THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY From the collection of' Julius Doerner, Chicago Purchased, 1918. 395 H114 ) 2 - 1 ] PAQB Thoughts on Society and the Spirit of So- cial Observances..... 23 Manners 27 How can they be acquired ? Different means investigated. Necessity of some Guide. Ancient and Modern Authorities on Manners. The true principle of Manners. What is Society? The necessity of Social Intercourse. Three Classes of Bad Society 38 1 Low Society^ distinguished by Familiarity. Anecdotes of Extreme Familiarity in the last lliree Centuries. Familiarity from want of Respect; from Coarseness; from Shyness; from Curiosity. 10 CONTENTS. 2. Vulgar Society^ distinguished by pretension; Gentility; Servility; Overse.rupulousness; Assumption of Refinement in Language and iL. Habits 47 8. Dangerous Society 55 Sketch of English Society from the Six- teenth Century. Rise and present position of the Middle Classes. The Requisites op Good Society, 64 1 . 2 . 3. 4. 5. 6 ; 7. 8 . 9. 10 . 11 . 12 . 13. 14. Good Breeding. Education. Cultivation of Taste. Reason. The Art of Speech. A Knowledge of English Literature. Moral Character. Temper. Hospitality. Good manners. Birth. Wealth. Rank. Distinction. COOTENTS. 11 The Spirit op Social Observances 88 The Connection between the Laws of C5iris- tianity and those of Society. Domestic Position. Paterfamilias. The Matron. The Young Married Man. * The Bachelor. The Young Lady* The Art of making On^s self Agreeable. CHAPTER 1. Phe Dressing-Room.... 107 Cleanliness. The Bath: Hot, Cold, and Tepid. The Teeth. The Nails. Razors and Shaving. Beards, Mustaches, Whiskers* The Hair. CHAPTER IL ft The Lady’s Toilet 127 Early Rising. Cleanliness. 12 CONTENTS, Exercise 150 Rouge and Cosmetics. The Hair. Perfumes, Toilet Appliances, &o. CHAPTER III. Dress 163 Fashion; Appropriateness to Age; to Posi- tion; to Place; Town and Country; on the Continent; to Climate; to Size; to different Occasions. Extravagance. Simplicity. Jewelry. Maxims for Ornaments. Orders, &c. Cleanliness and Freshness. Linen. Seasonable Dress. Estimate of a Wardrobe. Morning Dress at Home. Dress for Walking. Dress for Visits. Dress for Dinner Parties. Dress for Evening Parties and Balls. The Hat. Well-dressed and Ill-dressed. CONTENTS. 13 Fast Dressing 169 Different Styles of Dress. Sporting Costumes. Hunting, &c. CHAPTER IV. Lady’s Dress 176 The Love of Dress. Extravagance, Pecuniary, and in Fashion. Modern Dress, Stays, Tightness, &c. Dress and Feeling. The Ordinary In-door Dress. The Ordinary Out-door Dress. Country Dress. Carriage and Visiting Dress. Evening Costume at Home. Dinner Dress. Evening Party Dress. Ball Dress. Riding Dress. Court DreSs. CHAPTER V. Accomplishments ... 20£ Their Value. Self-defence — Boxing. CONTENTS. The Sword and the Fist Duelling. Field Sports. Riding. Mounting. Assisting a Lady to Mount. Driving. Dancing. Quadrilles. Round Dances. Hints on Dancing. The Valtz. Polka. Other Dances. The Piano. Music in General, Singing. Cards. Round Games. Languages. Knowledge of Current Affairs. Carving: Hints on Carving and Helping. Soup. Fish. Joints (Beef, Mutton, Lamb, Veal, Pork, Ham, Venison). Animals served whole. Fowls, Game, Goose, Turkey, &c. CONTENTS. 15 CHAPTER VL Feminine Accomplishments 259 Their Necessity. Social and Domestic Value. Music. Choice of Instruments. Singing. Age a Restriction. Choice of Songs. Etiquette of Singing and Playing. Appropriateness. German and Italian Singing. Working. Working Parties Abroad. Appropriateness of Work. CHAPTER VII. Manners, Carriage, and Habits 270 The Necessity for Laws of Etiquette. Manner: value of a good on^. Rules for preserving it. Self-respect. Affectation. Different kinds of Manner to be avoided. 16 CONTENTS. A change of Manner demanded by circum- stances 2fiC Carriage. Dignity. Physical Carriage, and how a man should walk. The Smile. Vehement action to be avoided. Certain Bad Habits. Smoking discussed. Etiquette thereof. A Lecture on Eating and Drinking at Dinner, and Habits at Meals. CHAPTER VIII. The Carriage op a Lady 298 Its Importance to the Sex. Young Ladies. Modesty. Agreeableness. Politeness. Dignity, Delicacy of Language. Temper. Fastness, Flirting, &c. The Prude and the Blue-Stocking Bearing of Married Women. CONTENTS. 17 French Manners ...• 309 The Physical Carriage of Ladies, CHAPTER IX. In Public 311 The Promenade. The ‘‘Cut.” Its Folly and objectionable character. Sometimes necessary. Should be made Inoffensively. Etiquetto of the “ Cut.” The Salute. Its History. Different Modes of Salutation. Kissing. Shaking Hands. Various Ways of doing so. Walking and Driving with Ladies. Etiquette of Railway Travelling. CHAPTER X. In Private 33€ The Visit. Proper Time and Occasions for Visiting. Introduction by Letters. Visits of Condolence and Congratulation. 18 CONTENTS. Hours for Visits 336 The Cards. Etiquette in Calling. Not at Home.” Visits in Good Society. Visits in Country Houses. CHAPTER XI. Dinners, Diners, and Dinner-Parties 34J!i DINNER PARTIES. By whom and to whom given. Sdection of Guests. Their Number. The Dining-Room. Its Furniture and Temperature. The Shape of the Table. Lighting. The Servants. The Russian Mode of Laying the Table. What to put on the Table. Soup. Wine and its Etiquettes. Fish. The Joint. Vegetables. The Order of Serving. CONTENTS. 