first set
with her and also another set in the course of the evening. On
no account will he dance two sets with her in succession. During
the rest of the evening, it is his duty to see that she is not
neglected, that she is provided with partners, and with an escort
to supper. Finally, he will be ready to conduct her home when she
expresses a wish to go, and will personally inquire after her
health the next day.

The author of “Social Etiquette of New York” settles a question of
some moment, quite to her satisfaction, and also, I am willing to
believe, to the satisfaction of the ladies generally, in this wise:
“Now, just at this point arises a question that has long been in
dispute, and it may as well be settled at once: ‘Which side of the
stairway, the rail or the wall, should be accorded to a lady?’

“It has been discussed by gentlemen, as if it were a matter for
them to decide, which it is not, by any means. Such ladies as have
been given their choice have invariably said: ‘Permit me to take
your left arm with my right hand, and it does not matter whether it
is wall or rail that I am nearest in going up or down stairs. I can
better care for myself than you can care for me.’

“Sometimes the turning or curving of the staircase so narrows the
steps on the rail side as to make them dangerous to heedless feet.
In such a case a lady must cling to the arm of her escort, or else
clasp the rail with her fresh and tightly-fitting gloves, which
last she is never willing to do if she can avoid it.

“Of course a gentleman cannot always wait to examine the
architectural peculiarities of a staircase before he decides which
arm will best satisfy the lady whom he desires to benefit. He is
safe in offering her his left. If she declines assistance, she will
choose which part of the stairs she likes best to ascend, and the
gentleman will precede her by two or three steps. On going down, he
is always slightly in advance of her. This arrangement settles the
question satisfactorily to the ladies, and gentlemen have really no
right to a choice in this matter.”

“Oftener than otherwise,” says “Social Etiquette,” “the lady of
to-day does not lean upon the arm of her escort, but advances into
the _salon_ unassisted. Indeed, the ancient custom is falling into
disuse in our fashionable society.

“The lady precedes the gentleman by a step or two, when entering
or passing out from an apartment, provided she does not retain his
arm. In the highest circles of France, the lady enters several
steps in advance of the gentleman at a formal reception. Our custom
of precedence is not quite so pronounced as that.”

If you leave a ball, or party of any kind, before the music ceases,
do it as quietly as possible, in order that your going may not
be observed by others and so break up the party. If you meet the
hostess on your way out take leave of her in such a manner that
other guests may not observe you. As for looking for her it is
quite unnecessary.

Party calls, as they are termed--_i.e._, calls to recognize the
obligation for having been honored with an invitation--are made
on the hostess on her first regular reception day after the
entertainment, whether you were at it or not. If she has no regular
reception day, then a call should be made, or cards left, within,
at the farthest, ten days.

Though a man may take no great pleasure in card-playing, it is very
desirable that he should be able to play those games that are most
played in society--in this country, whist and euchre for example.
A man should go into society as much to make himself useful as in
search of amusement. If a fourth hand is wanted at a rubber, he
should be able not only to take it, but to acquit himself fairly
well.

In general society, the card-table is generally reserved for
elderly people, who always take precedence over the young.

Husband and wife should not play in the same table, except where
the company is so small that it cannot be avoided. The supposition
is that they are so well acquainted with each other’s mode of
playing that they would have an unfair advantage. Then again,
married people go into society to exchange civilities with others
and not with themselves.

Never, under any circumstances, cheat or wilfully violate the
rules of the game. To do either is to be guilty of a species of
buffoonery.

Never lose your temper at the card-table. You should not play
unless you can bear ill-luck with composure, and can pass over any
blunders your partner may make with serenity.

Unless you are playing with familiars, do not urge any one to play
faster. The patient man is never uncivil.

Some ungallant monster has said that women have only two passions,
love and avarice, and that, though the latter ill-becomes them, yet
it is so strong that they can rarely conceal it at the card-table.
For this reason, he adds, it is always painful to see them play
when there is any stake.

As a rule in good society, in this country, no stake is played for,
and when there is--here as elsewhere--it is understood that though
one does play _with_ money one does not play _for_ money.

When the cards are being dealt by another, keep your hands out of
the way, and do not touch your cards until all have been dealt.

In playing, throw your cards down quietly, and not violently, after
the fashion of the card-players one sees in lager-beer saloons.

“The new etiquette regarding costume at places of amusement began
only lately to shape itself into formality in New York. It is now
considered quite proper for a gentleman to attend an opera in a
matinée suit, provided seats have been taken elsewhere than in a
box, but he is limited in his visits between the acts to such of
his acquaintances as are also in demi-toilet, unless he goes to the
_foyer_ to chat with promenaders.

“If a gentleman is in full dress, he may visit everywhere in the
house, but he will not seat himself in the orchestra or in the
dress circle, because his toilet will appear out of harmony with
the soberer garments about him.”

Thus wrote the author of “Social Etiquette of New York,” in 1878,
and yet the fact is that there are many men in New York that are
in the habit of wearing full dress at all our better theatres on
all “first nights,” no matter where their seats may be, and always
when they go to the theatre accompanied by ladies. Thus we see that
opinions in this matter differ materially. To the writer it seems
that a morning suit--black frock coat and dark trousers--is fully
as appropriate as full dress on all occasions where the ladies are
not expected to be in full dress, which they are not in any of our
parquets or dress circles. There is something sorely incongruous in
the picture presented by a lady in a sober, high-necked gown and
an extensive hat seated beside a man in a swallow-tailed coat, a
low-cut waistcoat and a white necktie. And then does it not look
very much as though he had no demi-toilet suit with which to make
his appearance correspond with that of the lady?

“Social Etiquette” says further: “He may properly wear gloves
when he is not in full dress, as this slight formality of attire
is in keeping with the style of his costume. If he wears a dress
coat and an evening necktie, it is permissible for him to appear
without gloves.”

For several years gloves were little worn by men, especially with
full dress, even at dancing-parties and balls, but of late the
wearing of gloves, particularly at parties and balls, is the rule
rather than the exception. An ungloved man certainly never looks
dressed. From present indications gloves will soon be as generally
worn as they ever have been.

A gentleman inviting a lady to go with him to an entertainment,
theatrical, musical, or whatever it may be, should take care to do
so betimes, and also in case full dress will be necessary to let
her know it. This is a consideration that often has great weight
with a lady in deciding whether she shall accept or not.

Unless a lady is in full dress, or the weather is bad, it is not
generally deemed necessary, in the cities at least, to provide
a carriage. Women of the best sort do not like to see men put
themselves to any expense that is not really demanded when they
offer them a civility, no matter what their circumstances may
be. It is economy and not lavishness that commands respect,
among sensible people, the world over. The vulgar synonym for
ostentation, remember, is splurge.

You should always try to be in your seat before an entertainment
begins, and if, unavoidably, you are late, you should await
a fitting time to go to it. There are many thoughtless,
inconsiderate, stupid people that if they chance to arrive during
the progress of the best scene in a play, or during the singing of
the finest aria in an opera, will immediately go to their seats,
though in doing so they disturb the whole house, artists and all.
If you arrive late and there are any back seats unoccupied take
them temporarily, and if there are none unoccupied remain standing
until you can go to your seats without disturbing any one. You have
no more right to disturb others at a place of amusement than you
have to pick their pockets, for when you disturb them you rob them
of a part of that for which they have paid their money.

In finding the way to seats, the gentleman should precede the lady,
if there is no usher; if there is an usher, the lady should precede
the gentleman. The lady always takes the inner seat.

If it is necessary to pass others to reach your seats, turn the
face and not the back to those you pass.

If your seats are easy of access and your companion has gentlemen
acquaintances in the audience, you need not fear that she will
upbraid you for leaving her two or three times in the course of the
evening, during the pauses, in order to give them an opportunity
to visit her. Nothing delights the female heart more than to have
a bevy of gentlemanly-looking men gather about her in public. If
she has no acquaintances to visit her, she should not be left alone
more than once during the evening, and then not for more than a few
minutes.

At a place of amusement you should never relinquish your seat in
favor of a lady, unless she is a friend of your companion, or is
aged or infirm, and not then without first getting your companion’s
consent.

Considerate persons never talk so loud at a place of amusement
as to disturb others, and none but snobs ever make remarks about
a performance in a tone that can be heard by those in their
neighborhood. We sometimes encounter a kind of snobbishness in
play-houses and concert-halls that is much given to talking _to_
its companions and _at_ those sitting near. It often belongs to
persons that have “done” many lands, glancing at the outside of
many houses and seeing the inside of a few.

If you would eat candy, oranges, apples, or nuts or anything else
at the theatre, you would do well to go to the gallery. There the
eating of fruit and sweetmeats is much less likely to attract
attention than in other parts of the house, where you would
generally find yourself surrounded by persons that are strongly
opposed to munching at places of amusement.

There are many men in this country--but not in Europe--that seem to
think it beneath their dignity to applaud at a place of amusement.
It is never beneath any man’s dignity to recognize the obligation
when another exerts himself to please him. Applause is the only way
the auditor has of testifying his appreciation of a performer’s
efforts and skill. Nor is this all. There is a selfish reason why
the auditor should applaud: without this kind of encouragement no
performer, no matter how great his experience, can do his best.
Intelligent applause is no small part of the return an actor or
singer gets for his exertions. Gratitude and recognition are two
of the sweetest things in life, and the lack of them makes more
misanthropes than everything else put together.

Finally, if you remain to the end of a performance, remain indeed
to the end--remain in your seat and remain quiet until the last
word has been spoken, or the last note has been sung. Be not one
of those unbred persons that when the end approaches begin to make
ready to go, or perhaps get up and push past others, disturbing
everybody in the house, players as well as auditors, in their
selfish haste to reach the door. I repeat: You have no more right
to disturb others at a place of amusement than you have to pick
their pockets, for when you disturb others you rob them of a part
of that for which they have paid their money.

If you pass through a door that is closed, leave it closed.

If you pass through a door that has a spring on it, see that it
does not slam.

If your feet are muddy, find some means of cleaning them before you
pass through anybody’s door.

If you pretend to wash your hands, wash them; do not simply wet
them, and then wipe the dirt off on the towel.

If you visit beer-saloons or oyster-saloons, do not copy the
phraseology of the waiters; the men that do it are never men of
refined instincts. Never cry out “eins,” after the fashion of the
waiters in beer-saloons, nor “one,” or “a stew,” or “a fry,” as the
waiters do in oyster-saloons.

If you would be worthy to live among well-bred, right-thinking
people you will always consider the interest, respect the rights,
and study the comfort of others. For example, if you visit a
reading-room where the aim is so to keep the newspapers that any
particular one can be easily found, you will always be careful to
put those you read back in their proper places; you will never
scratch a match on anybody’s wall or woodwork; you will never spit
on anybody’s floor, whether carpeted or not; you will never walk
over the upholstered seats of a place of amusement, and so on. The
doing or the leaving undone of little things is a sure index of a
man’s breeding or of his lack of it.

If you would preserve your health, never drink anything but water
between meals.

If you would preserve your good name, keep away from bar-rooms.

If you would preserve your self-respect, keep away from bar-rooms.

If you would preserve your good manners, keep away from bar-rooms.

If you would preserve your good looks, keep away from bar-rooms.

If you would keep out of the clutches of the devil, keep away from
bar-rooms.




CONVERSATION.

  The first rule of speaking well is to think well.--MME. DE
  LAMBERT.

  Attention is a tacit and continual compliment.--MME. SWETCHINE.

  Gravity is a stratagem invented to conceal the poverty of the
  mind.--LA ROCHEFOUCAULD.

  To discuss an opinion with a fool is like carrying a lantern
  before a blind man.--DE GASTON.

  To use many circumstances ere you come to matter is wearisome;
  and to use none at all is blunt.--BACON.

  That is the happiest conversation where there is no
  competition, no vanity, but only a calm, quiet interchange of
  sentiment.--JOHNSON.

          If you your lips
          Would keep from slips,
      Five things observe with care:
          Of whom you speak,
          To whom you speak,
      And how, and when, and where.

          If you your ears
          Would save from jeers,
      These things keep meekly hid:
          Myself and I,
          And mine and my,
      And how I do or did.


Though there are not many persons that seem to think so, still it
is true that the value of no other accomplishment can be compared
with that of a thorough knowledge of one’s mother tongue, be that
tongue what it may. The most of us do more or less talking in the
course of every one of our waking hours, and we impress those
that hear us, favorably or unfavorably--as far as our culture is
concerned--according to the manner in which we express ourselves.
The tones of the voice, the construction of our sentences, the
choice of our words, and the manner in which we pronounce and
articulate them--all have their influence in impressing, either
favorably or unfavorably, even the most unlettered. How desirable
then it is that we should cultivate the graces of speech, which are
first among the rudiments of the Art of Conversation!

“There is a part of our education,” says a clever English writer,
“so important and so neglected in our schools and colleges, that
it cannot be too highly impressed on the young man that proposes
to enter society. I mean the part that we learn first of all
things, yet often have not learned well when death eases us of
the necessity--the art of speaking our own language. In every-day
life the value of Greek and Latin, French and German is small,
when compared with that of English. We are often encouraged to
raise a laugh at Doctor Syntax and the tyranny of grammar, but we
may be certain that many misunderstandings arise from a want of
grammatical precision.

