These, some will say, are little things. It is true, they are little but it is equally clear that they are necessary things.—Chesterfield.
I.—REPUBLICAN DISTINCTIONS.
e have defined equality in another place. We fully accept the doctrine as there set forth. We have no respect for mere conventional and arbitrary distinctions. Hereditary titles command no deference from us. Lords and dukes are entitled to no respect simply because they are lords and dukes. If they are really noble men, we honor them accordingly. Their titles are mere social fictions.
True republicanism requires that every man shall have an equal chance—that every man shall be free to become as unequal as he can. No man should be valued the less or the more on account of his grandfather, his position, his possessions, or his occupation. The MAN should be superior to the accidents of his birth, and should take that rank which is due to his merit.[R]
The error committed by our professedly republican communities consists, not in the recognition of classes and grades of rank, but in placing them, as they too often do, on artificial and not on natural grounds. We have had frequent occasion, in the preceding pages, to speak of superiors and inferiors. We fully recognize the relation which these words indicate. It is useless to quarrel with Nature, who has nowhere in the universe given us an example of the absolute, unqualified, dead-level equality which some pseudo-reformers have vainly endeavored to institute among men. Such leveling is neither possible nor desirable. Harmony is born of difference, and not of sameness.
We have in our country a class of toad-eaters who delight in paying the most obsequious homage to fictitious rank of every kind. A vulgar millionaire of the Fifth Avenue, and a foreign adventurer with a meaningless title, are equally objects of their misplaced deference. Losing sight of their own manhood and self-respect, they descend to the most degrading sycophancy. We have little hope of benefiting them. They are "joined to their idols; let them alone."
But a much larger class of our people are inclined to go to the opposite extreme, and ignore veneration, in its human aspect, altogether. They have no reverence for anybody or anything. This class of people will read our book, and, we trust, profit by its well-meant hints. We respect them, though we can not always commend their manners. They have independence and manliness, but fail to accord due respect to the manhood of others. It is for their special benefit that we leave touched with considerable emphasis on the deference due to age and genuine rank, from whatever source derived.
Your townsman, Mr. Dollarmark, has no claim on you for any special token of respect, simply because he inherited half a million, which has grown in his hands to a million and a half, while you can not count half a thousand, or because he lives in his own palatial mansion, and you in a hired cottage; but your neighbor, Mr. Anvil, who, setting out in life, like yourself, without a penny, has amassed a little fortune by his own unaided exertions, and secured a high social position by his manliness, integrity, and good breeding, is entitled to a certain deference on your part—a recognition of his merits and his superiority. Mr. Savant, who has gained distinction for himself and conferred honor on his country by his scientific discoveries, and your aged friend Mr. Goodman, who, though a stranger to both wealth and fame, is drawing toward the close of a long and useful life, during which he has helped to build up and give character to the place in which he lives, have, each in his own way, earned the right to some token of deference from those who have not yet reached an equally elevated position.
It is not for birth, or wealth, or occupation, or any other accidental circumstance, that we ask reverence, but for inherent nobility wrought out in life. This is what should give men rank and titles in a republic.
Your hired man, Patrick, may be your inferior, but it is not because he is your hired man. Another man, who is your superior in every way, may stand in the same business relation to you. He may sell you certain stipulated services for a stipulated amount of money; but you bargain for no deference that your real social position and character do not call for from him. He, and not you, may be entitled to the "wall side," and to precedence everywhere.
II.—CITY AND COUNTRY.
The words civil and civilized are derived from the Latin civitas (Ital., città), a city, and polite, from the Greek πολις (polis), a city; because cities are the first to become civilized, or civil, and polite, or polished (Latin, polire). They are still, as a general rule, the home of the most highly cultivated people, as well as of the rudest and most degraded, and unquestioned arbiters of fashion and social observances. For this reason the rules of etiquette laid down in this and all other works on the subject of manners, are calculated, as the astronomers say, for the meridian of the city. The observances of the country are borrowed from the city, and modified to suit the social condition and wants of the different localities. This must always be borne in mind, and your behavior regulated accordingly. The white or pale yellow gloves, which you must wear during the whole evening at a fashionable evening party in the city, under pain of being set down as unbearably vulgar, would be very absurd appendages at a social gathering at a farm-house in the country. None but a snob would wear them at such a place. So with other things.