19 Salad » 355 Grace. Dinner Etiquette. Punctuality, &o. CHAPTER XII. Ladies at Dinner SGC Invitations. Whom to Invite and whom not. The Reception of Guests by the Lady. Order of Precedence. Of Proceeding to the Dining-Room. The Ladies Retire. The Ladies in the Drawing-Room. CHAPTER XHI. Balls 378 Their Place in Society. The Invitations. Whom to Invite. The Proper Number. The Requisites for a Good BalL Arrangement of the Rooms, lighting. The Floor. The Music. 20 CONTENTS. Refreshments 390 The Supper. Ball-Room Etiquette. Receiving the Guests. Introductions. The Invitation to Dance. Ball-Room Acquaintance. Going to Refreshments and Supper. Manners at Supper. Flirtation. Public Balls. CHAPTER XIV. Moening and Evening Parties 39? * ‘^Making a Party.” Town Parties (Receptions, Private Concerts, Amateur Theatricals, Tea-Party, Matinees). General Rules. Country Parties (Evening Parties, Outdoor- Parties, and Picnics). General Rules. Marriage CHAPTER XV. 414 Offers. Engagements. CONTENTS. 21 Marriage Contracts and Settlements, The License. The Trousseau. The Bridesmaids. Invitations. The Lady’s Dress. The Gentleman’s Dress. Going to the Church. The Ceremony. The Breakfast. Travelling Dress. Fees to Servants. Presents, &c. THOUGHTS ON SOCIETY, AND THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. A SERMON and a book of etiquette have been taken as the antipodes of literature. Most erroneously ! The one is a necessary appendix to the other ; and the missionary of the South Sea Islands would tell you that it is useless to teach the savage religion without the addition of a few rules of courtesy. On manners, refinement, rules of good breeding, and even the forms of etiquette, we are for ever talking, judging our neighbors severely by the breach of traditionary and unwritten laws, and choosing our society and even our friends by the touchstone of courtesy. Wo are taught manners before religion ; our nurses and our parents preach their lay sermons upon them long before they open for us the Bible and the Catechism ; our domi- nies flog into us Greek verbs and English behavior with the same cane ; and Eton and Oxford declare with pride, that however little they may teach their frequenters, they at least turn them out gentlemen. Nay, we keep a grand state olfieial, with a high salary, for no other purposes than to preserve the formal etiquette of the Court, and tc issue from time to time a series of occasional services i; ( 23 > 24 THE SPIRIT or SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. which the minutest laws of courtly behavior are codified with majestic solemnity. Yet with all this and much more deference which wc show now to manners in general, now to the arbitrary laws if etiquette which seem to have no object but exclusive- ness, we are always ready to raise a titter at the attempt to reduce the former to a system, or codify the latter for the sake of convenience. The polished affect to despise the book of etiquette as unnecessary, forgetting that, in the present day, the circles of good society are growing fider and wider, admitting repeatedly and more than ever, men who have risen from the cottage or the workshop, and nave had neither their training nor their experience. 'Vhat if railway kings and mushroom millionaires had ftudied their grammars and manner-books in the respites from business, would the noble lords, who, with their wives nd daughters, condescended, nay, were proud, to dine with the quondam shop-boy and mechanic, have thus been sneered at by the middle classes for a worship of gold, which could induce them to put up with gross vulgarity, and for a respect for success which could allow the great- est sticklers for etiquette U endure its repeated neglect? Surely it is in the interest of future premiers and noble members of council, that John Smith should know how to behave before they visit him ; and how can he possibly learn it without either a tutor, a book, or experience ii% ociety ? The first is undoubtedly the best medium ; and we con tantly find the soijs of mannerless millionaires tutored mto the habits of good society, but at the same time it k a course which demands youth, time, and the absence of business occupations ; but everybody at first sight, agree? THE CHAPLAIN AND THE NUNCIO. 