“There is no society without interchange of thought, and since the
best society is that in which the best thoughts are interchanged in
the best and most comprehensible manner, it follows that A PROPER
MODE OF EXPRESSING OURSELVES IS INDISPENSABLE IN GOOD SOCIETY.”

“The commonest thought well put,” says another English writer, “is
more useful, in a social point of view, than the most brilliant
idea jumbled out. What is well expressed is easily seized, and
therefore readily responded to; the most poetic fancy may be lost
to the hearer if the language that conveys it is obscure. Speech is
the gift that distinguishes man from the lower animals and makes
society possible. He has but a poor appreciation of his privilege
as a human being who neglects to cultivate ‘God’s great gift of
speech.’”

“The manner in which things are said,” says a French philosopher,
“is almost as important as the things themselves. For one man that
judges you by your thought there are twenty that judge you by the
manner in which your thought is presented. Not only should your
words be well chosen, but your bearing should be self-possessed and
the tones of your voice agreeable.”

M. L. H., in _Lippincott’s Magazine_ for February, 1883, writes
very instructively on the art of conversation as follows: “How
seldom it is that one enjoys the pleasure of a real conversation,
taking the word to mean something more than the casual chat
of calling acquaintances, and something different from the
confidential intercourse of familiar friends!

“There is no pastime more delightful in its way than the leisurely
talk of a company of congenial persons met for the simple
enjoyment of one another’s society, the agreeable interchange
of ideas and sentiments, and it would seem that this pleasure
should be an easily attainable one. As a matter of fact, however,
the entertainment is not so cheap and easy to be had as might be
supposed.

“It is a privilege restricted mostly to the dwellers in our larger
cities, where, although social life may have a tendency to form
itself into separate circles, yet each of these has a circumference
great enough to include a sufficient number of persons disposed
to draw together by natural affinities. In our smaller provincial
cities and towns there is, generally speaking, nothing that can
be called society, and conversation is not a lost art, but an art
unknown. In such places as these the hostess who should offer her
guests no other entertainment than the conversation of their equals
would, I fear, be thought to provide for them but badly. If this
be true, it certainly is a reflection upon those who compose this
provincial society so called: it seems to argue a lack of brains,
culture, and social tact, when the result of their gathering
together is only a common boredom.

“Yet, on second thoughts, this inability to make conversation
a mutually agreeable thing has its partial explanation in the
circumstances of the case. Each unit of the small provincial whole
lives in a narrow round of his own; his occupations and interests
are necessarily much the same as those of his neighbor, and it is
not possible for either of them to bring anything very novel or
amusing by way of contribution to the social repast. The daily
life of the resident of a large city is, by comparison, infinitely
varied and full of incident; he dines to-day with B. and meets C.
and D., but to-day is not the simple repetition of yesterday, for
then it was A. that entertained him, and the guests were E. and F.

“Doubtless there is an ideal of conversation that is not commonly
realized. It implies the gathering together of a certain--not
too large--number of men and women, each of whom is both able
and willing to play his individual part. It does not need the
possession of brilliant gifts in every member, nor even in any one
member of the company; it needs only a fair amount of intelligence
and culture, and of that ready perception of the drift and meaning
of the words of others, which may be called a sort of intellectual
tact. ‘The whole force of conversation,’ it has been said, ‘depends
upon how much you can take for granted. Vulgar chess-players have
to play the game out.’

“More than anything else, conversation implies individual
self-abnegation, the putting out of sight of large egotisms and
small vanities, and contentment with one’s due share of attention
only. There need not be agreement of opinion, but there must be
mutual tolerance.

“It also implies individual responsibility and the obligation of
every one to give of his best. Intellectual sloth has no place at
the feast of reason.

“One need not shine in the talk, but one must at least be able to
listen intelligently.

“How much of the charm of words lies in the manner in which they
are spoken! Our thoughts and sentiments have not one mode of
expression, but a hundred; the tone of the voice interprets the
meaning of the word, the glance and the smile soften or intensify
it.

“Conversation is seldom so agreeable as around a dinner-table of
the right size, where the talk is general and lively without
confusion. At a large gathering, where the company inevitably
breaks up into groups, conversation may flourish more or less
brightly, but never quite so well as where the guests are few and
congenial and form but a single circle.

“I often wonder why it is that there is such difficulty in getting
people to unite in making the talk general. Some perverse instinct
seems to drive them to split apart; the force of repulsion is
stronger than that of attraction; six or eight persons are engaged
in four duets, and, if the talk begins to flag between numbers one
and two, nothing better occurs to them than to exchange partners
with three and four and raise a distracting cross-fire. If I
want to see a friend alone, it is usually easy to accomplish it;
but if I try to hold a pleasant conversation with three or four
other friends at the same time, they too often appear to conspire
together to defeat my wish.”

If one would have an agreeable manner in conversation, there are
certain things that must be attended to:

1. _One must cultivate repose._ The man that fidgets, tugs at
his beard, runs his fingers through his hair, rubs his hands,
cracks his finger-joints, grates his teeth, or indulges in
much gesticulation, while very likely he sits cross-legged and
swings one foot, is never an agreeable person to talk with. This
restlessness is always an evidence of weakness. That kind of
strength that brings with it a feeling that one is equal to the
situation is always accompanied with that quiet self-possession
that we call repose.

2. _One must avoid interrupting._ Always let your interlocutor
finish what he has to say. Note the points that you would reply
to, and wait patiently till it is your turn to speak. The world
is full of ill-bred persons that have the habit of breaking in
on the speaker as soon as he says anything they would reply to,
or that suggests a thought. Wait, I repeat, and wait patiently
and respectfully, as the American Indian always does, till your
interlocutor has finished. Men that continually interrupt are
always men whose early training was very faulty. With such men
_conversation_ is impossible.

3. _One must learn to listen._ It is not sufficient to keep
silent. You should be attentive, seem to be interested and not
wear the expression of a martyr. There are those whose mien when
they listen seems to say: “Will he ever get through and let me
give breath to the words of wisdom!” or, “Poor me, how long will
this torture last!” or, “When you get through, I’ll show you in a
word or two what nonsense you talk!” Such listeners are generally
persons that think their utterances much more heavily freighted
with wisdom than other people think them.

4. _One must learn not to speak too long at a time._ The social
monologist is one of the most disagreeable characters one ever
meets with. There are two species of them. To the one belong those
egotistic, patronizing creatures that seem to take pity on you and
do all the talking in order to put you at ease in their august
presence. To the other belong those men that talk much and say
little; that go over a deal of surface and never get below it; that
go round and round, and up and down in search of some way to get
at the pith of the matter, until they finally give up the chase in
despair. Of the two species, the first is the least tiresome--and
the least numerous--as there is always something ludicrous, and
consequently amusing, in their coxcombry.

5. _One must learn--if one can--to stick to the subject under
consideration._ Pausing to remark upon the irrelevant that may
be suggested in the course of a conversation is a characteristic
of the female mind. Many men, however, are as great sinners in
this direction as are women generally. This is a fault peculiar
to persons of hazy mental vision, and is very trying to those of
clearer perceptions.

6. _One must learn not to laugh at one’s own wit, nor to chuckle
at one’s own remarks._ There are men that cannot take part in a
conversation without falling into a broad grin, which frequently
develops into a chuckle that renders their articulation indistinct.
This is a habit that is among the easiest to correct.

7. _One must learn to control one’s temper._ There are those that
habitually--and involuntarily, perhaps--take refuge in indignation
the moment they are opposed, and especially if they are opposed
with reasons that are too weighty for their logic. Then there are
others that have so exalted an opinion of their own opinions that
they think it presumption on the part of another to question their
correctness and resent any opposition as an indignity. It is not
the wise that are least respectful to those that venture to differ
from them.

8. _One must be careful to avoid a certain labial gesticulation,
and a certain “Jakey” toss of the head that some unbred people
indulge in, when they talk._ Of all the vulgar habits that vulgar
people indulge in in conversation, this is one of the most vulgar.

9. _Never, anywhere or under any circumstances, talk with a
toothpick, a cigar, or a cigarette in your mouth._ Anything more
disrespectful or more thoroughly low we rarely have to complain
of. And yet we sometimes see men standing in the street talking to
women--not ladies, for a lady does not allow herself to be treated
with such disrespect--with cigars in their mouths.

The author of “Mixing in Good Society” says: “We must not bring
our gloomy moods or irritable temper with us into society. To look
pleasant is a duty we owe to others. One is bound to listen with
the appearance of interest even to the most inveterate proser who
fastens upon us in society; to smile at a twice-told tale; and, in
short, to make such minor sacrifices of sincerity as good manners
and good feeling demand.

“In conversation the face should wear something that is akin to a
smile; a smile, as it were, below the surface.

“We should always look at the person who addresses us, and listen
deferentially to whatever he says. When we make answer, we should
endeavor to express our best thoughts in our best manner. A loose
manner of expression injures ourselves more than our interlocutor;
since, if we talk carelessly to those whom we will not take the
trouble to please, we shall feel at a loss for apt words and
correct elocution when we need them.

“Always think before you speak; as thus only can you acquire the
habit of speaking to the purpose.”

Good talkers are generally deliberate talkers.

“Polite vulgarisms must be scrupulously guarded against. A
well-educated person proclaims himself by the simplicity and
terseness of his language. It is only the half-educated who indulge
in fine language, and think that long words and high-sounding
phrases are _distingué_.

“Everything approaching to extravagance in conversation is
objectionable. We should endeavor to ascertain the precise
meaning of the words we employ, and employ them at the right
time only. Such phrases as ‘awfully hot,’ ‘immensely jolly,’
‘abominably dull,’ ‘disgustingly mean,’ etc. etc., are used in the
most reckless manner. This hyperbolical way of speaking is mere
flippancy, without wit or novelty to recommend it.”

The late Dr. George Ripley was wont to say that the secret of being
agreeable in conversation was to be hospitable to the ideas of
others. He affirmed that some people only half listened to you,
because they were considering, even while you spoke, with what
fine words, what wealth of wit, they should reply, and they began
to speak almost before your sentence had died from your lips.
Those people, he said, might be brilliant, witty, dazzling, but
never could they be agreeable. You do not love to talk to them.
You feel that they are impatient for their turn to come, and that
they have no hospitality toward your thoughts--none of that gentle
friendliness that asks your idea in and makes much of it.

“Dean Swift,” says an English writer, “with his keen eye for
the foibles of his fellows, has put on record some faults in
conversation that every one that wishes to be an agreeable talker
should make it his business to avoid.

“He justly condemns the habit of talking too much. No man in a
company has a right to predominate in length and frequency of
speech, any more than a player in an orchestra has a right to
convert the performance into a solo. Even if a man can talk as well
as a Macaulay, he has no right to prevent others from talking.
They have come not to hear a lecture, but to converse; to talk as
well as to listen; to contribute as well as to receive. Even the
listeners and admirers that gathered around Macaulay sometimes
longed for a ‘flash of silence.’ Oh, the misery of it, when some
inordinate gossip gets you by the buttonhole and drums away at your
aching tympanum with an incessant crash of prattle!

“Still more wearisome is the talk of those who will talk only
of themselves; whose everlasting ‘I’ recurs in their speech as
certainly as the head of Charles the First turned up in the speech
of Mr. Dick. They deluge their hearers with the milk-and-water
history of their sayings and doings from childhood upward; and
relate the annals of their diseases with all the symptoms and
attendant circumstances. To a talker of this sort to have the
measles is a delight--the small-pox a boon. A gentleman will never
admit that his constitution is anything but sound--in conversation.
Of all bores the greatest is he that carries his pills, powders,
and plasters into the society of his friends; that bids the world
listen when he sneezes, and thinks his rheumatism a matter of
national concern.

“Others, as the Dean remarks, are more dexterous, and with great
art will lie on the watch to hook in their own praise: ‘They will
call a witness to remember they always foretold what would happen
in such a case, but none would believe them; they advised such
a man from the beginning, and told him the consequences just as
they happened, but he would have his own way. Others make a vanity
of telling their own faults; they are the strangest men in the
world; they cannot dissemble; they own it is a folly; they have
lost abundance of advantages by it; but if you should give them
the world they could not help it; there is something in their
nature that abhors insincerity and constraint--with many other
insufferable topics of the same altitude.’

“The most successful talker is the man that has most to say that
is sensible and entertaining on the greatest number of subjects.
A specialist can never make a good conversationist; his mind runs
always in one groove.

“Swift comments upon two faults in conversation that appear very
different, yet spring from the same root and are equally blamable;
the first, an impatience to interrupt others; the second, a great
uneasiness when we are ourselves interrupted. The chief objects of
all conversation, whether conversation proper or small talk, are to
entertain and improve our companions, and in our own persons to be
improved and entertained. If we steadily aim at these objects, we
shall certainly escape the two faults indicated by the dean. If any
man speak in company, we may suppose he does it for his hearers’
sake, and not for his own; so that common discretion will teach him
not to force their attention if they are unwilling to lend it, nor,
on the other hand, to interrupt him who is in possession, because
that is the grossest manner to indicate his conviction of his own
superiority.