III.—IMPORTED MANNERS.
N. P. Willis says, "We should be glad to see a distinctly American school of good manners, in which all useless etiquette were thrown aside, but every politeness adopted or invented which could promote sensible and easy exchanges of good-will and sociability. Good sense and consideration for others should be the basis of every usage of polite life that is worth regarding. Indeed, we have long thought that our country was old enough to adopt measures and etiquettes of its own, based, like all other politeness, upon benevolence and common sense. To get rid of imported etiquette is the first thing to do for American politeness."
This is an important truth well stated. We have had enough of mere imported conventionalism in manners. Our usages should not be English or French usages, further than English and French usages are founded on universal principles. Politeness is the same everywhere and always, but the forms of etiquette must change with times and places; for an observance which may be proper and useful in London or Paris, may be abundantly absurd in New York.
IV.—FICTITIOUS TITLES.
In answer to a correspondent who inquires whether an American citizen should address a European nobleman by his title, Life Illustrated says:
"We answer, unhesitatingly, No. Most of the European titles are purely fictitious, as well as ridiculous. The Duke of Northumberland, for example, has nothing in particular to do with Northumberland, nor does he exercise dukeship (or leadership) over anything except his private estate. The title is a perfect absurdity; it means nothing whatever; it is a mere nickname; and Mr. Percy is a fool for permitting himself to be addressed as 'My Lord Duke,' and 'Your Grace.' Indeed, even in England, gentlemen use those titles very sparingly, and servants alone habitually employ then. American citizens who are thrown, in their travels, or in their intercourse with society, into communication with persons bearing titles, may treat them with all due respect without Gracing or My-Lording them. In our opinion, they should do so. And we have faith enough in the good sense of the English people to believe that the next generation, or the next but one, will see a general abandonment of fictitious titles by the voluntary action of the very people who hold them. At the same time, we are inclined to think that the bestowment of real titles—titles which mean something, titles given in recognition of distinguished worth and eminent services, titles not hereditary—will be one of the most cherished prerogatives of the enlightened states of the good time coming. The first step, however, must be the total abolition of all titles which are fictitious and hereditary."
V.—A MIRROR FOR CERTAIN MEN.
The following rather broad hints to certain bipeds who ought to be gentlemen, were clipped from some newspaper. We are sorry we do not know to whom to credit the article:
"Who can tell why women are expected, on pain of censure and avoidance, to conform to a high standard of behavior, while men are indulged in another a great deal lower? We never could fully understand why men should be tolerated in the chewing of tobacco, in smoking and in spitting everywhere almost, and at all times, whereas a woman can not do any of these things without exciting aversion and disgust. Why ought a man to be allowedly so self-indulgent, putting his limbs and person in all manner of attitudes, however uncouth and distasteful, merely because such vulgarities yield him temporary eases, while a woman is always required to preserve an attitude, if not of positive grace, at least of decency and propriety, from which if she departs, though but for an instant, she forfeits respect, and is instantly branded as a low creature!
"Can any one say why a man when he has the tooth-ache, or is called to suffer in any other way, should be permitted, as a matter of course, to groan and bellow, and vent his feelings very much in the style of an animal not endowed with reason, while a woman similarly suffering must bear it in silence and decorum? Why, should men, as a class, habitually, and as a matter of right, boldly wear the coarsest qualities of human nature on the outside, and swear and fight, and beastify themselves, so that they are obliged to be put into separate pens in the cars on railroads, and at the dépôts, while woman must appear with an agreeable countenance, if not in smiles, even when the head, or perhaps the heart, aches, and are expected to permit nothing ill-tempered, disagreeable, or even unhappy to appear outwardly, but to keep all these concealed in their own bosoms to suffer as they may, lest they might otherwise lessen the cheerfulness of others?