2ft that experience in society is the only good way to acquire the polish it demands. True, maybe ; but if it demands diat polish in you, how will it take you without it ? How 3an you obtain the entrie into good society, when, on tlu: rery threshold, you are found deficient in its first rules! How, if you succeed in pushing your way into sets which yju believe to constitute good society, can you be sure that they will tolerate you there till you have learned your lesson, which is not one to be known in a day ? Your failure, indeed, may be painful, and end in your ejectment for ever from the circles you have taken so much trouble to press into. I remember an instance of such a failure which occur- red many years ago, in a distant European capital. The English residents had long been without a chaplain, and the arrival of an English clergyman was hailed with such enthusiasm, that a deputation at once attended on him and offered him the post, which he accepted. We soon found ^hat our course was a mistaken one. Slovenly in his dress, dirty in his habits, and quite ignoiant of the com- monest rules of politeness, our new chaplain would have brought little credit to the English hierarchy even had his manners been retiring and unobtrusive. They were pre- cisely the reverse. By dint of cringing, flattery, and a readiness to serve in no matter what undertaking, he push- ed himself, by virtue of his new position, into some of the highest circles. One evening it happened that the new chaplain and the Pope’s nuncio were both at the same evening party. The pontifical legate went out but little, and the lady of the house had used great exertions to procure his presence. The contrast between the repre- sentatives of the two Churches was trying for us. 2 26 laE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. cardinal, grave, dignified, and courtly, recede/. Ibe baI vances of those who were introduced to hiiTi as his due The chaplain, in a frayed and dirty shi'.c, with holes m bis boots and ill-combed hair, was sneaking up to tl'C andees and doing his best to gaiii their attention by smiles and flattery. He had heard somewhere that no in- troductions were needed in Continental salons, and you can imagine our surprise when we saw him slide sideways up to the red-stockinged nuncio, tap him familiarly on the shoulder, and with a full grin exclaim, “ Well, my Lord^ how did you leave the Pope ? ” The cardinal bowed and smiled, but could not conceal his astonishment. The fa- miliarity AYas not indeed a crime, but it proved that the offender was not fit for the society into which he had pushed himself ; and the legate, glad to have a story against the Protestants, made the most of % and repeat ed it until the new chaplain found his entree to the drawing-rooms of the great was generally cancelled. Useful or not useful, it would seem that codes of man- ners are thought ridiculous. If the farce- writer wants to introduce a thoroughly credulous country girl, he makes her carry a little book of etiquette under her fan into the ball-room ; and if the heavy-headed essayists of a Quar- terly want a light subject to relieve the tedium of their trimestrial lucubrations, it is almost sure to be the vadt mecums of etiquette which come in for their satire. Poor indeed, and reduced in honor as well as capital, must be the man of letters, they tell you, who will condescend to write on the angle of a bow, or the punctilio of an insult ; forg:itting that these are but some of the details which gc to make an important whole, and that we might as hon- estly sneer at the antiquarian who revels in a dirty coir THE HIGHEST AUTHORITIES ON THE SUBJECT. 27 of the size of a farthing, or the geologist who fills ah pockets with chips of ugly stone. However, the sneer ia raised, and it is our duty to speak of it. There remain, then, three reasons for holding work^i if this sort in disrepute: either manners themselves ai; ontemptible, or they are not a subject worthy of the donsideration of the wise and great ; or the books of eti- quette themselves are ridiculous in their treatment of the subject. The \ alue of manners is to be the main theme of this introduction ; as regards their value as a subject, I can only point to those who have discoursed or written upon them, and I think it may be afiirmed that few moral teachers have not touched on the kindred subject. Indeed the true spirit of good manners is so nearly allied to that of good morals, that it is scarcely possible to avoid doing so. Our Saviour himself has taught us that modesty is the true spirit of decent behavior, and was not ashamed to notice and rebuke the forward manners of his fellov guests in taking the upper seats at banquets, while he hati chosen the etiquettes of marriage as illustrations in seve- ral of his parables. Even in speaking of the scrupulous habits of the Pharisees, he did not condemn their cleanli- ness itself, but the folly which attached so much value to mere form. He conformed himself to those habits, and is the washing of feet at meals, drew a practical lesson beautiful humility. His greatest follower has left u many injunctions to gentleness and courteousness of niat> aer, and fine passages on women’s dress, which should U painted over every lady’s toilet table in the kingdom. As to the philosophers, who are anything but men of l!Ood manners themselves, there are few who have not 28 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. taught behavior more or less. To saj nothing of th^ ijglj but agreeable old gentleman, Socrates, who went about the city asking as many questions as a counsel foi the defendant in a case of circumstantial evidence, w?’ 1 1 VQ his j upiPs pupil Aristotle, whose ethics the Oxford :oys are taught to look upon as next in wisdom to th€ Bible, ard truer than any similar work. We are con- vinced that the greater part of the