“There are some people,” says Swift, “whose good manners will not
suffer them to interrupt you; but, what is almost as bad, they
will discover abundance of impatience, and be upon the watch until
you have done, because they have started something in their own
thoughts that they long to be delivered of. Meantime, they are so
far from regarding what passes that their imaginations are wholly
turned upon what they have in reserve, for fear it should slip out
of their memory; and thus they confine their invention, which might
otherwise range over a hundred things fully as good and that might
be much more naturally introduced.

“I think that wit must be introduced into conversation with
great reserve. Such a caution seems, however, little called for,
considering the limited number of persons to whom it applies; but
there is a cheap form of wit that most ill-natured persons can
plagiarize, and in a mixed company its effects are not seldom
disagreeable; that is, the repartee, or smart answer, which
assuredly does not turn away wrath; the epigrammatic impertinence
that young speakers suppose to be wit. ‘It now passes for
raillery,’ says Swift, ‘to run a man down in discourse, to put him
out of countenance and make him ridiculous; sometimes to expose
the defects of his person or understanding; on all which occasions
he is obliged not to be angry, to avoid the imputation of not
being able to take a jest. It is admirable to observe one who is
dexterous at this art singling out a weak adversary, getting the
laugh on his side, and then carrying all before him. The French,
whence we borrow the word ‘raillery,’ have a quite different idea
of the thing, and so had we in the politer ages of our fathers.
Raillery was to say something that at first appeared a reproach or
reflection, but by some turn of wit, unexpected and surprising,
ended always in a compliment, and to the advantage of the person
it was addressed to. And, surely, one of the best rules in
conversation is, never to say a thing that any of the company can
reasonably wish we had left unsaid; nor can there well be anything
more contrary to the ends for which people meet together than to
part dissatisfied with one another or with themselves.

“This fatal kind of smartness, which all may master who have no
regard for the feelings of others, is very much more common now,
I imagine, than in Swift’s time, when people could hardly be
persuaded that wit and rudeness were synonymous. It has found its
way into the House of Commons, where it is assiduously practised
by men that have little hope by more worthy means of achieving
a reputation; and on the stage, where, in ‘drawing-rooms richly
upholstered,’ the characters pass their time in saying impertinent
things to one another. That such flippancy should pass muster as
wit cannot, however, be wondered at in a generation that mistakes
sensuousness for poetry, æstheticism for art, and charlatanism for
statesmanship!

“I have already made a distinction between conversation and
small talk; but after all, the cautions that apply to the one
have a distinct reference to the other. I presume that a good
conversationist is also a good small-talker; though, of course,
the reverse does not follow; a man may shine in small talk, and
prove very dull in conversation. It is not my object or desire to
depreciate small talk, which, in the present condition of society,
is a substitute for conversation, and in any condition would be
a necessary complement of it. We cannot always be passing our
five-pound notes; we must sometimes descend to inferior currency,
and not only sovereigns, but crowns and two-shilling pieces have
their value. Besides, we cannot afford to carry on an exchange
by which we always lose. We cannot give our five-pound notes
when others stake but shillings and sixpences. Barter is fair
and profitable only when we get as much as we give. Our pockets
may be full of sovereigns, and yet we shall hesitate to give one
for a penny roll; but to a man that has nothing but counters in
his pocket, it does not matter whether the roll cost a penny or
a shilling. The moral of this is, that we must put pence into
our purse as well as pounds. For want of such a precaution, the
meditative scholar is often, in society, at a loss to find topics
of conversation; he has nothing small enough to give, and his
companions have nothing with which to conduct an exchange. It
is wisdom, therefore, to pay close attention to this matter of
small talk, and endeavor to arrive at a certain command of and
proficiency in it. Men of the highest gifts cannot dispense with it
if they wish to be at no disadvantage in their ordinary intercourse
with mankind.

“There are many spheres in which, I grant, the small-talker would
be out of place. He would make a sorry figure in an assembly of
scholars and thinkers, engaged in the discussion of subjects as
momentous and as profound as those with which Goethe overwhelmed
the hapless Excelmann. His true arena is the dinner-table. It is
there he can make the best use of the old, familiar weapons. He
does not shun the traditional allusions to the weather or the
crops; and, indeed, it is clear that he _must_ begin on some topic
that he and his companions have in common. That once found, others
will naturally spring out of it; but in passing to and from them,
much dexterity is required. If the small-talker shows any doubt of
his own powers, or puts himself forward too obtrusively, he will
come to grief, as we all instinctively rebel against an attempt
to drag us into conversation. The string that leads us must be
invisible. The exchange of small talk is like a game of battledoor
in which an accomplished player will sometimes designedly drop
his shuttlecock, partly to flatter and propitiate his partner,
and partly for the sake of a prospective advantage. When once he
has full command of the game, he will quietly take the lead, and
guide it surely but gently into the direction best adapted for the
display of his powers. The attractiveness of skilfully managed talk
of this kind is felt by everybody; and we remember with pleasure
the evening when, unwittingly, we were taken captive by some man
or woman whose intellectual superiority, perhaps, we should not be
willing to admit, but who, we readily own, enabled us to pass some
very pleasant hours.

“But this small talk that so agreeably flavors conversation is
different indeed from that _very_ small talk in which society
nowadays indulges so unblushingly, go where you will--not
necessarily, as Mr. Hale remarks, into the society of the suburban
‘Row’ or ‘Terrace’ of semi-detached villas, nor into that of the
small provincial town, or the colonial garrison; but into that
found in the homes and among the families of English gentlemen.
Mr. Hale does not, I think, exaggerate when he says it is painful
to listen to the general conversation; the name of a common friend
is mentioned, and something that he or she has said or done is
commented upon with a freedom that, to be in any way justifiable,
presupposes a thorough knowledge of all sides of the case; and the
minor worries of life, servants, babies, and the like, furnish
the theme for a multifarious and protracted discussion. If there
is talk that should disgust all refined tastes and ordinarily
intelligent minds, it is the farrago of trivialities that makes
the daily staple of conversation in some of our English homes.
As a proof that I do not exaggerate, let any one refrain for
four-and-twenty hours from dealing with such ‘small beer,’ and
observe how great a difficulty he will experience in discovering
subjects for conversation. This shows how injurious the habit is.
We feed so long on infant’s food that we can digest nothing more
substantial. Our small talk resembles a hand-organ, which is set to
a certain number of airs, and grinds through these with monotonous
regularity.

“I have dwelt at some length on this subject, because it seems to
me of great importance. The whole tone of society would be raised
if we could raise its conversational standard; if we could lift
it from very small talk to small talk and thence to conversation.
Women especially may help toward a satisfactory result, for at
present women are the great manufacturers of very small talk. Let
them rise to the measure of their duties; men will soon follow
their example, and we shall live to see the end of the very
small-talk era.

“In certain ‘Hints upon Etiquette,’ by Αγωγος, published nearly
half a century ago, but characterized by a good sense that must
always render them valuable, I find a wise caution in reference
to ‘talking shop,’ which I may add to my own emphatic warning
against this particularly disagreeable custom. ‘There are few
things,’ he says, ‘that display worse taste than the introduction
of professional topics in general conversation, especially if
there be ladies present; the minds of those men must be miserably
ill-stored who cannot find other subjects for conversation than
their own professions. Who has not felt this on having been
compelled to listen to “clerical slang,” musty college jokes,
and anecdotes divested of all interest beyond the atmosphere of
a university; or “law-jokes,” with “good stories” of “learned
counsel;” “long yarns,” or the equally tiresome muster-roll of “our
regiment”--colonels _dead_, maimed majors retired on pensions,
subs lost or “exchanged,” gravitating between Boulogne and the
“Bankruptcy Court”?

“‘All such exclusive topics are signs either of a limited
intellect or the most lamentable ignorance.’ They are signs, too,
of exceedingly bad breeding; for the introduction of a topic on
which no one can discourse but the speaker necessarily chokes out
the life of a conversation, and for the lively talk of the many
substitutes a dreary monologue. They imply an almost supernatural
egotism, as if the speaker believed that all the world must
perforce be interested in whatever concerns _him_. Needless to say
that these remarks do not apply to the case of an acknowledged
‘expert’ whose opinion has been invited on the questions that of
right fall within his special province. Now, as a rule, society
cares nothing for the individual; and there can be no greater
error than for a man to put forward in conversation his individual
tastes, opinions, views, unless he has attained to a position that
entitles him to speak as one having authority. And even then what
he says should be general in tone and application, with as little
allusion as possible to himself. Nor should he suffer his remarks
to assume the form and proportions of an oration, lest his hearers,
in spite of themselves, betray their weariness. A St. Paul may
preach, and yet Eutychus fall asleep! In spite of his reputation
as the Aristarchus of his day, Samuel Johnson could irritate his
hearers into administering a rebuke to his verbosity.

“The colloquial inferiority of the present generation is attributed
by Mr. Hannay purely to the action of the press. Newspapers,
novels, magazines, reviews, he says, gather up the intellectual
elements of our life like so many electric machines, drawing
electricity from the atmosphere into themselves. Everything,
he adds, is recorded and discussed in print, and subjects have
lost their freshness long before friends have assembled for the
evening. And he concludes: ‘Where there _is_ talk of a superior
character, it appears to affect the epigrammatic form; and this is
an unhealthy sign. If there were no other objection, how rarely can
it avoid that appearance of self-consciousness and effort that is
fatal to all elegance and ease.’

“Topics of conversation are not far to seek in these active days
of ours, when the thoughts of men are widened by the process
of the suns. The current history of the time--the last drama
or opera or newest book, the scene of war--and there is always
war somewhere--the last device of some scrupulously great or
greatly unscrupulous statesman, the latest exploit of swimmer or
mountain-climber, the last invention--these, and similar themes,
will call forth and maintain an agreeable discussion.

“You must learn to express yourself with conciseness and accuracy,
and, if possible, with a happy turn of expression that, though
it will not be wit, will sound witty. Your talk should not be in
epigrams, yet should it be epigrammatic. Around the dinner-table,
elaborate criticism or argument, pathos or profundity would be out
of place. You are not to soliloquize like Hamlet, but to bandy
light speeches and sharp sayings like Mercutio. Of course you
will avoid bitterness; there must be no vinegar, but a touch of
lemon-juice will flavor the mixture.

“The epigrammatic is a valuable element, but should never
predominate, since good conversation flows from a happy union
of all the powers. To approximate to this, a certain amount of
painstaking is necessary; and, though artifice is detestable, we
must submit, that talk may be as legitimately made a subject of
care and thought as any other part of a man’s humanity, and that it
is ridiculous to send your mind abroad in a state of slovenliness
while you bestow on your body the most refined care.

“I would establish but one great rule in conversation,” said
Richard Steele, “which is this, that men should not talk to please
themselves, but to please those that hear them. This would make
them consider whether what they speak be worth hearing; whether
there be either wit or sense in what they are about to say, and
whether it be adapted to the time when, the place where, and the
person to whom it is spoken.

“Conversation is a reflex of character. The envious, the
pretentious, the impatient, the illiterate, will as surely
betray their idiosyncrasies in conversation as the modest, the
even-tempered, and the generous. Strive as we may, we cannot always
be acting.

“Let us, therefore, cultivate a tone of mind and a habit of life,
the betrayal of which need not put us to shame in any company; the
rest will be easy.

“If we make ourselves worthy of refined and intelligent society, we
shall not be rejected from it; and in such society we shall acquire
by example all that we have failed to learn by precept.

“There is a certain distinct but subdued tone of voice that is
peculiar to persons of the best breeding. It is better to err by
the use of too low than of too loud a tone.

“A half opened mouth, a smile ready to overflow at any moment into
a laugh, a vacant stare, a wandering eye, are all evidences of
ill-breeding.

“Next to unexceptional diction, correct pronunciation, distinct
enunciation, and a frank, self-controlled bearing, it is necessary
to be genial. Do not go into society unless you can make up your
mind to be cheerful, sympathetic, animating as well as animated.”

Of the late George Eliot, who was one of the most agreeable talkers
of her time, some one has said: “She had one rare characteristic
that gave a peculiar charm to her conversation. She had no petty
egotism, no spirit of contradiction; she never talked for effect. A
happy thought, well expressed, filled her with delight; in a moment
she would seize the thought and improve upon it, so that common
people felt themselves wise in her presence, and perhaps years
after she would remind them, to their pride and surprise, of the
good things they had said.”

Avoid slang as you would the plague. It is a great mistake to
suppose that slang is in any way a substitute for wit. It is
always low, generally coarse, and not unfrequently foolish. With
the exception of _cant_, there is nothing that is more to be
shunned. We sometimes meet with persons of considerable culture
that interlard their talk with slang expressions, but it is safe to
assert that they are always persons of coarse natures.