"These are a few suggestions only among many we would hint to the stronger and more exciting sex to be reflected on for the improvement of their tastes and manners. In the mirror thus held up before them, they can not avoid observing the very different standards by which the behavior of the two sexes is constantly regulated. If any reason can be assigned why one should always be a lady, and the other hardly ever a gentleman, we hope it will be done."
VI.—WASHINGTON'S CODE OF MANNERS.
Every action ought to be with some sign of respect to those present. Be no flatterer; neither play with any one who delights not to be played with. Read no paper or book in company. Come not near the papers or books of another when he is writing. Let your countenance be cheerful; but in serious matters be grave. Let your discourse with others, on matters of business, be short. It is good manners to let others speak first. When a man does all he can, do not blame him, though he succeeds not well. Take admonitions thankfully. Be not too hasty to receive lying reports to the injury of another. Let your dress be modest, and consult your condition. Play not the peacock by looking vainly at yourself. It is better to be alone than in bad company. Let your conversation be without malice or envy. Urge not your friend to discover a secret. Break not a jest where none take pleasure in mirth. Gaze not on the blemishes of others. When another speaks, be attentive.
VII.—MARKED PASSAGES.
On turning over the leaves of the various works on etiquette which we have had occasion to consult in the preparation of this little manual, we have marked with our pencil a large number of passages which seemed to us to embody important facts or thoughts, with the hope of being able to weave them into our work, each in its appropriate place. Some of them we have made use of according to our original intention; a few others not elsewhere used, we purpose to throw together here without any attempt at classification.
1. Our Social Uniform.
The universal partiality of our countrymen for black, as the color of dress clothes, at least, is frequently remarked upon by foreigners. Among the best dressed men on the Continent, as well as in England, black, through not confined to the clergy, is in much less general use than here. They adopt the darker shades of blue, brown, and green, and for undress almost as great diversity of colors as of fabrics.
2. A Hint to the Ladies.
Don't make your rooms gloomy. Furnish them for light and let them have it. Daylight is very cheap, and candle or gas light you need not use often. If your rooms are dark, all the effect of furniture, pictures, walls, and carpets is lost. Finally, if you have beautiful things, make them useful. The fashion of having a nice parlor, and then shutting it up all but three or four days in the year, when you have company; spending your own life in a mean room, shabbily furnished, or an unhealthy basement, to save your things, is the meanest possible economy. Go a little further—shut up your house, and live in a pig-pen! The use of nice and beautiful things is to act upon your spirit—to educate you and make you beautiful.
3. Another.
Don't put your cards around the looking-glass, unless in your private boudoir. If you wish to display them, keep them in a suitable basket or vase on the mantle or center-table.
4. An Obliging Disposition.
Polite persons are necessarily obliging. A smile is always on their lips, an earnestness in their countenance, when we ask a favor of them. They know that to render a service with a bad grace, is in reality not to render it at all. If they are obliged to refuse a favor, they do it with mildness and delicacy; they express such feeling regret that they still inspire us with gratitude; in short, their conduct appears so perfectly natural that it really seems that the opportunity which is offered them of obliging us, is obliging themselves; and they refuse all our thanks, without affectation or effort.
5. Securing a Home.
Let me, as a somewhat scrutinizing observer of the varying phases of social life, in our own country especially, enter my earnest protest against the practice so commonly adopted by newly-married persons, of boarding, in place of at once establishing for themselves the distinctive and ennobling prerogatives of HOME. Language and time would alike fail me in an endeavor to set forth the manifold evils inevitably growing out of this fashionable system. Take the advice of an old man, who has tested theories by prolonged experience, and at once establish your Penates within four walls, and under a roof that will, at times, exclude all who are not properly denizens of your household, upon assuming the rights and obligations of married life. Do not be deterred from this step by the conviction that you can not shrine your home deities upon pedestals of marble. Cover their bases with flowers—God's free gift to all—and the plainest support will suffice for them if it be but firm.
6. Taste vs. Fashion.
A lady should never, on account of economy, wear either what she deems an ugly or an ungraceful garment; such garments never put her at her ease, and are neglected and cast aside long before they have done her their true service. We are careful only of those things which suit us, and which we believe adorn us, and the mere fact of believing that we look well, goes a great way toward making us do so. Fashion should be sacrificed to taste, or, at best, followed at a distance; it does not do to be entirely out, nor completely in, what is called "fashion," many things being embraced under that term which are frivolous, unmeaning, and sometimes meretricious.