ethics might be turned into a Guide to the Complete Gentleman.” In fact the Stag/rite’s morals are social ones ; the morals that fit a mau to shine in the agora and the academy. He has raired the peculiar behavior of the dialog xdtyadog — alias ‘‘gentleman” — to his equals, betters, and inferiois, into one of the cardinal virtues, and has given us, besides, several chapters on wit and conversation, in- timacies, and the proper carriage of a good citizen in society. But. to look nearer home, Lord Bacon himself has de- voted an essay to manners, and reminds us that as a pre- cious stone must be of very high value to do without a Stjtting, a man must be a very great one to dispense with social observances ; and probably Johnson thought him- self one of these unset gems, when he made such speech- es as, “ Sir, you’re a fool ;” or at Aberdeen, “ Yes, sir, Scotland is what I expected ; I expected a savage coun- try, and savage people, and I have found them.” But why multiply instances ? If we look to the satirist )f aL ages, we find that manners as well as morals camt luder their lash, and many taught by ridicule what we Jd by precept. Horace, the Spectator^ and Thackeray expose the vulgarities and affectations of society; and the finest wit of his day, Chesterfield, is the patron saint of the writers on Behavior. FALSE MOIIVES FOll POLITENESS. 29 We have, therefore, no lack of precedent; but it is cer- tainly true that too often the office of a teacher of inannerB Has been assumed bj^ retired Turvejdivps, and geritec nasters of ceremonies, and the laugh that is raised at their hints on propriety is not always without excuse. It would be very bad manners in me to criticise the \vorks of forme writers on this subject, and thus put for^vard my owm as the ne plus ultra of perfection. I confess, indeed, that 1 can never aspire to the delicacy and apparently universal acquirements of some of these genteel persons. If I can tell you how to entertain your gue:ts, I cannot furnish a list of cartes for dinners, like the author of the Art oj Dining, If I can tell you how to dance with propriety^ I must despair of describing the Terpsichorean inventions of a D’Egville ora Delplanque. or of giving directions for the intricate evolutions of one hundred and one dances, of 7 Inch in the present day not a dozen are ever performed. I may, however, be permitted to point out that to6 many of my predecessors have acted on a wrong principle. I have before me at least a dozen books treating of etiquette of different dates, und I find that one and all, including Chesterfield, state the motive for politeness to be either he desire to shine, or the wish to raise one’s self into society supposed to be better than one’s own. One of the best begins by defining Etiquette as a shield against the intrusion of the impertinent, the improper, and the ynp gar another tells us that the circles which protect them- elves with this shield must be the object of our attack and that a knowledge of etiquette will secure us the vic- tory ; others of higher character confound good with high society, and as a matter of course declare birth, rank, distinction as its first requisites All of them make i 30 rHE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. appear that the cultivation of manners is not a social duty but merely a means to the gratificat on of personal vanity, and on this account they must all appear ridiculous to ih^ man of sense. Good society is undoubtedly a most desirable accompa tiiment of the business of life, and with some people it evo£ lakes the place of that business itself ; but if the reader imagines that he is to put his book of etiquette into liia pocke t, and, quitting his old friends and acquaintance with disgust, to push himself into sets for which perhaps his position itself does not qualify him, he is much mistaken as to the object of cultivating the 'habits of good society. His proper objects are these : to make himself better in every respect than he is ; to render himself agreeable to every one with whom he has to do ; and to improve, if necessary, the society in which he is placed. If he can do this, he will not want good society long. It is in the power of every man to create it for himself. An agreeable and polished person attracts like light, and every kind of society which is worth entering will soon and easily open its doors to him, and be glad to have him in its circle. Excl isive- ness is often a proof of innate vulgarity, and the tests applied by the exclusive are generally position, birth, name^ or peculiarity, rarely indeed individual merit. Whjrever these limitations are drawn, you may be confident of a deficiency in the drawers. My Lady A — , who will haie no one under the rank of baronet at her house, can scarcely 'appreciate the wide diffusion of wit and intelligence among the untitled. Mr. B — , who invites none but literal y meii to his, must be incapable of enjoying the accomplisl ments and general knowledge of men of the world. And then, too it is so easy to b ^ exclusive, if you are content to he EXCLUSIVE SETS, 81 iull, Mj University tailor had a daughter, whose lowei he announced