“Eschew everything that savors of the irreverent, and, as you
love me, let not your tongue give way to slang! The slang of the
æsthetic disciple of sweetness and light--the slang of the new
school of erotic poets--the slang of the art-critic--the slang of
the studios--the slang of the green room--the slang of Mayfair--and
the slang of the Haymarket; shun each and all as you would flee
from the shield of Medusa! Plain English and pure, from the well
undefiled of the best writers and speakers--let that be the
vehicle in which your opinions are conveyed, and the plainer and
purer the better.”

Profanity is absolutely incompatible with genuine refinement; it
is always ungentlemanly, and, therefore, to be avoided. If those
men that habitually interlard their talk with oaths could be made
to see how offensive to decency their profanity is, they would,
perhaps, be less profane. Really well-bred men are very careful to
avoid the use of improper language of every description.

      “Immodest words admit of no defence,
      For want of decency is want of sense.”

“It is not easy to perceive,” says Lamont, “what honor or credit is
connected with swearing. It is a low and paltry habit, picked up by
low and paltry spirits who have no sense of honor, no regard for
decency, but are forced to substitute some rhapsody of nonsense to
supply the vacancy of good sense. The vulgarity of the practice can
be equalled only by the vulgarity of those who indulge in it.”

The extent to which some men habitually interlard their talk
with oaths is disgusting even to many that, on occasion, do not
themselves hesitate to give expression to their feelings in oaths
portly and unctuous.

Among the things that are studiously avoided in conversation by
persons of taste is the use of old, threadbare quotations. He
that can’t do better than to repeat such old, threadbare lines as
“Variety is the spice of life,” “Distance lends enchantment to the
view,” “A thing of beauty is a joy forever,” “A rose by any other
name would smell as sweet,” and the like, would appear to better
advantage by remaining silent.

“Sir” and “madam,” or “ma’am,” are far too much used by some
persons in this country, especially in the South. In England
neither “sir” nor “madam” is considered proper, under ordinary
circumstances, except on the lips of inferiors. A man having
occasion to address a lady that is a stranger to him should always
address her as “madam,” never as “miss,” if she has reached the age
of womanhood, in which case courtesy supposes that she has entered
that state that all women should enter as soon as they are fitted
for it.

One of the things that we should be most careful to guard against
in conversation, if we would appear to advantage in the eyes
of persons of the better sort, is undue familiarity. The man
of native refinement, as well as the man of culture, is always
careful to observe--in a greater or less degree, according to
circumstances--the conventionalities that obtain in refined social
intercourse. Perhaps the most repulsive character to be met with is
the youth that seems to think it makes him appear vastly more manly
to Jack, Jim, or Joe his acquaintances, in addressing them, and
to speak of persons that he may, or may not, know in a familiar,
disrespectful manner. To him Mr. Sheridan Short, if he has occasion
to speak of him, is simply “Shed;” Mr. Lester Bullock is simply
“Lester;” Mr. John Guthbert is simply “old John,” and so on. If
this vulgar specimen of “Young America” has a father, he speaks of
him as his “old man,” and middle-aged and elderly men, if they have
grown-up sons, he designates as “old man Burt,” “old man Harrison,”
etc. This kind of youth is always one of those loud-mouthed, guffaw
fellows that think themselves, as the Kentuckian would say, “simply
mountaneous.”

Story-telling in society is something that even those that tell
stories well should indulge in but sparingly. All stories, unless
well told, are tiresome; and then there is always the danger that
to some of those that are compelled to listen they will be a
“twice-told tale.” A serious fault of many story-tellers is that
they themselves cannot refrain from laughing at the humor of their
own anecdotes. All stories should be told clearly and tersely, and
be so managed as to have a marked climax; and if the teller must
laugh at them, he should be sure not to laugh until the climax is
reached. The skilful do not think it incumbent on them to tell
stories just as they hear them. Modifications that they think will
render them more effective they do not hesitate to make.

He that never will confess his ignorance nor admit that he has
erred in judgment publishes his weakness when he thinks he is
concealing it. There are no surer indications of strength than
candor and frankness. Men of sense do not expect to be looked
upon as being all-wise and infallible, and they know that a frank
confession that they are ignorant or have erred, always works to
their advantage; and further, they feel that they are so wise and
are so often right that they can afford to be frank in confessing
their ignorance when they are ignorant and their errors when they
have erred. “A man should never blush in confessing his errors,”
says Rousseau, “for he proves by the avowal that he is wiser to-day
than he was yesterday.”

Relatives and intimate friends should be careful, in their
associations with others, not to make an indiscreet or ungenerous
use of the knowledge they have gained of one another. The wise
man is silent in regard to the weaknesses of those with whom he
stands in close relations. Indeed, there is something generous and
noble in the endeavor to make men think as well of one another as
a regard for truth will permit. The habitual depreciator is one of
the weakest and most unlovable of men.

One of the things we should be most studious to avoid in
conversation is perversity. There are men that seem to think it
their special mission in this world to set others right. Say what
you may, and say it as you may, they will immediately proceed to
show you that you are at least partly, if not wholly, wrong. As
for agreeing with you, they never do, unless, in disagreeing with
a third person, they agree with you accidentally. It is hardly
necessary to say that this perverseness is not a characteristic of
persons of a generous nature or a large understanding. It is the
product of a feeling closely allied to envy, and is peculiar to
men of overweening conceit and inordinate love of adulation. Quite
unconsciously they oftentimes do little else than assail whatever
is advanced by others, solely because they cannot brook the thought
that the attention of the company be diverted from themselves.

The old injunction, “If you cannot speak well of people, speak of
them not at all,” has never yet been heeded by any one, nor should
it be, for it is by exchanging opinions of our acquaintances and by
discussing their faults and weaknesses that we add to our knowledge
of human nature, than which few things are more desirable. “There
are two kinds of gossip,” says an English writer--“the good-humored
and the scandalous--the gossip that touches lightly on faults and
foibles, and amusing incidents and curious contrasts, and the
gossip that peers into the privacy of domestic life, and invents or
misrepresents. The latter no right-thinking person will indulge
in or listen to; the former is the salt of ordinary conversation.
We cannot help taking an interest in our fellows, and there is
no reason why we should not, so long as that interest is not
malignant.”

“Keep clear,” says Dr. John Hall, “of personalities in general
conversation. Talk of things, objects, thoughts. The smallest minds
occupy themselves with persons. Personalities must sometimes be
talked, because we have to learn and find out men’s characteristics
for legitimate objects; but it is to be with confidential persons.
Poor Burns wrote and did many foolish things, but he was wise when
he wrote to a young friend:

      “‘Ay, tell your story free, off-hand,
        When wi’ a bosom crony;
      But still keep something to yoursel’
        You’ll scarcely tell to ony.’

“Do not needlessly report ill of others. There are times when we
are compelled to say, ‘I do not think Bouncer a true and honest
man.’ But when there is no need to express an opinion, let poor
Bouncer swagger away. Others will take his measure, no doubt,
and save you the trouble of analyzing him and instructing them.
And as far as possible dwell on the good side of human beings.
There are family-boards where a constant process of depreciating,
assigning motives and cutting up character goes forward. They are
not pleasant places. One who is healthy does not wish to dine at a
dissecting-table. There is evil enough in men, God knows. But it is
not the mission of every young man and woman to detail and report
it all. Keep the atmosphere as pure as possible, and fragrant with
gentleness and charity.”

Persons of kindly natures take pleasure in repeating the pleasant
things they hear one acquaintance say of another; on the other
hand, persons of an envious, jealous nature repeat the unpleasant
thing they hear, or nothing. There is nothing that does more to
promote kindly feeling than the repeating of pleasant things.

Never say, “It is my opinion,” or “I believe,” or “I
think”--expressions that differ but little in meaning--when you are
not thoroughly acquainted with the matter. In a matter of which
a man has no knowledge he can have no _opinion_; he can, at the
most, have an _impression_. Say, therefore, when speaking of a
matter of which you know little or nothing, if you would talk like
a man of sense, “My impression is,” or “from the little I know of
the matter, my impression is,” or “I know only enough of the matter
to allow myself an impression, and that is,” or something of the
sort. Men that are always ready with their “opinion” generally have
no _opinions_ of anything.

“There is a kind of pin-feather gentility,” says “The Verbalist,”
“that seems to have a settled aversion to using the terms _man_ and
_woman_. Well-bred men, men of culture and refinement--gentlemen,
in short--use the terms _lady_ and _gentleman_ comparatively
little, and they are especially careful not to call themselves
_gentlemen_ when they can avoid it. A gentleman, for example,
does not say, ‘I, with some _other_ gentlemen, went,’ etc.; he is
careful to leave out the word _other_. The men that use these terms
most, and especially those that lose no opportunity to proclaim
themselves _gentlemen_, belong to that class of men that cock their
hats on one side of their heads, and often wear them when and
where gentlemen would remove them; that pride themselves on their
familiarity with the latest slang; that proclaim their independence
by showing the least possible consideration for others; that laugh
long and loud at their own wit; that wear a profusion of cheap
jewelry, use bad grammar, and interlard their talk with big oaths.”

“Socially, the term _gentleman_,” says the London periodical, _All
the Year Round_, “has become almost vulgar. It is certainly less
employed by gentlemen than by inferior persons. The one speaks
of ‘a man I know,’ the other of ‘a gentleman I know.’ Again, as
regards the term _lady_. It is quite in accordance with the usages
of society to speak of your acquaintance the duchess as ‘a very
nice person.’ People who say ‘a very nice lady’ are not generally
of a social class that has much to do with duchesses.”

“The terms _lady_ and _gentleman_,” says the London _Queen_,
“become in themselves vulgar when misapplied, and the improper
application of the wrong term at the wrong time makes all the
difference in the world to ears polite.”

“Bashfulness,” says Bacon, “is a great hindrance to a man both of
uttering his conceit and understanding what is propounded unto
him; wherefore it is good to press himself forward with discretion
both in speech and company of the better sort.”

“Shyness,” says a modern writer, “cramps every motion, clogs every
word. The only way to overcome the fault is to mix constantly in
society, and the habitual intercourse with others will give you the
ease of manner that shyness destroys.”

“In all kinds of speech,” says Bacon, “either pleasant, grave,
severe, or ordinary, it is convenient to speak rather slowly than
hastily; because hasty speech confounds the memory, and oftentimes
drives a man either to a nonplus or unseemly stammering upon what
should follow; whereas a slow speech confirmeth the memory, addeth
a conceit of wisdom to the hearers, besides a seemliness of speech
and countenance.”

The man of real dignity, of real intellectual strength, never
hesitates to establish a sort of friendly relation with his
servants and subordinates. If you see a man going about with a
“ramrod down his back,” looking over the heads of his servants and
subordinates, you may be sure that he knows just enough to know
that his dignity is a nurseling and needs his constant attention.

Be not in haste to take offence; be sure first that an indignity
is intended. He that calls you hard names, if they are unmerited,
is beneath your resentment; if merited, you have no right to
complain. In either case, nine times in ten, the better course is
to say little and go your way. A well-bred man seldom if ever feels
justified in indulging in recrimination. Altercations are as much
to be avoided as personal encounters.

It often requires more courage to avoid a quarrel than to engage in
one, and then the courage that keeps one out of a quarrel is the
courage of the philosopher, while the courage that leads one into a
quarrel is the courage of the bully. He that boasts of his prowess
is a blackguard.

Steer wide of the stupid habit many persons get into of repeating
questions that are asked them, and of asking others to repeat what
they have said. If you take the trouble to observe, you will find
your experience with these people to be something like this: “Will
this street take me into Chatham Square?” “Chatham Square, did you
say?” You go into a men’s furnishing store and ask: “Will you show
me some sixteen-inch collars?” “Sixteen inch, did you say?” You ask
an acquaintance: “How long have you been in New York?” “How long
have I been in New York, did you say?” or, “Which do you think the
prettier of the two?” “Which do I think the prettier?” or, “I think
it will be warmer to-morrow.” “What did you say?” or, “Patti was
ill and did not sing last evening.” “What do you say, Patti didn’t
sing?” “When do you expect to break yourself of the habit of asking
me to repeat everything I say, or of repeating everything over
after me?” “When do I expect to break myself of the habit?” If you
think you have been understood, all you have to do, as a rule, is
to keep silent and look your interlocutor full in the face for a
moment to be made sure of it.

There is a kind of comparatively harmless gossip that some men
indulge in, that makes them appear very diminutive in the eyes of
men of the world. I refer to the habit some men have of making what
may chance to come to their knowledge of other people’s affairs and
movements the subject of conversation. Though there is generally
nothing malicious in the gabble of these busybodies, it sometimes
causes a deal of unpleasantness. Men whose ambition it is to appear
knowing, _know_, if they did but know it, far less than their
discreet-mouthed neighbors.