7. Special Claims.
There are persons to whom a lady or gentleman should be especially polite. All elderly persons, the unattractive, the poor, and those whose dependent positions may cause them to fear neglect. The gentleman who offers his arm or gives his time to an old lady, or asks a very plain one to dance, or attends one who is poorly dressed, never looses in others' estimation or his own.
8. Propriety of Deportment.
Propriety of deportment is the valuable result of a knowledge of one's self, and of respect for the rights of others; it is a feeling of the sacrifices which are imposed on self-esteem by our social relations; it is, in short, a sacred requirement of harmony and affection.
9. False Pride.
False pride and false dignity are very mean qualities. A true gentleman will do anything proper for him to do. He can soil his hands or use his muscles when there is occasion. The truest gentleman is more likely to carry home a market-basket, or a parcel, or to wheel a barrow through Broadway, than many a conceited little snob of a shop-boy.
10. The Awkwardness of being "Dressed."
When dressed for company, strive to appear as easy and natural as if you were in undress. Nothing is more distressing to a sensitive person, or more ridiculous to one gifted with an esprit moquer [a disposition to "make fun"], than to see a lady laboring under the consciousness of a fine gown; or a gentleman who is stiff, awkward, and ungainly in a brand-new coat.
FOOTNOTE:
[R] Life Illustrated.
XII.
MAXIMS FROM CHESTERFIELD.
The pages of the "Noble Oracle" are replete with sound advice, which all may receive with profit. Genuine politeness is the same always and everywhere.—Madame Bienceance.
1. Cheerfulness and Good Humor.
t is a wonderful thing that so many persons, putting in claims to good breeding, should think of carrying their spleen into company, and entertaining those with whom they converse with a history of their pains, head-aches, and ill-treatment. This is, of all others, the meanest help to social happiness; and a man must have a very mean opinion of himself, who, on having detailed his grievances, is accosted by asking the news. Mutual good-humor is a dress in which we ought to appear, whenever we meet; and we ought to make no mention of ourselves, unless it be in matters wherein our friends ought to rejoice. There is no real life but cheerful life; therefore valetudinarians should be sworn before they enter into company not to say a word of themselves until the meeting breaks up.
2. The Art of Pleasing.
The art of pleasing is a very necessary one to possess, but a very difficult one to acquire. It can hardly be reduced to rules; and your own good sense and observation will teach you more of it than I can. Do as you would be done by, is the surest method that I know of pleasing. Observe carefully what pleases you in others, and probably the same things in you will please others. If you are pleased with the complaisance and attention of others to you, depend upon it the same complaisance and attention, on your part, will equally please them. Take the tone of the company you are in, and do not pretend to give it; be serious or gay, as you find the present humor of the company. This is an attention due from every individual to the majority.
3. Adaptation of Manners.
Ceremony resembles that base coin which circulates through a country by the royal mandate. It serves every purpose of real money at home, but is entirely useless if carried abroad. A person who should attempt to circulate his native trash in another country would be thought either ridiculous or culpable. He is truly well-bred who knows when to value and when to despise those national peculiarities which are regarded by some with so much observance. A traveler of taste at once perceives that the wise are polite all the world over, but that fools are polite only at home.
4. Bad Habits.
Keep yourself free from strange tricks or habits, such as thrusting on your tongue, continually snapping your fingers, rubbing your hands, sighing aloud, gaping with a noise like a country fellow that has been sleeping in a hay-loft, or indeed with any noise; and many others that I have noticed before. These are imitations of the manners of the mob, and are degrading to a gentleman. It is rude and vulgar to lean your head back and destroy the appearance of fine papered walls.
5. Do what You are About.
Hoc age was a maxim among the Romans, which means, "Do what you are about, and do that only." A little mind is hurried by twenty things at once; but a man of sense does but one thing at a time, and resolves to excel in it; for whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doing well. Therefore, remember to give yourself up entirely to the thing you are doing, be it what it may, whether your book or your play; for if you have a right ambition, you will desire to excel all boys of your age, at cricket, at trap-ball, as well as in learning.