as X30,000, and he gave out that none but a gold -tassel should be allowed to cultivate her acquaintance But the young noblemen never came, and the damsel pined for a couple of years. The father widened the bounds, and geiiileman-commoners were admitted, but still the maiden wras unwooed. Tn another three years the suffrage was extended to all members of Christ Church. There may have been wooers now, but no winners. Five years more and the maiden still sat at her window unclaimed. For another five years the ninth part of a man held out reso- lutely, but by that time youth was gone, and the daughter BO long a prisoner was glad to accept the hand of an aspir- ing cheesemonger. But the tailor’s vulgarity was no greater than that of all exclusive sets, who ‘‘draw the line” which preserves the purity of their magic circle, with a measure of rank, wealth, or position, rather than the higher recommendations of agreeable manners, social talents, and elevated character. The dullness of the coteries of the Faubourg St. Germain is equalled in this country only by that of certain sets tc be found in most watering-places. A decrepit old lady oi gentleman, long retired from fashionable and public life, is always to be found in these localities. Surrounded by a small knot of worshippers, he or she is distinguished by a title, a faultless wig, and a great love of whist, and the playful sallies of my loJi'd” and “ my lady” are hailed m qpdendid wit, or their petulant tempers endured with affeo« ioaate submission. How much Christianity does a nook in the peerage encourage ! What a pity there is not a retired nobleman in every set of society, to put our for- bearance to a perpetual tival, call forth our broadest 32 TliE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. chanty, and train us at the whist-table to lose our guineas and not our temper ! Exclusive society, Avhetlier the passport for admittanot bo of rank, birth, wealth, fashion, or even more meritorioiu distirKtioiis, is not often agreeable society, and not neces- sarily good. The question at once arises : What is gtf'’0»i society? and we proceed to answer it, beginning witli an attempt lo define society itself. When the ex-King Ludwig of Bavaria stops, as we have eeen him do, to exchange a hearty word with a crossing- sweeper, one of a class which the misnamed First Ger- cleman of Europe,” while returning punctiliously the marks of respect shown him by every man that he passed, thought it beneath the dignity of a monarch to notice, no one would think of impeaching the sovereign of a love of low society. If, again, a country gentleman chats with his gamekeeper as they come from the fields together, he wdll perhaps tell you that he has enjoyed the honest fellow’s society,” but it will be in the tone of a joke. Not so nowever, the candidate for the borough, who begs the in- fluential harberdasher he is canvassing, to introduce him to his wife and daughters, whose society “ he is most anxious to cultivate.” He is quite aware that equality is the first essential of society, and that where it does not exist in reality, it must do so in appearance. Nor is mere equality of position sufiicient. It seems to be a rule in the intercourse of men, that the employei should rank above the employed, and the transaction c business suspends equality for a time. Tliere is no society between a gentleman and his solicitor or physician, in an official visit, and though both hold the same rank, the pro- fessional man would never, unless further advances were WHAT IS SOCIETY ? !Jttade, presume on the official acquaintance to i^onsidcr liim^ self a member of his patient’s or client’s circle. Society is. therefore, the intercourse of persons on a footing of equality, real or apparent. But it is more ihaD ■Ilk. The two thoroughly English gentlemen who, irav lling foi two hundred miles in the same railway carriagOj ensconce themselves behind their newspapers or shilling novels, exchanging no more than a sentence when the oik treads upon the other’s favorite bunion, cannot, in the widest sense of the phrase, be said to enjoy each other’s society. The intercourse must be both active and friendly. Man is a gregarious animal ; but while other animals herd together, for the purpose of mutual protection, or common undertakings, men appear to form the only kind who as- semble for that of mutual entertainment and improvement. But in society properly so called, this entertainment must address the higher part of man. Never was philosopher more justly put down for narrowness of mind than Plato was by Diogenes The polished Athenian had the rash ness to define man as a biped without feathers. The ill- mannered but sensible philosopher of the tub plucked a cock and labelled it Plato’s Man.” Man is not wholly man without his mind, and a game of cricket in which men assemble for mutual entertainment or improvement is not society, since it is the body not the mind which is brought nto action. Indeed we hear people talk of round games being so uiable and it is certain that in most of those which art pbyed in a drawing-room, the mind is made to work ag well as the fingers ; but while such