All writers on the amenities of conversation agree that the
discussion of politics and religion should be excluded from
general society, for the reason that such discussions are very
liable to end unpleasantly. Yet this would never be the case, if
we were sufficiently philosophic to reflect that we are all what
circumstances have made us, and that we, with only now and then an
exception, should be of the same opinions as our neighbors had we
been reared under like influences. When we censure another for his
way of thinking, if we did but know it, we find fault not with him,
but with the surroundings amid which he has grown up. There are
but very few men in the world that have opinions that are really
their own, _i.e._, that are the product of their own, independent
judgment. Most men simply echo the opinions that have chanced to
fall to their lot, and had other opinions chanced to fall to their
lot--though directly opposed to those they now entertain--they
would, in like manner, have echoed them--have fought for them, if
occasion offered. But as there are very few of us that are not
swayed by prejudice rather than guided by philosophy, politics and
religion are, and are pretty sure to remain, dangerous topics to
introduce into the social circle, and that, too, for the simple
reason, as already intimated, that they are subjects upon which
people generally feel so deeply that they cannot discuss them
calmly, courteously, and rationally.

We sometimes meet with persons that lose no opportunity to say
sharp things--things that wound. They are occasionally persons of
some wit, but they are never persons of any wisdom, or they would
not do what is sure to make them many enemies. Good manners without
kindliness is impossible.

Persons of the best fashion avoid expressing themselves in the
extravagant. They leave inflation to their inferiors, with many
of whom nothing short of the superlative will suffice. From them
we hear such expressions as “awfully nice,” “beastly ugly,”
“horridly stuck up,” “frightfully cold,” “simply magnificent,”
and “just divine,” while persons of better culture, to express
the same thoughts, content themselves with “very pretty,” “very
plain,” “rather haughty,” “very cold,” “excellent,” and the
like. Intemperance in the use of language, like intemperance in
everything else, is vulgar.




CALLS AND CARDS.

                              Custom is a law
      As high as heaven, as wide as seas or land.
                                 --LANSDOWNE.


An English authority tells us that the chief things to be
considered in making calls are the occasions and the hours. Between
friends there is little need of ceremony in the matter, as a
friendly visit may be made at almost any time and on almost any
occasion.

A man that can command his time may make ceremonious calls, in
most of the large cities, at any hour between two and five in the
afternoon, and the man that has not the leisure to call during the
afternoon may make calls in the evening after half past eight. The
careless, ignorant, or over-eager sometimes call earlier, for fear
the lady may be out; but this is not considered good usage.

Calls may be divided into three classes:

1. Visits of ceremony.

2. Visits of congratulation or sympathy.

3. General calls.

Ceremonious calls are those made to present letters of
introduction, or after dinners, parties, or balls.

In calling to present a letter of introduction, the caller does not
go in, but simply leaves the letter, with his card and address.

In returning a call made with a letter of introduction, the caller
must go in, if the person on whom he calls is at home.

If your letter of introduction is for a special purpose--which
purpose should be mentioned in the letter--you will send it in with
your card, and ask for an interview.

In giving letters of introduction, you take a great responsibility.
You should, therefore, give them only to persons that have your
entire confidence and for whom you are willing to be responsible.
They should be left open, in order that their bearers may acquaint
themselves with their contents.

A call should be made within a week after balls, dancing parties,
or dinners to which you have been invited, whether you accepted or
not. Such calls, some one has said, should resemble wit in their
brevity, not exceeding the length of a reasonable sermon--say
twenty or thirty minutes at the most.

If during your call another visitor should arrive, you should not
appear to shun him, but should wait two or three minutes, and join
in the conversation before you take leave. Persons that out-sit two
or three callers, unless there is some special reason for their
doing so, are in danger of being called bores, who are persons that
have not sufficient tact to know when they should take leave.

It is often no easy matter either to know when to take leave or how
to take leave gracefully. As a rule, avoid all such observations
as, “Well, I think it is time for me to be going,” and do not
look at your watch. The best way to make one’s exit, whether
the conversation has begun to flag or not, is to say something
effective, as Pelham was wont to do, and withdraw immediately
thereafter. Above all, do not prolong your leave-taking. When you
start to go, go. Interminable leave-takers are very tiresome.

A man should never offer to shake hands with persons on whom he
calls. If, however, those on whom a man calls offer him their hands
when he arrives, he may offer them his hand when he takes leave;
but this is by no means necessary.

A man, in making calls, should always carry his hat into the
drawing-room. He may carry his cane also into the drawing-room, if
he chooses to do so, but there is no special reason why he should.
The carrying of one’s hat is sufficient intimation that one has
not come to remain. Authorities differ with regard to what a man
shall do with his hat when he gets into the drawing-room. One
English authority says: “The hat should never be laid on a table,
pianoforte, or any article of furniture, but must be held properly
in the hand. If you are compelled to lay it aside, put it on the
floor.” Another English authority says: “A gentleman holds his hat
until he has seen the mistress of the house and shaken hands with
her. He would then either place it on a chair or table near at
hand, or hold it in his hand until he took leave.” Men of sense
and a little independence will do as they please. What objection
can there be to a man’s putting his hat on a chair, a table, or a
piano? In making short calls, a man should hold his hat, unless he
should want to use both hands for some other purpose.

But whether it is permissible or not for a man to put his hat on
some article of furniture, it is certain that if he carries hat and
cane into the drawing-room, he should put them down somewhere, or
hold them still, and not betray his _gaucherie_ by flourishing the
one or twirling the other.

A man should never say, “Excuse my glove,” nor, if he is neatly
gloved, should he remove his glove to shake hands with any one.

Never take a seat on a sofa, unless invited to do so; nor in
an arm-chair, uninvited, unless there are several in the room
unoccupied; nor is it permissible to leave your chair to get nearer
the fire.

A gentleman should, generally, rise when a lady enters the
drawing-room, and remain standing till she is seated; and, though
a stranger, he should place a chair for her, if there is not one
convenient; but not his own, if there is another at hand.

A gentleman should also generally rise if a lady leaves the
drawing-room, and remain standing until she has passed out.

Never take any one to call on ladies of your acquaintance before
asking their permission to do so.

When going to spend the evening with a friend that you visit often,
it is quite proper that you should leave your hat in the hall.

Never take a dog into a drawing-room when you make a call. For many
reasons a visitor has no right to inflict the society of his dog on
his acquaintance.

A gentleman that is invited by a lady to call cannot, without
showing a want of courtesy, neglect to pay her a call within a week
or ten days.

Visits of condolence are paid within a week, or ten days at most,
after the event that occasions them. Personal visits of this kind
are made only by relatives and intimate friends, who should be
careful to make the conversation as little painful as possible.

In paying visits of congratulation, you should always go in, and be
hearty in your congratulations.

“There are many great men,” says “The Man in the Club-Window,”
“who go unrewarded for the services they render humanity. Nay,
even their names are lost, while we daily bless their inventions.
One of these is he, if it was not a woman, who introduced the use
of visiting-cards. In days of yore a slate or a book was kept,
and you wrote your name on it. But then that could be done only
when your acquaintance was ‘not at home.’ To the French is due the
practice of making the delivery of a card serve the purpose of
the appearance of the person, and with those who may have a large
acquaintance this custom is becoming very common in large towns.”

The fashion of cards as to size, material, style of engraving,
and the mode of using them, is very variable. Visiting-cards, at
present, should be small, and printed on fine, thin bristol-board,
in Italian script without any flourishes. The address in the
right-hand corner, and if a member of a club, the name of the club
in the left-hand corner. Glazed cards, fac-similes and ornamental
styles of letters are entirely out of fashion.

The black borders of mourning cards vary in width according to
circumstances, the maximum width being three eighths of an inch,
which is denominated “extra extra wide.”

Nearly all New York men have “Mr.” on their cards, and yet in
England, where the custom originated, according to two authorities
before me, the practice is going out of fashion. One of them says:
“Some gentlemen and unmarried ladies have adopted the continental
custom of omitting the ‘Mr.’ and ‘Miss’ upon their cards; as

    _Alfred John Majoribanks_;

or

    _Lucy Carrington_.

And the fashion is a good one.”

Another English writer says: “To have ‘Francis Smith’ printed on
the card without the prefix ‘Mr.’ would be a glaring solecism, and
in the worst possible taste.” The writers are both “members of the
aristocracy.”

Military or professional titles take the place of the “Mr.,” as,
“Captain John Smith,” “Colonel John Smith,” “Rev. John Smith,” “Dr.
John Smith,” etc.

“Visiting-cards _can under no circumstances_ be sent by post; to do
so would betray the greatest ignorance of what is done in society.
Cards must be left in person,” says an English writer.

“It is for this ceremonious card-leaving that it is now proposed
to send the cards by post, which sensible people in England are
advocating, as well as sensible people here,” says an American
writer.

The turning-down of the corner or the end of a card signifies that
the owner left it in person. It is better usage, because more
recent, to turn the end. In countries where great importance is
attached to such little things, even those that send their cards
by servants turn them across one end--usually the right end--as if
they had left them in person.

Cards left on New Year’s Day, or on any other reception day, simply
for the purpose of refreshing the memory of the hostess, are never
turned down.

Usage in these matters varies not only in different countries, but
often in the different large cities of the same country. Persons
that are not sure that they are thoroughly informed should inquire.

On reception days the caller must go in; the simple leaving of his
card on those days does not suffice.

P. P. C. cards are the only cards that it is universally considered
permissible to send by post.

To return a call, made in person, with cards inclosed in an
envelope is an intimation that the sender is not desirous to
continue the acquaintance.

“As regards leaving cards upon _new_ acquaintances,” says the
English authority already quoted, “a gentleman may not leave a card
upon a married lady, or the mistress of a house, to whom he has
been introduced, however gracious or agreeable she may have been,
unless she expressly asks him to call, or gives him to understand
in an unmistakable manner that his doing so would be agreeable
to her. This rule holds good, whether the introduction has taken
place at a dinner-party, at a ball, at an ‘at home,’ at a country
gathering, or elsewhere; he would not be authorized in leaving his
card on her on such slight acquaintanceship; as, if she desired his
further acquaintance, she would make some polite allusion to his
calling at her house, such as, ‘I hope we shall see you when we are
in town this season,’ or, ‘I am always at home at five o’clock, if
you like to come to see us.’ If a woman of the world she would use
some such formula, but would not use a direct one, in which case
he would leave his card on her as soon afterward as convenient, and
he would also leave a card for the master of the house, the lady’s
husband or father, as the case might be, even if he had not made
his acquaintance when making that of the lady.

“A gentleman may not under any circumstances leave his card on
a young lady to whom he has been introduced, unless her mother,
chaperone, or the lady under whose care she is for the time, gives
him the opportunity of furthering the acquaintance in the manner we
have just indicated. The young lady must not take the initiative
herself, but must leave it to her mother or chaperone to do so.
It would be considered ‘ill-bred’ were a gentleman to ask, ‘if he
might have the pleasure of calling,’ etc.”

But in America, according to the author of “Social Etiquette of
New York,” a young man may proceed quite differently. She says:
“After a gentleman has been introduced to a lady, he may be in
doubt whether the acquaintance will prove agreeable to her. He may
be too delicate to give her the unpleasantness of refusing him
permission to call on her, should he beg such an honor. Therefore,
if he covet her acquaintance, he leaves his card at her residence,
and her mother or chaperone will send an invitation to him to visit
the family, or, perhaps, to be present at an entertainment, after
which it is his duty to call and pay his respects. If the list of
acquaintance be already too extensive, no notice need be taken
of the card, and he will wait for a recognition from the ladies
of the household when they meet again. If the acquaintance be
really desirable, a prompt acknowledgment of his desire to become
acquainted is admitted in some refined and acceptable form.

“A gentleman,” says the same writer, “will always promptly accept
or decline an invitation to anything. It was once an unsettled
question whether or not receptions, kettledrums, and the like
gatherings, required the formality of a reply. That vague doubt is
terminated. _Every invitation should be answered_, and then there
can be no misunderstanding.”

Gentlemen, in making formal calls, ask if “the ladies are at home.”
If they are not, some men leave a card for each, while others
leave one card only, which, it would seem, should suffice.

If a gentleman calls on a young lady that is the guest of a lady he
does not know, he will, nevertheless, ask to see her hostess.

If a gentleman receives an invitation from a new acquaintance,
he should leave his card on host and hostess the day after the
entertainment, whether he was present or not.

Rules with regard to card-leaving have little or no significance
among intimate friends.




ODDS AND ENDS.

  Manners are what vex or soothe, corrupt or purify, exalt or
  debase, barbarize or refine us, by a constant, steady, uniform,
  insensible operation, like that of the air we breathe in.--BURKE.


DESIRE and fear are the two great springs of human effort. Every
fear supposes an evil; every desire a good. What are the real
evils and the real goods? What are the means by which these may be
obtained and those avoided? This research is the principal object
of philosophy, which, without excluding any truth, has man for its
study and wisdom for its object, and may be called the “Art of
Living.” The other arts have but a momentary utility; the utility
of this one is constant. It is of every country, of every age, of
every condition. There is not a moment of our lives when it may not
serve as a guide by pointing to the duties we should perform, the
pleasures we may taste, the dangers we should shun.


ANGER is the delirium of offended pride. It is rarely useful, and
one of these brief paroxysms of folly may embitter one’s whole
life. He that contends for his rights without losing his temper
is not only more dignified, but is also more effective than he
that loses it. To get angry with an inferior is degrading; with an
equal, dangerous; with a superior, ridiculous, while toward all
there is danger of being unjust. Few things are more impressive
than to see calmness opposed to violence, refinement to vulgarity,
or decorum to ruffianism.