6. People who never Learn.
There have been people who have frequented the first companies all their lifetime, and yet have never divested themselves of their natural stiffness and awkwardness; but have continued as vulgar as if they were never out of a servants' hall. This has been owing to carelessness, and a want of attention to the manners and behavior of others.
7. Conformity to Local Manners.
Civility, which is a disposition to accommodate and oblige others, is essentially the same in every country; but good-breeding, as it is called, which is the manner of exerting that disposition, is different in almost every country, and merely local; and every man of sense imitates and conforms to that local good-breeding or the place which he is at.
8. How to Confer Favors.
The greatest favors may be done so awkwardly and bunglingly as to offend; and disagreeable things may be done so agreeably as almost to oblige. Endeavor to acquire this great secret. It exists, it is to be found, and is worth a great deal more than the grand secret of the alchymists would be, if it were, as it is not, to be found.
9. Fitness.
One of the most important points of life is decency, which means doing what is proper, and where it is proper; for many things are proper at one time, and in one place, that are extremely improper in another. Read men, therefore, yourself, not in books, but in nature. Adopt no systems, but study them yourself.
10. How to Refuse.
A polite manner of refusing to comply with the solicitations of a company is also very necessary to be learned; for a young man who seems to have no will of his own, but does everything that is asked of him, may be a very good-natured, but he is a very silly, fellow.
11. Civility to Women.
Civility is particularly due to all women; and remember that no provocation whatsoever can justify any man in not being civil to every woman; and the greatest man in the world would be justly reckoned a brute, if he were not civil to the meanest woman.
12. Spirit.
Spirit is now a very fashionable word. To act with spirit, to speak with spirit, means only to act rashly, and to talk indiscreetly. An able man shows his spirit by gentle words and resolute actions; he is neither hot nor timid.
XIII.
ILLUSTRATIVE ANECDOTES.
It is well to combine amusement with instruction, whether you write for young or old.—Anonymous.
I.—ELDER BLUNT AND SISTER SCRUB.
he house of the excellent Squire Scrub was the itinerant's home; and a right sweet, pleasant home it would have been but for a certain unfortunate weakness of the every other way excellent Sister Scrub. The weakness I allude to was, or at least it was suspected to be, the love of praise. Now the good sister was really worthy of high praise, and she often received it; but she had a way of disparaging herself and her performances which some people thought was intended to invite praise. No housewife kept her floors looking so clean and her walls so well whitewashed as she. Every board was scrubbed and scoured till further scrubbing and scouring would have been labor wasted. No one could look on her white ash floor and not admire the polish her industry gave it. The "Squire" was a good provider, and Sister Scrub was an excellent cook; and so their table groaned under a burden of good things on all occasions when good cheer was demanded. And yet you could never enter the house and sit half an hour without being reminded that "Husband held Court yesterday, and she couldn't keep the house decent." If you sat down to eat with them, she was sorry she "hadn't anything fit to eat." She had been scrubbing, or washing, or ironing, or she had been half sick, and she hadn't got such and such things that she ought to have. Nor did it matter how bountiful or how well prepared the repast really was, there was always something deficient, the want of which furnished a text for a disparaging discourse on the occasion. I remember once that we sat down to a table that a king might have been happy to enjoy. There was the light snow-white bread; there were the potatoes reeking in butter; there were chickens swimming in gravy; there were the onions and the turnips, and I was sure Sister Scrub had gratified her ambition for once. We sat down, and a blessing was asked; instantly the good sister began; she was afraid her coffee was too much burned, or that the water had been smoked, or that she hadn't roasted the chicken enough. There ought to have been some salad, and it was too bad that there was nothing nice to offer us.
We, of course, endured those unjustifiable apologies as well as the could, simply remarking that everything was really nice, and proving by our acts that the repast was tempting to our appetites.