games undoubtcdlj excite sociability with people too shy or too stupid to talk, and be at ease without their assistance, we must beware of 2 * M THE SPIllIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. t'oiifoundmg them with sociability itself. The mutual oa tertainment of the mind must be immediate in society In chess and even in whist, the mental working is keen, and the action is decidedly mutual, if we may not ratlie Ray antagonistic, but no one would think of saying tliat h had enjoyod Mr. Morphy’s society, because he was one of his eight opponents in a chess tournament, and nOxie bu doting dowagers would presume to talk of the society” of the whist- table. The intercourse must be direct frora mind to mind. Social intercourse is in fact, the consequence of a neces- 61 ty felt by men and women for new channels of thought, tnd new impulses of feeling. We read books, and we go the play for the very same purpose ; but that which constitutes the superior charm of society over these relax- ations is its variety and uncertainty. The guest could never have sat through the Barmecide’s feast, if he had not ex- pected that each succeeding cover would reveal a dainty entremets to make up for the shadowy character of the joints and hors d oeuvres^ and not even an old maid of fifty could continue to attend those dreary evening parties at the vicar’s, or those solemn dinners at the hall, if she did not look forward to meeting some new guest, or at least having' some new idea struck into her. I have always doubted whether Boswell had not as great mental capacities of their kind as Johnson. It requires eidier a profound mind or a cold heart to feel no necessity fer social intercourse. Bozzy had not the latter. Had he tlu former? As the great mind can content itself with ito ovrii reflections, stimulated at most by the printed ihoaglits of others, so it carries in itself its power of vary- ing what it takes in, and scorns to look for variety from MENTAL INTERCOURSE NECESSARY. 88 without. Most deep thinkers have had one pet book, which they have read, one bosom-friend whom they have studied in a thousand different lights according to the variety which their own nervous mind would suggest. Had Boswell b(‘en \n ordinary man, would he not have wearied of the Dec toi 'S perpetual sameness, of his set answers and anticipated rebuffs ? Lovers weary of one another's minds, and the cleverest people are incapable of enduring a for three weeks at a time, and was Boswell more than a lover ? “ Lean not on one mind constantly, Lest where one stood before, two fall. Something God hath to say to thee Worth hearing from the lips of all.”* And it is this feeling which impels men of good sense and ordinary minds to seek acquaintance as well as friends, which makes me happy to talk sometimes to the plough- man coming from the field, to the policeman hanging about his ]»eat, even to the thief whose hand I have caught in my pocket. Could I have a professional pickpocket in my grar^p and not seize the rare opportunity of discovering wfij^-t view a thief takes of life, of right and wrong, honoi even manners and the habits of good society ? You maj be sure he has something to tell me on all these points, and fo’“ a while I might profit from even his society ; though, ft?, equality is necessary, I should for the time have to let -oiyself down to his level, which is scarcely desirable. 1 have said that there are some minds, universal enough m themselves to feel no need of society. To such, solitude is society — of thought. To such the prison-cell is but • Owen Meredith. 36 THE SPIRir OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. little tiial, Raleigh was as great in the Tower as out of it. and Michael Angelo desired only to sit for days gazing aj'On, ay, and communing, with the grand men and won drous scenes which he found in his own brain. Other minds again are content with a little society, bu h the weakest class that can never do without it. 1 V ill not be difficult to show that the wits and beaux wh have lived for society only, were men whom no one need aspire to rival. I draw this distinction in order that hereafter I may speak more freely of conversation in general society ; but it must not be thought, by a converse conclusion, that every common frequenter of society is but a poor-minded being. Socrates and Shakspere, who lived continually with their fellow-creatures, would not thank you for such an inference, and the cleverest men are often the most sociable ; though as La Rochefoucault.says In conversation confidence hag a greater share than wit.^’ Chesterfield says, there are two sorts of good company; one which is called the heau-monde^ and consists of thos^ people who have the lead in courts, and in the gay part of ife ; the other consists of those who are distinguished by ome peculiar merit, or who excel in some particular and iraluable art or science.’’ If this were not the opinion of my patron saint, I should maintain that the writer knew not what good company was. But in truth in the days of Philip Dormer Stanhipe there w\as little option but be iween wealth, rank, and fashion, on the one hand, and wi find learning on the other; and his Lordship cannot b blamed for writing thus in the beginning of the r'ghteentJ century, when the middle classes had not learnt manners ’€ a century later Mr. Hayward, who undertakei ■) write BAD MOKALS AND BAD SOCTTETT. iiowTi books of etiquette, tells us that rank, svedlth, ana flistinction of some sort,” are the elements of success ic -society: If the opinion of a man who for twelve years laboite iO make a graceful gentleman of his son, and, though i t ailed to do so, certainly thought and wrote more on thr nanners of good society than any man before and since, is not to be taken as a maxim, I must be allowed some hesi- tation in putting forward a definition. As Chesterfield himself says, bad company is much more easily defined than good. Let us begin with the bad, then, and see to what it brings us. Beau Brummel broke off an engagement with a young lady because he once saw her eat cabbage. ‘‘ Over-nice people,” says Dean Swift, “ have sometimes very nasty ideas.” But George the Less evidently thought the young lady in question was very bad company. To de- fine exactly where bad manners begin is not easy, but there is no doubt that no society is good in which they are found ; and this book will have been written in vain, if the reader after studying it is unable to distinguish be- tween bad and good behavior. In the present day neither Brummel nor his “ fat friend,’’ the greatest gentleman in Europe,” would be tolerated in good society. The code of morals is clearly written, whatever may be thf traditionary code of manners, and we may at once lay down as a rule, that where morals are openly bad, society Hust be bad. The badness of morals is soon detected. We may indeed meet in a London ball room a score of 'oung men, whose manners are as spotless as their shirt routs, and fail to discover from their carriage and coi versation that one requires assistance to undress everj 88 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. thud night, another is supported by Hebrews in gambling away his reversionary property, and a third, withoul Shelley’s genius, shares his opinions as to the uselessnesi of matrimonial vows. But let us pursue their ac(;(uaint- ance, and we shall soon learn from the tone of their con- versation what is the tenor of their lives. Bad society, then, may be divided into three classes 1. That in w^hich both morals and manners are bad ; 2 That in which the manners are bad, be the morals w’^hat they wdll ; 3. That in which the manners appear to be good, but the morals are detestable. The first is low, the second vulgar, the third dangerous society. Few people but undergraduates, young ensigns, and aspiring clerks and shop-boys, will need to be warned against low society. Where vice wears no veil, and de- cency forever blushes, the man of any self-respect, to say nothing of taste and education, will speedily be disgusted. The first proof of lowness is seen at once in undue fa- miliarity. If there ar omen in company, you will at once discover their character from the manner in which they allow themselves to be addressed ; but if not, you will doubtless ere long be yourself subjected to a freedom af treatment, which you will readily distinguish from ease of manner, and know to be beyond the proper limits. Familiarity, on first introduction, is always of bad style, often even vulgar, and, when used by the openly immor- al, IS low and revolting. A man of self respect will not be pleased with it even when it comes from the most re- ftpectable, or his superiors ; he will despise it in his e(|uals, and will take it almost as an insult from those who do not respect themselves. If Brummel reallj had the impudence to say to his patron prince, Wales INSTANCES OF FAMILIARITY. 8t ring the bell ! we cannot blame the corpulent fioige for ordering the Beau’s carriage when the servant appear ed. We can only wonder that he did not take warning:, by his favorite’s presumption to separate himself from rest of his debauched hangers-on, when he found tha respect for the Prince was swamped in contempt for th pro digate. This is a good opportunity for introducing a few vrorda on the subject of familiarity, Avhich, writing as an English- man, we may at once lay down as incompatible with good society. You are a race of pokers !” say the French ‘You are a race of puppies!” replies the inassailable Englishman ; and certainly there is nothing more sublime- ly ridiculous than the British lion shaking his mane and muttering a growl when the Continental poodle asks him, in a friendly manner, to shake his paw. Dignity has its limits as well as ease, and dignity is extravagant in Spain, and often melodramatic in England. Charles I. never laughed, and his cotemporary, Philip of Spain, never smiled. But it must not be supposed that the En- glish have always been as dignified as the modern towers bristling with cannon, and bearing the motto, “ Noli me tangere,” who are seen moving in Pall-Mall in the after- noon. Stiffness perhaps came in with Brummelks starched cravat, a yard in height, which took him a quarter of arj hour to crease down to that of his neck. In