“THE late Douglass Jerrold likened civility to an
air-cushion--possessing no tangible substance, yet serving to ease
the jolts we encounter in our journeying through life. To say that
a person is civil does not imply that he is agreeable, yet civility
is the next step to being agreeable. Some persons pride themselves
on being brusque or boorish, and it is well to let such have a wide
berth in which to exercise their peculiarities. While wonders may
be accomplished in being civil and agreeable, nothing can be gained
by incivility. It is the manners that make the man or the woman.
The presence of an agreeable person is like a ray of sunshine that
warms and halos everything on which it falls, while a disagreeable
fellow will chill the pleasantest company ever assembled; and it
is one of those mysteries that can never be solved why they are
permitted to flourish and have their venomous existence, unless
they are to be considered as checks to prevent us from a surfeit of
happiness in this world.”


INTELLECTUAL is more frequent than physical short-sightedness,
and nothing is more frequent than for the important and the true
to escape the vision of the vulgar. It is not a Socrates and his
wisdom that are honored with a great following, but a Mahomet and
his ignorance that establish a sect that numbers an eighth of the
population of the globe. It is not the laws of the profound and
magnanimous Lycurgus that have come down to us, but those of the
pedant Theodosius and the cruel Justinian. If a truth comes down to
us from heaven, it does wisely to first appear in the habiliments
of folly in order to guard against being at first taken for an
error.


“ALWAYS suspect a man that affects great softness of manner, an
unruffled evenness of temper, and an enunciation studied, low,
and deliberate. These things are all unnatural, and bespeak a
degree of mental discipline into which he that has no purposes of
craft or design to answer cannot submit to drill himself. The most
successful knaves are usually of this description, as smooth as
razors dipped in oil and as sharp. They affect the innocence of
the dove, which they have not, in order to hide the cunning of the
serpent, which they have.”


TO the vulgar, the most sublime truths are only prejudices because
they accept them as they accept error--without examination. What is
more humiliating to contemplate than the universality of opinion
and of faith in the same community! We find a whole people, with
few exceptions, of one way of thinking, and a little farther
on, another people with directly opposite ideas, while each are
equally convinced of the correctness of their views. There is not a
ridiculous custom, an absurd opinion, or an inhuman atrocity that,
in one century or another, has not had the sanction of the law and
the approbation of the public. If it is the custom to worship
certain animals or plants, as among the ancient Egyptians, for
example--among whom, however, this worship was only symbolic--the
whole nation prostrate themselves before them, and pronounce
those that differ from them heathen dogs or impious barbarians.
This clearly demonstrates that he that follows the dictates of
conscience--a thing always of cultivation--may follow one of the
worst of guides. When among the Greeks and the Carthaginians,
and among nearly all the people of the North, they sacrificed
human victims to the gods Orus, Agrolos, Kronos, Molock, Thor
and Woden; when their altars ran with the blood of innocence, a
mother sacrificing her son, a son his father; or when, in nearer
times, one neighbor butchered another, one brother another, it
was the dictates of conscience that they followed. But we need
not go to history for evidence of the insufficiency of conscience
as a guide; we have only to look about us. Truth and justice are
always the same, and are always within the reach of reason, while
conscience varies to infinity. It is one in Vienna and another in
Constantinople, one in New York and another in the city of Mexico,
one at Dover and another across the Channel at Calais. _The highest
intelligence examines before it accepts, and rejects all that is
opposed to reason._


“NEVER show that you feel a slight. This is worldly wise as well
as Christian, for no one but a mean person will put a slight on
another, and such a person always profoundly respects the one who
is unconscious of his feeble spite. Never resent publicly a lack
of courtesy; it is in the worst taste. What you do privately about
dropping such an acquaintance must be left to yourself. To a person
of a noble mind the contests of society must ever seem poor and
frivolous as they think of these narrow enmities and low political
manœuvres, but we know that they exist, and that we must meet them.
Temper, detraction and small spite are as vulgar on a Turkey carpet
and in a palace as they are in a tenement house; nay, worse, for
the educated contestants know better. Never show a factious or
peremptory irritability in small things. Be patient if a friend
keeps you waiting. Bear, as long as you can, heat or a draught
rather than make others uncomfortable. Do not be fussy about your
supposed rights; yield a disputed point of precedence. All society
has to be made up of these concessions; they are your unnumbered
friends in the long run. We are not always wrong when we quarrel;
but if we meet our deadliest foe at a friend’s house we are bound
to treat him with perfect civility. That is neutral ground. Burke
said that manners were more important than laws.”


MODESTY is an admirable thing for a man to have, in appearance; a
questionable thing for him to have, in fact. That that most tends
to make men modest is the recollection of the stupid things they
have done and said.


“AS learning and honor,” says Chesterfield, “are necessary to
gain you the esteem and admiration of mankind, so politeness and
good breeding are necessary to make you welcome in society. Great
talents are above the generality of the world, who neither possess
them themselves nor judge of them rightly in others; but all are
judges of civility and an obliging manner.”


“GOOD sense must, in many cases, determine good breeding; because
the same thing that would be civil at one time and to one person,
may be quite otherwise at another time and to another person.”


THERE is no surer sign of vulgarity than the discourteous treatment
of those below us in the social scale. Let your manner toward
servants be gentle and courteous, but not unduly familiar. Ask
rather than command. It is better to inspire love than fear. The
master that is beloved is better served than the master that is
feared. The world over, the members of the old aristocracy are more
popular--because they are more affable--with the lower orders, than
are the newly rich.


AVOID eccentricities. They are sure indications of weakness, of
vanity, and of a badly balanced brain. Do as other people do, dress
as other people dress, and in all things conform to established
usages. Yet while we bear in mind that whatever is _outré_ is
vulgar, we should also bear in mind that blind obedience to the
mandates of fashion is repulsive.


WE occasionally meet with persons that pride themselves on their
candor and their frankness. Upon a nearer acquaintance we generally
discover that the candor of which they boast is but an exhibition
of their egotism, and that their frankness is what considerate
people call rudeness.


“HOW often a bitter speech that has caused keen pain to the hearer
has been followed by such words as these, as if in justification
of the unkindness shown: ‘I’m a plain, blunt person, and I have
to speak out just what I think. People must take me as the Lord
made me.’ Anything meaner than such an attempt to throw the
responsibility for one’s ugliness of temper off on the Lord it
would be hard to imagine. Frankness of speech is one thing, but
harshness is a very different thing. The Lord never endowed any
man with such a disposition or put him in such circumstances that
he was obliged to make stinging, cruel remarks. Some men have
more difficulty than others in being sweet-tempered and kindly
spoken, but when one fails it is his own fault. The very attempt
to justify harshness in such words as we have quoted is evidence
of an uncomfortable consciousness of guilt, and proves that the
speaker does not believe what he says. Let the repulsiveness of
such utterances when we hear them teach us how they seem to others
when we make them.”


AS it is not possible always to avoid being either too ceremonious
or too familiar, our greatest care should be not to err on the side
of familiarity, which, the old proverb truthfully says, breeds
contempt.


HE that domineers over and insults those below him is sure to
cringe and truckle to those above him.


IN most things it is well to follow the fashion, but in all things
it is ill to follow the fashion without discretion. The man that
allows other people to think for him in small things is incapable
of thinking for himself in great ones.


“ALL ceremonies,” says Chesterfield, “are in themselves very
silly things; yet a man of the world must know them. They are the
outworks of manners, which would too often be broken in upon if
it were not for that defence that keeps the enemy at a proper
distance. For that reason I always treat fools and coxcombs with
great ceremony, true good breeding not being a sufficient barrier
against them.”


THE hearths of tyrannical, bullying fathers and of scolding,
complaining mothers are always the scenes of continual bickerings.
There, there is never union but ever disunion. If, in such
families, there exists any affection among their members, there is
no show of it.


IF you are a father, be the companion of your children, not their
drill-master. If their love for you does not suffice to induce them
to do your bidding, the fault is yours, not theirs. Your wishes
should be their law, and they will be, if it has been your habit to
affectionately appeal to their reason, to their sense of right--in
short, to their nobler instincts.


NOT only right thinking men, but wrong thinking men that are
sensible, are prompt in the keeping of their engagements, whether
of business or of pleasure.


BE slow to make promises, but having made a promise do your
uttermost to keep your word. Every time another breaks his word
with you, resolve anew never to fail to keep yours. Bad examples
tend either to demoralize or to elevate. They elevate those in whom
the good naturally predominates.


MEN of sense are often looked upon as being conceited for no other
reason than that the fools know they look upon them as being so
many donkeys.


THERE are many ignoble, foolish, unbred men in the world whose
policy is so shortsighted that they continually bow to place rather
than to worth. They forget that he that is up to-day may be down
to-morrow, and that no man is so insignificant that he is powerless
to do them good or harm. Such men have not even the politeness of
enlightened selfishness.


LITTLE men in authority, as a rule, are on the look-out for small
occasions on which to show their importance, while in matters of
any magnitude they readily yield the lead to others.


THE man of sense never does anything simply for flourish, to show
off, for “splurge.” He never makes presents to any one that he
cannot abundantly afford to make. He never goes to any expense
that his means do not justify. He assumes that those with whom he
associates, that he entertains, that he extends civilities to are
sensible people, and he remembers that sensible people always look
upon every kind of ostentation as vulgar.


A RECENT writer on the amenities of social intercourse says: “Don’t
say ‘Miss Susan’ or ‘Miss Mary.’ This strictly is permissible with
servants only. Address young ladies by their surname, with prefix
of _Miss_, except when in a family of sisters a distinction must
be made, and then give the name in full.” On this injunction, the
breezy little St. Louis _Spectator_ comments, with as much sense as
humor, essentially, thus: “I think that such a rule of etiquette
as this is rather Utopian when one considers the impossibility of
its practical enforcement. Suppose, for instance, that Mr. Blank
is playing whist with three sisters of the Turtletack family, when
suddenly Miss Sempronia Turtletack asks:

“‘What led the last time round?’

“‘Clubs, Miss Sempronia Turtletack,’ answers Mr. Blank.

“‘Are you sure?’

“‘Quite sure. I led a small club, Miss Theodosia Turtletack
followed suit with a small card, Miss Elvira Turtletack played her
king, and you, Miss Sempronia Turtletack, trumped.’”

It is hardly possible that any such custom as this exists in
any circle of society in any country; but if such a custom does
anywhere exist, it is in a circle so starched and stayed that it
would be difficult for an every-day mortal to breathe in it, and so
stilted and stupid that no sensible mortal would want to breathe in
it.


I GO out of my way to give the following extract wider publicity,
but there is so much in it that many persons would do well to take
to heart, that I cannot resist the temptation to reprint it. I find
it in _Our Continent_, and it is from the facile pen of Mrs. Louise
Chandler Moulton.

“Good breeding, like charity, should begin at home. The days
are past when children used to rise the moment their parents
entered the room where they were and stand until they had received
permission to sit. But the mistake is now made usually in the other
direction of allowing to small boys and girls too much license to
disturb the peace of the household. I think the best way to train
children in courtesy would be to observe toward them a scrupulous
politeness. I would go so far as to say that we should make it
as much a point to listen to children without interrupting them
and to answer them as sincerely and respectfully as if they were
grown up. And indeed many of their wise, quaint sayings are far
better worth listening to than the stereotyped commonplaces of most
morning callers. Of course, to allow uninterrupted chatter would be
to surrender the repose of the household, but it is very easy, if
children are themselves scrupulously respected, to teach them in
turn scrupulously to respect the convenience of others, and to know
when to talk and when to be silent.

“If a child is brought up in the constant exercise of courtesy
toward brothers and sisters and play-mates, as well as toward
parents and uncles and aunts, it will have little left to learn
as it grows older. I know a bright and bewitching little girl who
was well instructed in table etiquette, but who forgot her lessons
sometimes, as even older people do now and then. The arrangement
was made with her that for every solecism of this sort she was to
pay a fine of five cents, while for every similar carelessness
that she could discover in her elders she was to exact a fine of
ten cents, their experience of life being longer than hers. You
may be sure that Mistress Bright Eyes watched the proceedings of
that table very carefully. No slightest disregard of the most
conventional etiquette escaped her quick vision, and she was an
inflexible creditor and a faithful debtor. It was the prettiest
sight to see her, when conscious of some failure on her own part,
go unhesitatingly to her money-box and pay cheerfully her little
tribute to the outraged proprieties.

“The best brought-up family of children I ever knew were educated
on the principle of always commending them when it was possible
to do so, and letting silence be the reproof of any wrong-doing
that was not really serious. I have heard the children of this
household, when their mother had failed to say any word of
commendation after some social occasion, ask as anxiously as
possible, ‘What was it, mamma? I know something was wrong. Didn’t
we treat the other children well, or were we too noisy?’ In that
house reproof was never bestowed unsought--only commendation, of
whatever it was possible to commend, was gratuitous.