I will now introduce another actor to the reader—Elder Blunt, the circuit preacher. Elder Blunt was a good man. His religion was of the most genuine, experimental kind. He was a very plain man. He, like Mr. Wesley, would no more dare to preach a fine sermon than wear a fine coat. He was celebrated for his common-sense way of exhibiting the principles of religion. He would speak just what he thought, and as he felt. He somehow got the name of being an eccentric preacher, as every man, I believe, does who never prevaricates, and always acts and speaks as he thinks. Somehow or other, Elder Blunt had heard of Sister Scrub, and that infirmity of hers, and he resolved to cure her. On his first round he stopped at "Squire Scrub's," as all other itinerants had done before him. John, the young man, took the elder's horse and put him in the stable, and the preacher entered the house. He was shown into the best room, and soon felt very much at home. He expected to hear something in due time disparaging the domestic arrangements, but he heard it sooner than he expected. This time, if Sister Scrub could be credited, her house was all upside down; it wasn't fit to stay in, and she was sadly mortified to be caught in such a plight. The elder looked all around the room, as if to observe the terrible disorder, but he said not a word. By-and-by the dinner was ready, and the elder sat down with the family to a well spread table. Here, again, Sister Scrub found everything faulty; the coffee wasn't fit to drink, and she hadn't anything fit to eat. The elder lifted his dark eye to her face; for a moment he seemed to penetrate her very soul with his austere gaze; then slowly rising from the table, he said, "Brother Scrub, I want my horse immediately; I must leave!"
"Why, Brother Blunt, what is the matter?"
"Matter? Why, sir, your house isn't fit to stay in, and you haven't anything fit to eat or drink, and I won't stay."
Both the "Squire" and his lady were confounded. This was a piece of eccentricity entirely unlooked for. They were stupefied. But the elder was gone. He wouldn't stay in a house not fit to stay in, and where there wasn't anything fit to eat and drink.
Poor Sister Scrub! She wept like a child at her folly. She "knew it would be all over town," she said, "and everybody would be laughing at her." And then, how should she meet the blunt, honest elder again? "She hadn't meant anything by what she had said." Ah! she never thought how wicked it was to say so much that didn't mean anything.
The upshot of the whole matter was, that Sister Scrub "saw herself as others saw her." She ceased making apologies, and became a wiser and better Christian. Elder Blunt always puts up there, always finds everything as it should be, and, with all his eccentricities, is thought by the family the most agreeable, as he is acknowledged by everybody to be the most consistent, of men.—Rev. J. V. Watson.
II.—THE PRESENCE.
Mr. Johnson, an English traveler, relates, in his notes on North America, the following story:
"At Boston," he says, "I was told of a gentleman in the neighborhood who, having a farm servant, found him very satisfactory in every respect, except that he invariably came into his employer's room with his hat on.
"'John,' said he to the man one day, 'you always keep your hat on when you come into the room.'
"'Well, sir,' said John, 'and haven't I a right to?'
"'Yes,' was his employer's reply, 'I suppose you have.'
"'Well,' said John, 'if I have a right to, why shouldn't I?'
"This was a poser from one man to another, where all have equal rights. So, after a moment's reflection the gentleman asked:
"'Now, John, what will you take, how much more wages will you ask, to take off your hat whenever you come in?'
"'Well, that requires consideration, I guess,' said the man.
"'Take the thing into consideration, then,' rejoined the employer, 'and let me know to-morrow morning.'
"The morrow comes, and John appears.
"'Well, John, have you considered what additional wages you are to have for taking your hat off?'
"'Well, sir, I guess it's worth a dollar a month.'
"'It's settled, then, John; you shall have another dollar a month.'
"So the gentleman retained a good man, while John's hat was always in his hand when he entered the house."
This story, to one who knows New England, is not altogether incredible. Toward the democratization of this country, yet most incomplete, it will perhaps be one day conceded that the South has contributed ideas, and New England sentiment; while the Great West will have made a partial application of both to the conduct of life. The Yankees are the kindest and the acutest of our people, and the most ungraceful. Nowhere in the world is there so much good feeling, combined with so much rudeness of manner, as in New England. The South, colonized by Cavaliers, retains much of the Cavalier improvidence and careless elegance of manner; and Southerners, like the soil they till, are generous. But the Yankees, descended from austere and Puritanic farmers, and accustomed to wring their subsistence from an unwilling soil, possess the sterling virtues of human nature along with a stiff-jointed awkwardness of manner, and a sharp angularity of thought, which renders them unpleasing even to those who respect them most. A Yankee seldom ceases to be provincial.
But John is waiting, hat in hand, to hear what we have to say respecting his case.
We say that John was wrong in not taking off his hat voluntarily, but that the feeling which prevented his doing so was right. He was right in feeling that the accidental circumstance of his being a hired man gave his employer no claim to any special mark of respect from him; and, as he considered that the removal of his hat would have been a special mark of respect, and thus an acknowledgment of social inferiority, he declined to make that acknowledgment. But John was mistaken. The act referred to would not have borne such an interpretation. John ought to have felt that on coming into the presence of a man, a fellow-citizen and co-sovereign, and particularly on entering his abode, one of the innumerable royal residences of the country, some visible sign of respect, some kind of deferential salutation, is due from the person entering. John should have risen superior to the mere accident of his position, and remembered only that he and his employer were men and equals. The positions of the two men might be reversed in a day; their equality as men and citizens, nothing but crime could affect.—James Parton.
III.—A LEARNED MAN AT TABLE.
Some of the many errors which are liable to be committed through ignorance of usage, are pleasantly pointed out in the following story, which is related by a French writer:
The Abbé Cosson, professor in the Collége Mazarin, thoroughly accomplished in the art of teaching, saturated with Greek, Latin, and literature, considered himself a perfect well of science: he had no conception that a man who knew all Persius and Horace by heart could possibly commit an error—above all, an error at table. But it was not long before he discovered his mistake. One day, after dining with the Abbé de Radonvilliers at Versailles, in company with several courtiers and marshals of France; he was boasting of the rare acquaintance with etiquette and custom which he had exhibited at dinner. The Abbé Delille, who heard this eulogy upon his own conduct, interrupted his harangue by offering to wager that he had committed at least a hundred improprieties at the table. "How is it possible?" exclaimed Cosson. "I did exactly like the rest of the company."
"What absurdity!" said the other. "You did a thousand things which no one else did. First, when you sat down at the table, what did you do with your napkin?" "My napkin! why, just what everybody else did with theirs. I unfolded it entirely, and fastened it to my button-hole." "Well, my dear friend," said Delille, "you were the only one that did that, at all events. No one hangs up his napkin in that style; they are contented with placing it on their knees. And what did you do when you took soup?" "Like the others, I believe. I took any spoon in one hand and my fork in the other—" "Your fork! Who ever ate soup with a fork? But to proceed: after your soup, what did you eat?" "A fresh egg." "And what did you do with the shell?" "Handed it to the servant who stood behind my chair." "Without breaking it, of course?" "Well, my dear Abbé, nobody ever eats an egg without breaking the shell." "And after your egg—?" "I asked the Abbé Radonvilliers to send me a piece of the hen near him." "Bless my soul! a piece of the hen! You never speak of hens excepting in the barn-yard. You should have asked for fowl, or chicken. But you say nothing of your mode of drinking." "Like all the rest, I asked for claret and champagne." "Let me inform you, then, that persons always ask for claret wine and champagne wine. But tell me, how did you eat your bread?" "Surely I did that properly. I cut it with my knife in the most regular manner possible." "Bread should always be broken, not cut. But the coffee, how did you manage it?" "It was rather too hot, and I poured a little of it into my saucer." "Well, you committed here the greatest fault of all. You should never pour your coffee into the saucer, but always drink it from the cup." The poor Abbé was confounded. He felt that though one might be master of the seven sciences, yet that there was another species of knowledge which, if less dignified, was equally important.
This occurred many years ago, but there is not one of the observances neglected by the Abbé Cosson which is not enforced with equal rigidness in the present day.
IV.—ENGLISH WOMEN IN HIGH LIFE.