“I think this system would be as good for those grown-up children,
the husbands and wives, as for those still in the nursery. I once
asked the late Hepworth Dixon, with whom I happened to be talking
on this subject, what he thought was the reason why some women held
their husbands’ hearts securely and forever, while others were but
the brief tenants of a few months or years. ‘What,’ I asked, ‘is
the quality in a woman that her husband loves longest?’

“‘That she should be a pillow,’ answered Mr. Dixon, and then
meeting the inquiry in my eyes, he went on, ‘Yes, that is what
a man needs in his wife--something to rest his heart on. He has
excitement and opposition enough in the world. He wants to feel
that there is one place where he is sure of sympathy, a place that
will give him ease as a pillow gives it to a tired head. Do you
think a man will be tempted to turn from the woman whose eyes are
his flattering mirror--who heals where others wound?’

“And surely he was right. We are grateful for even a too flattering
faith in us, and if there is any good in us at all, we try to
deserve this faith. But tenderness in the conjugal heart is much
more common than grace in the conjugal manner. Since, however, next
to that supreme good of being satisfied in one’s own conscience is
that second great good of being satisfied in one’s own home, surely
no details of manner that tend to such a result are too slight to
be observed. I believe in making as pretty a toilet to greet the
returning husband as one put on to await the expected sweetheart;
and, when the husband comes, he makes a mistake very fatal to his
own interests if he fails to notice what he would have praised in
other days. It is a trite saying that life is made up of trifles;
but surely the sum of all these domestic trifles amounts to the
difference between happiness and unhappiness.”


IF you are the head of a family, be slow to assert your authority;
remember that about the most disgusting creature on earth is the
domestic tyrant. As we start so we are likely to continue; if a
man starts as a domestic bully, as a domestic bully he is likely
to continue to the end, making himself unhappy and those about him
unhappy his life long. “Half of us find fault from habit; but some
of us, we fear, do so from an inborn ugliness of disposition.”


THE manner of others toward us is usually the reflex of our manner
toward them. As men have howled into the wood so it has ever howled
out.


BENEATH the habitually gentlemanly demeanor of many men--yes,
very many--there lurks a spirit of bullyism that seems to avail
itself of every pretext to appear on the surface. Men that are thus
afflicted are ever ready for an altercation, in order, it would
seem, to show their familiarity with the ways and the peculiar
phraseology of the braggart and brawler. Such men always say that
they are gentlemen, and gentlemen always say that such men are
blackguards.


FORWARDNESS, especially in the youthful, is something to be
carefully guarded against. The man, old or young, whose manner is
forward and “loud” is never a welcome addition to a social circle.
The forward and loud are generally as inane as they are noisy. If
one observes them, one often finds that what they say is but an
elaboration of thoughts already expressed by other members of the
company.


IF forwardness is a thing to be avoided, diffidence is not less
a thing that should be cured. Each is alike proof of a lack of
breeding. Diffidence can be thoroughly cured only by acquiring
the polite accomplishments, of those in whose society one feels
uncomfortable. The boor, unless he is a downright blockhead, never
feels at ease in the society of the cultured.


GOOD manners go far toward supplying the want of good looks. They
constitute the secret of that fascination that we often see exerted
by persons that are not gifted with physical attractions.


MAXIMS of Stephen Allen, Mayor of New York City from 1821 to 1823:

“Never be idle.

“If your hands cannot be usefully employed, attend to the
cultivation of your mind.

“Always speak the truth.

“Make few promises.

“Live up to your engagements.

“Keep your own secrets, if you have any.

“When you speak to a person, look him in the face.

“Good company and good conversation are the very sinews of virtue.

“Good character[A] is above all things else.

“Your character[A] cannot be essentially injured except by your own
acts.

“If any one speaks evil of you, let your life be so that no one
will believe him.

“Drink no kind of intoxicating liquors.

“Ever live, misfortune excepted, within your income.

“When you retire to bed, think over what you have done during the
day.

“Make no haste to be rich.

“Small and steady gains give competency with tranquillity of mind.

“Never play at any game of chance.

“Avoid temptation through fear that you may not withstand it.

“Earn money before you spend it.

“Never run into debt unless you see a way to get out.

“Never borrow if you can possibly avoid it.

“Do not marry until you are able to support a wife.

“Never speak ill of any one.

“Be just before you are generous.

“Keep yourself innocent, if you would be happy.

“Save when you are young, to spend when you are old.

“Read over the above maxims at least once a week.”


IF a man boasts that he could worst you in a set-to, answer that
you think it very likely as you have no experience in fisticuffing;
that you have never struck any one and should hardly know how to
go to work to do it.

If a man threaten to do you bodily harm, ask him if he is in
earnest. If he says he is, run. There is more glory in avoiding a
_mêlée_ by running away than there is in remaining and coming off
the victor.

But--if the devil be on the side of the blackguard and he corners
you, teach him, to the best of your ability, that you are not
really a poltroon, though you are quite willing that bullyism
should think you one.


MR. SPARKS gives us a collection of directions that Washington
called his “Rules of Civility and Decent Behavior in Company.” They
are as follows:

“1. Every action in company ought to be with some sign of respect
to those present.

“2. In the presence of others sing not to yourself with a humming
voice, nor drum with your fingers or feet.

“3. Speak not when others speak; sit not when others stand, and
walk not when others stop.

“4. Turn not your back to others, especially in speaking; jog not
the table or desk on which another writes or reads; lean not on any
one.

“5. Be no flatterer, neither play with any one that delights not to
be played with.

“6. Read no letters, books or papers in company; but when there is
a necessity for doing it, ask leave. Come not near the books or
writings of any one so as to read them unasked; also look not nigh
when another is writing a letter.

“7. Let your countenance be pleasant, but in serious matters
somewhat grave.

“8. Show not yourself glad at the misfortune of another, though he
be your enemy.

“9. They that are in dignity or in office have in all places
precedency; but while they are young, they ought to respect those
that are their equals in birth or other qualities, though they have
no public charge.

“10. It is good manners to prefer those to whom we speak before
ourselves, especially if they be above us, with whom in no sort we
ought to begin.

“11. Let your discourse with men of business be short and
comprehensive.

“12. In visiting the sick do not presently play the physician if
you be not knowing therein.

“13. In writing or speaking give to every person his due title
according to his degree and the custom of the place.

“14. Strive not with your superiors in argument, but always submit
your judgment to others with modesty.

“15. Undertake not to teach your equal in the art he himself
possesses; it savors of arrogancy.

“16. When a man does all he can, though it succeeds not well, blame
not him that did it.

“17. Being constrained to advise or to reprehend any one, consider
whether it should be done in public or in private, presently or at
some other time, also in what terms to do it; and in reproving show
no signs of choler, but do it with sweetness and mildness.

“18. Mock not nor jest at anything of importance; break no jests
that are sharp or biting; and if you deliver anything witty or
pleasant, abstain from laughing thereat yourself.

“19. Wherein you reprove another be unblamable yourself, for
example is ever better than precept.

“20. Use no reproachful language to any one, neither curses nor
revilings.

“21. Be not hasty to believe flying reports to the disparagement of
any one.

“22. In your apparel be modest, and endeavor to accommodate nature
rather than to procure admiration. Keep to the fashion of your
equals, such as are civil and orderly, with respect to time and
place.

“23. Play not the peacock, looking everywhere about you to see if
you are well decked, if your shoes fit well, if your stockings sit
neatly and clothes handsomely.

“24. Associate yourself with men of good quality if you esteem your
own reputation, for it is better to be alone than in bad company.

“25. Let your conversation be without malice or envy, for it is a
sign of a tractable and commendable nature; and in all causes of
passion admit reason to govern.

“26. Be not immodest in urging your friend to discover a secret.

“27. Utter not base and frivolous things among grown and learned
men, nor very difficult questions or subjects among the ignorant,
nor things hard to be believed.

“28. Speak not of doleful things in time of mirth nor at the table;
speak not of melancholy things, as death and wounds; and if others
mention them, change, if you can, the discourse. Tell not your
dreams but to your intimate friends.

“29. Break not a jest when none take pleasure in mirth. Laugh not
aloud, nor at all without occasion. Deride no man’s misfortunes,
though there seem to be some cause.

“30. Speak not injurious words, neither in jest nor in earnest.
Scoff at none, although they give occasion.

“31. Be not forward, but friendly and courteous, the first to
salute, hear and answer, and be not pensive when it is time to
converse.

“32. Detract not from others, but neither be excessive in
commending.

“33. Go not thither where you know not whether you shall be welcome
or not. Give not advice without being asked; and when asked, do it
briefly.

“34. If two contend together, take not the part of either
unconstrained, and be not obstinate in your opinion; in things
indifferent, be of the major side.

“35. Reprehend not the imperfections of others, for that belongs to
masters, parents and superiors.

“36. Gaze not on the marks or blemishes of others, nor ask how
they came. What you may speak in secret to your friend deliver not
before others.

“37. Speak not in an unknown tongue in company, but in your own
language; and that as those of quality do, and not as the vulgar.
Sublime matters treat seriously.

“38. Think before you speak; pronounce not imperfectly, nor bring
out your words too hastily, but orderly and distinctly.

“39. When another speaks, be attentive yourself, and disturb not
the audience. If any hesitate in his words, help him not, nor
answer him till his speech be ended.

“40. Treat with men at fit times about business, and whisper not in
the company of others.

“41. Make no comparisons; and if any of the company be commended
for any brave act of virtue, commend not another for the same.

“42. Be not apt to relate news if you know not the truth thereof.
In discoursing of things you have heard, name not your author
always. A secret discover not.

“43. Be not curious to know the affairs of others, neither approach
to those that speak in private.

“44. Undertake not what you cannot perform. Be careful to keep your
promise.

“45. When you deliver a matter, do it without passion and
indiscretion, however mean the person may be you do it to.

“46. When your superiors talk to anybody, hear them; neither speak
nor laugh.

“47. In disputes be not so desirous to overcome as to give liberty
to each one to deliver his opinion, and submit to the judgment of
the major part, especially if they are judges of the dispute.

“48. Be not tedious in discourse, make not digressions, nor repeat
often the same matter of discourse.

“49. Speak no evil of the absent, for it is unjust.

“50. Be not angry at table, whatever happens; and if you have
reason to be so show it not; put on a cheerful countenance,
especially if there be strangers, for good humor makes one dish a
feast.

“51. Set not yourself at the upper end of the table; but if it be
your due, or if the master of the house will have it so, contend
not, lest you should trouble the company.

“52. When you speak of God or His attributes, let it be seriously,
in reverence and honor, and obey your natural parents.

“53. Let your recreations be manful, not sinful.

“54. Labor to keep alive in your breast that little spark of
celestial fire called Conscience.”


FOOTNOTE:

[A] Good name--reputation--is probably what is meant here.
Calumny may injure one’s _good name_, but it cannot injure one’s
_character_.




WHAT IS A GENTLEMAN?

  Education begins the gentleman; but reading, good company, and
  reflection must finish him.--LOCKE.

  A man of polished and agreeable manners, as distinguished from
  the vulgar and clownish.--WORCESTER.


It would be hard to find two persons that fully agree with regard
to what constitutes a gentleman. It is far easier to tell what a
gentleman is not than what a gentleman is.

For example, we all agree that the man is not a gentleman that
is ignorant of those usages that, by common consent, regulate
refined social intercourse; that does not, in his dress, conform,
within certain limits at least, to the prevailing modes; that is
desirous to attract attention by affecting eccentricities; that
bears himself as though he thought himself an object of special
attention, _i.e._, is self-conscious; that has no thought for the
comfort, the feelings, or the rights of others. In short, we all
agree that no man deserves to be called a gentleman that is not
a man of education; _i.e._, that is not sufficiently acquainted
with books and with the usages of refined social intercourse to
acquit himself creditably in the society of cultivated people. Not
moral worth, nor learning, nor wealth, nor all three combined,
can, unaided, make a gentleman, for with all three a man might
be coarse, unbred, unschooled in those things that no man can be
ignorant of and be welcome in the society of the refined.

A modern English writer says that to formulate the definition of a
gentleman in negatives would be easy. “As, for instance,” he says,
“we may say that a true gentleman does not soil his conscience with
falsehoods, does not waste his time on sensual indulgence, does
not endeavor to make the worse appear the better reason, does not
ridicule sacred things, does not wilfully give cause of offence
to any, does not seek to overreach his neighbor, does not forget
the respect due to womanhood, or old age, the feeble or the poor.
But, to speak affirmatively,” he continues, “a gentleman is one
whose aims are generous, whose trust is constant, whose word is
never broken, whose honor is never stained, who is as gentle as
brave, and as honest as wise, who wrongs no one by word or deed,
and dignifies and embellishes life by nobility of thought, depth of
feeling, and grace of manner.”

Thackeray wrote of the gentleman thus: “What is it to be a
gentleman? Is it not to be honest, to be gentle, to be generous,
to be brave, to be wise, and, possessing all these qualities, to
exercise them in the most graceful outward manner? Ought not a
gentleman to be a loyal son, a true husband, an honest father?
Ought not his life to be decent, his bills to be paid, his tastes
to be high and elegant, his aims in life lofty and noble? In a
word, ought not the biography of the First Gentleman in Europe to
be of such a nature, that it might be read in young ladies’ schools
with advantage, and studied with profit in the seminaries of young
gentlemen?”