Lord Hardwicke's family consists of his countess, his eldest son (about eighteen or twenty, Lord Royston by courtesy), three of the finest-looking daughters you ever saw, and several younger sons. The daughters—Lady Elizabeth, Lady Mary, and Lady Agnita—are surpassingly beautiful; such development—such rosy cheeks, laughing eyes, and unaffected manners—you rarely see combined. They take a great deal of out-door exercise, and came aboard the Merrimac, in a heavy rain, with Irish shoes thicker soled than you or I ever wore, and cloaks and dresses almost impervious to wet. They steer their father's yacht, walk the Lord knows how many miles, and don't care a cent about rain, besides doing a host of other things that would shock our ladies to death; and yet in the parlor are the most elegant looking women, in their satin shoes and diamonds, I ever saw.... After dinner the ladies play and sing for us, and the other night they got up a game of blind-man's-buff; in which the ladies said we had the advantage, inasmuch as their "petticoats rustled so that they were easily caught." They call things by their names here. In the course of the game, Lord Hardwicke himself was blindfolded, and, trying to catch some one, fell over his daughter's lap on the floor, when two or three of the girls caught him by the legs and dragged his lordship—roaring with laughter, as we all were—on his back into the middle of the floor. Yet they are perfectly respectful, but appear on a perfect equality with each other.—Letter from an Officer of the "Merrimac."
V.—"VIL YOU SAY SO, IF YOU PLEASE?"
"Speaking of not speaking," said I, when the general amusement had abated, "reminds me of an amusing little scene that I once witnessed in the public parlor of a New England tavern, where I was compelled to wait several hours for a stage-coach. Presently there entered a bustling, sprightly-looking little personage, who, after frisking about the room, apparently upon a tom of inspection, finally settled herself very comfortably in the large cushioned rocking-chair—the only one in the room—and was soon, as I had no reason to doubt, sound asleep. It was not long, however, before a noise of some one entering aroused her, and a tall, gaunt, old Yankee woman, hung around with countless bags, bonnet-boxes, and nondescript appendages of various sizes and kinds, presented herself to our vision. After slowly relieving herself of the numberless incumbrances that impeded her progress in life, she turned to a young man who accompanied her, and said, in a tone so peculiarly shrill that it might have been mistaken, at this day, for a railroad whistle—
"'Now, Jonathan, don't let no grass grow under your feet while you go for them toothache drops; I am a'most crazy with pain!' laying a hand upon the affected spot as she spoke; 'and here,' she called out, as the door was closing upon her messenger, 'just get my box filled at the same time,' diving with her disengaged hand into the unknown depths of, seemingly, the most capacious of pockets, and bringing to light a shining black box of sufficient size to hold all the jewels of a modern belle. 'I thought I brought along my snuff-bladder, but I don't know where I put it, my head is so stirred up.'
"By this time the little woman in the rocking-chair was fairly aroused, and rising, she courteously offered her seat to the stranger, her accent at once betraying her claim to be ranked with the politest of nations (a bow, on my part, to the fair foreigner in the group). With a prolonged stare, the old woman coolly ensconced herself in the vacated seat, making not the slightest acknowledgment of the civility she had received. Presently she began to groan, rocking herself furiously at the same time. The former occupant of the stuffed chair, who had retired to a window and perched herself in one of a long row of wooden seats, hurried to the sufferer. 'I fear, madame,' said she, 'that you suffare ver' much—vat can I do for you?' The representative of Yankeedom might have been a wooden clock-case for all the response she made to this amiable inquiry, unless her rocking more furiously than ever might be construed into a reply.
"The little Frenchwoman, apparently wholly unable to class so anomalous a specimen of humanity, cautiously retreated.
"Before I was summoned away, the toothache drops and the snuff together (both administered in large doses) seemed to have gradually produced the effect of oil poured upon troubled waters.
"The sprightly Frenchwoman again ventured upon the theater of action.
"'You find yourself now much improved, madame?' she asked, with considerable vivacity. A very slight nod was the only answer.
"'And you feel dis fauteuil really very com-for-ta-ble?' pursued the little woman, with augmented energy of voice. Another nod was just discernible.
"No intonation of mine can do justice to the very ecstasy of impatience with which the pertinacious questioner actually screamed out:
"'Bien, madame, vil you say so, if you please?'