Another English writer says that the primary essentials of what
constitutes the true gentleman are Goodness, Gentleness and
Unselfishness. “Upon these qualities,” he says, “are based all
those observances and customs that we class together under the head
of Good Manners. And these good manners, be it remembered, do not
consist merely in the art of bowing gracefully, of entering a room
properly, of talking eloquently, of being familiar with the minor
habits of good society. A man may have all this, know all this,
and yet, if he is selfish, or ill-natured, or untruthful, fail of
being a gentleman. Good manners are far from being the evidence of
good training only; they are also the evidence of a refined nature.
They are the fruit of good seed sown on good soil. As a just and
elevated thought clearly and gracefully expressed is evidence
of a well-trained mind, so every act, however unimportant, and
every gesture, however insignificant, is evidence of the kindly,
considerate, modest, loyal nature of the true gentleman, or--of the
reverse.”

In a story by Spielhagen, the distinguished German novelist, I find
the following:

“What do you call a gentleman?” asked the Duke. “Will you give me a
definition of the word?”

“That is not so easy, my lord; indeed, I am not sure that it is
possible to define the word satisfactorily,” replied Lady De Vere.
“By resorting to metaphors, however, I may perhaps be able to
outline what we all feel, but are unable fully to describe. A
gentleman is one in whom the vigorous and the delicate are happily
united. The soft, the refined--all that comes from frequenting the
society of women of culture, lies in the ‘gentle;’ the strong, the
firm, the stern--all that comes from battling with men, lies in the
‘man;’ ‘gentle’ implies the possession of all the social, ‘man’
of all the civil, virtues; ‘man’ is the fiery wine, ‘gentle’ the
tasteful goblet; ‘man’ is the sharp, correct drawing, ‘gentle,’
the warm, soft coloring; ‘gentle’ might be the Sybarite, who is
disturbed by the falling of a rose-leaf, ‘man’ is the Brutus,
who as judge knows not even his own child. Pericles, the brave,
magnanimous, amiable, refined Athenian, might be offered as an
example of the true gentleman.”

In his essay in _The Century_, for October, 1883, on the
“Characteristics of London,” W. J. Stillman contrasts the English
gentleman with the best American type as follows:

“And it is in this very class that we find here and there that
best type of humanity, as the world knows it, the true English
gentleman--a being whose exterior decorum may be counterfeited
by his emulator, whose inmost gentleness and courtesy may be
shadowed forth in peer or peasant--who loves his kind, and feels
the common bond of divine birth, but whose most perfect union
of noble demeanor and large-heartedness can only be found where
the best type of mind has been permitted the largest and richest
culture, and the completest freedom of hereditary development in
the most favorable external circumstances. There are nobles and
noblemen--men who seem to be conscious only that surrounding men
are lower than they, and others whose illumination pervades every
one near them and brings all up into the same world of light and
sweetness. The prestige of nobility is founded on a true human
instinct; occasionally one finds an English nobleman who justifies
its existence, and makes us snobs in spite of our democracy.

“I could, I am certain, point to Americans who in every substantial
trait of the gentleman will stand comparison with any aristocrat
born--men in whom gentlehood has grown to hereditary ripeness;
the third and fourth generations of men who have cultivated
on American soil the virtues of honesty, morality, sincerity,
courtesy, self-abnegation, humanity, benevolence; men and women
whose babyhood was cradled in those influences that make what we
call ‘good breeding,’ and to whom the various vulgarities of our
parvenu princes are as foreign as to the bluest-blooded heir of
Normandy fortune; and this is to me a more grateful and sympathetic
type of humanity than that of its English congener.”

In the writings of a Gallic philosopher, of a former generation,
that I lately chanced upon, I find the _homme comme il faut_--a man
that is pretty nearly the counterpart of our _gentleman_--described
essentially as follows:

At the first glance we discover in him nothing that arrests the
attention. He is simple, calm, ingenuous, manly rather than
graceful, sedate rather than animated. His manner is neither
reserved nor demonstrative, but attentive, respectful and guarded;
neither obsequious nor imperious, but calm and self-possessed. His
politeness appears in acts rather than in protestations. Though
he does not despise convention, he is not its slave; he does not
allow himself to be hampered by the unimportant, nor does he ever
see a heinous offence in a trifling breach of established usage.

His dress is an index of his character: simple, appropriate,
harmonious. The man of the world pronounces it tasteful, the man of
the people sees in it nothing that is unusual, and the man of sense
recognizes in it a certain independence of the newest mode.

Being of those that make haste discreetly, he studies the
characters of his acquaintances before giving them his confidence.
In conversation, he is neither impatient, restless, nor hurried,
and though he is careful in selecting his words, he attaches more
importance to the matter of his discourse than to the manner. Made
to give the tone, he is content to receive it: he is wont to take
as much pains to remain unnoticed as many another takes to make
himself seen.

If he appears in a circle where he is not known, the greater number
see in him only a quiet, plain man that, despite his simplicity,
however, has that about him to which they involuntarily yield their
respect. The superficial, the presuming, and the malicious, though
ignorant of the cause, are embarrassed by his steady, searching
glance; the loyal and the unfortunate, on the contrary, are drawn
toward him, feeling that in him they shall find a friend.

He is guarded in speaking ill of others, a thing he never does but
with right intentions--as, for example, to unmask a hypocrite,
to punish the guilty, or to protect the weak. In speaking of his
enemies, he never forgets to be just; he is not of those that are
blind to the virtues of even the most unworthy, nor is he of those
that are so ungenerous as to deny them.

He is temperate in sustaining his opinions, and opposes only to
be better informed, or to enliven the conversation; and often he
will suddenly acknowledge his defeat, and confess with generous
sincerity that the reasons of his opponent are better than his own.
His victories are not less noble. His aim is to enlighten, not to
humiliate, much less to offend. If he finds that he is opposed by
presumption, obstinacy or ignorance, it is his habit to yield.
“You may be right,” he will say; “my way of seeing things is often
erroneous, and this, quite likely, is the case now.”

He avoids what is likely to create discord, seeks to promote kindly
feeling among his fellows, and never pleads the faults of others
in extenuation of his own. He is slow to take offence, opposes
incivility with urbanity, and passion with moderation. Wrong-doing
he accounts a weakness, and he pleads weakness as its excuse; the
wrong-doer excites his pity rather than his hate.

He possesses, in a high degree, the happy faculty of adapting
himself to others, from whom he expects no more than they can give
and from whom he obtains the best they have. “There are few,” he
says, “in whom, if we study them, we do not find some estimable
qualities. If each has his weaknesses, so each has his virtues,
which it is for us to discover.” Herein he excels.

The same day may see him dogmatize with a pedant, reason with a
sage, shine in a social circle, console the unfortunate, contend
for the rights of humanity, and swear fidelity to the woman of
his choice. He talks trade to the shopkeeper, politics to the
ambitious, perspective to the painter, play-things to childhood,
house affairs to the matron, and probity to all. All he says bears
the impress of a benign, humane philosophy that is now grave and
now gay, as the time or the place may demand.

In nothing does his prudence more appear than in his pleasures,
for be their character what it may, they never see him overstep
the limit prescribed by decency and self-respect. That pleasure
that injures no one seems to him innocent, and that recreation that
follows labor seems to him reasonable.

Honesty with him has become a sort of instinct, which he exercises
without reflection. The possibility that he could take an ignoble
advantage, be wilfully unjust, or betray a trust, material or
confidential, has never crossed his thought.

In the management of his material concerns, he is a model. In
large expenditures he is guarded, in order that he may be the
better able to be liberal in small ones. He never is guilty
of that parsimony in little things that disgraces more than
display in great ones ever exalts. It is his special care to be
discriminating in his bounties, moderate in his expenditures and
punctual in his payments. He often denies himself the pleasures of
luxury to indulge in those of benevolence. If misfortune lessens
his income, he is prompt to retrench; he knows that the friends
and acquaintances he will lose should not be accounted veritable
losses. He is modest in prosperity, resigned in adversity, and
dignified always.

If he speaks of religion, he chooses carefully the time and the
place. Whatever the prevailing belief in the community in which
he lives, he considers it as forming a part of the laws, and he
respects whatever contributes to stability and order. He attacks
abuses only and seeks to destroy only what he can replace. He
takes nothing on trust, but examines well before giving his
assent; and that religion finds most favor with him that attaches
most importance to the doing of good deeds. The man that in his
eyes is the most truly religious is he that does most for his
fellows. He rejoices that beneficence is held in like esteem by
all creeds, however widely may differ their dogmas, and that
the various religions of the world repose on the belief in the
existence of a Supreme Being that punishes vice and rewards virtue.
He has the modesty to think and the honesty to confess that as
so many millions are in error, he also may err. Nor has he the
presumption, like so many of his fellows, to set himself up as an
infallible judge of others. But he pities those presuming motes
that live but an instant, come they know not whence, and go they
know not where, and yet would judge the whole by a part, and
eternity by a span, conclude that all is but the product of chance,
assert that what passes their reason is not reasonable, and deny
the existence of Him to whom millions of years are but a moment,
and millions of miles but a point.


THE END.




BOOKS BY ALFRED AYRES.


  =Some Ill-used Words.= A Manual for the Use of those who Desire
  to Write and Speak correctly. 18mo. Cloth, $1.00.

The book is leveled specially at some half dozen errors that are
made by well-nigh every one who uses the English language.

  =The Orthoëpist.= A Pronouncing Manual, containing about Four
  Thousand Five Hundred Words, including a considerable number
  of the names of Foreign Authors, Artists, etc., that are often
  mispronounced. Revised and enlarged edition. 18mo. Cloth, $1.25.

“It is sufficient commendation of the work to say that for fourteen
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  =The Verbalist.= A Manual devoted to Brief Discussions of the
  Right and the Wrong Use of Words, and to some other Matters of
  Interest to those who would Speak and Write with Propriety.
  Revised and enlarged edition. 18mo. Cloth, $1.25.

“A great deal that is worth knowing, and of which not even all
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  =The Mentor.= A Little Book for the Guidance of such Men and Boys
  as would Appear to Advantage in the Society of Persons of the
  Better Sort. New and revised edition. 18mo. Cloth, $1.00.

“In every respect one of the most admirable books on manners and
manner. It possesses high literary merit.”--_Chicago Evening
Journal._

  =Acting and Actors=; _Elocution and Elocutionists_. A Book about
  Theater Folk and Theater Art. With Preface by Harrison Grey
  Fiske; Introduction by Edgar S. Werner; Prologue by James A.
  Waldron. 16mo. Cloth, $1.25.

“A book which has exceeding interest. The author talks in a very
agreeable and instructive way about the art of acting, and while
his book has a peculiar charm for those who sit in the orchestra
chairs, it has a special value for the ladies and gentlemen of the
stage.”--_New York Herald._

  =The English Grammar of William Cobbett.= Carefully revised and
  annotated by ALFRED AYRES. With Index. 18mo. Cloth, $1.00.

“It is grammar without a master and without tears, unless they are
tears of laughter.”--_New York Churchman._


HANDBOOKS OF SOCIAL USAGES.

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This book is by a well-known New York clubman, an acknowledged
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Special pains have been taken to make this work represent
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“Don’t” deals with manners at the table, in the drawing-room, and
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A dainty little book, containing helpful and practical explanations
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“Don’t” deals with manners at the table, in the drawing-room, and
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A dainty little book, containing helpful and practical explanations
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  _ERRORS IN THE USE OF ENGLISH._ By the late WILLIAM B. HODGSON,
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GEORGE H. ELLWANGER’S BOOKS.

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BOOKS BY FRANK M. CHAPMAN.

=Bird Studies with a Camera.=

With Introductory Chapters on the Outfit and Methods of the Bird
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Mammalogy and Ornithology in the American Museum of Natural
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=Bird-Life.=

A Guide to the Study of our Common Birds. With 75 full-page
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  Price of Portfolios, each, $1.25; with Manual, $2.00. The three
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=Handbook of Birds of Eastern North America.=

With 200 Illustrations. 12mo. Library Edition. Cloth, $3.00. Pocket
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BY F. SCHUYLER MATHEWS.

=Familiar Flowers of Field and Garden.=

New edition. With 12 orthochromatic photographs of characteristic
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  The new photography’s revelations of nature have found perfect
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=Familiar Trees and their Leaves.=

New edition. With pictures of representative trees in colors, and
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LITERATURES OF THE WORLD.

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  TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

  Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.

  Bold text is denoted by =equal signs=.

  Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
  corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
  the text and consultation of external sources.

  Footnote [A], the only footnote, is referenced twice from page 189.

  Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text,
  and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained. For example,
  button-hole, buttonhole; well bred, well-bred; inclosed; bespatter;
  bullyism; coxcombry.

  Pg 19, ‘watch, in apppearance’ replaced by ‘watch, in appearance’.
  Pg 132, ‘small deer’ replaced by ‘small beer’.
  Pg 136, ‘light speches’ replaced by ‘light speeches’.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mentor, by Alfred Ayres

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