the reigns of the Tudors, familiarity was the order of the day at the Court. There was nothing shocking in Bluff Harry stretching his huge gouty leg upon Catharine Parr's lap and Queen Elizabeth thought herself only witty when tc Sir Roger Williams, presenting a petition which she dis^ liked, she exclaimed, “ Williams, how your boot^ stmk iO TflE SPIRIT OF SOCrAL OBSERVANCES ‘^Tut, madame/’ replied the Welshman, “it is my suit not my boots which stink.” In Ben Jonson’s day it was the height of gallantry to chuck a lady under the chin, and make a not very refined compliment to her rosy lips Even the cavaliers of Charles’ court had a freedom of speech md manner v/hich disgusted the puritans ; and. i Milton’s report be true, the sovereign that never laughed saw no harm in making indelicate remarks before, if not to, the Queen’s ladies. But the most curious instance? of familiarity, mistaken for wit, are to be found in the reigns of William iii. and Anne. When Bath was the most fashionable spot in the kingdom, and Beau Nash the most fashionable man in Bath, the following speeches, in- terlarded with oaths, were his most fashionable mots : — A lady afliicted with a curvature of the spine, once told him that she had that day come straight from London Straight, madame !” replied the magnificent master of the ceremonies, “then you’ve been horribly warped by the way.” When, on an another occasion, a gentleman appeared at an assembly in boots, which Nash had inter- dicted, he called out to him, “Hollo! Hogs Norton, haven’t you forgot to bring your horse?” He was well put down, however, by a young lady, whom he once met walking with a spaniel behind her. “ Please, madame,” asked the Beau, “can you tell me the name of Tobit’s dog? ” “ Yes, sir,” answered the damsel ; “his name if Nash, and a very impudent dog he is, too.” Familiarity arises either from an excess of friendlinesa 3T a deficiency of respect The latter is never pardonable We cannot consider that man well-bred who shows nc respect for the position, feelings, or even prejudices of Dthors. The youth who addresses his father as “govern- CV15SPECT TO THE SEX u , or/ or come now, paymaster,’’ is almost as blaiLable as the man who stares at my club-foot, or, because I have a very dark complexion, asks me at first sight when I left India. Still more reprehensible should I be if I exclaim^ td to a stout lady, How w^arm you look ! ” asked Mr. Spurgeon if he had been to many balls lately ; inquired after the wife and family of a Romish priest, or begged the Dean of Carlisle to tell me the odds on the Derby. Worse, again, is the familiarity which arises from n i- tural coarseness, and which becomes most prominent in the society of elderly men, or where ladies, are present. The demeanor of youth to age should ahvays be res})ect- ful; that of man to woman should approach even reverence “ To thee be all men heroes; every race Noble ; all women virgins ; and each place A temple,” And certainly it is better and more comfortable to believe in the worth of all, than by contempt and boldness to leave the impression of impudence and impropriety. It should be the boast of every man that he had never put modesty to the blush, nor encouraged immodesty to remove her mask. But w^e fear there is far too little chivalry in the present day. If young men do not chuck their partners under the chin, they are often guilty of piessing their hands when the dance affords an opportunity. There is a calm dignity with which to show that the offence has been noticed, but if a lady condescends to reprove it in woids, she forces the culprit to defend himself, and()ften ends by making the breach worse. On the othor hand, let a woraan once overlook the slightest familiarity, and fail to show hei surprise in her manner, and she can never be certain that \'2 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. it wii] not be repeated. There are few actions so atrooi« lusly familiar as a wink. I would rather kiss a ladj outright than wink or leer at her, for that silent movement fieeras to imply a secret understanding which may be in* terpreted in any way you like. Even between men a wiiil mould be avoided, however intimate the terms between you^ since it seems to keep the rest of the company in the dark an 1 is perhaps worse than whispering. We often hear people complain of the necessity of company manners.” As a general rule such people must be by nature coarse. A well-bred man has always the same manners at home and in society, and what is bad in the former, is only Avorse in the latter. It can never be pardonable to swagger and lounge, nor to carry into even the family circle the actions proper to the dressing-room. Even where familiarity has nothing shocking in itself, it attacks the respect due to the society of others, whoever they may be, and presents the danger of a further breach of it. From familiarity to indecency is but one step. Thus no part of the dress, not a shoe-string even, should be arranged in the presence of ladies. The Hindus, re- markable for the delicacy of their manners, would not allow kissing, scratching, pinching, or lying down to be repre- sented on the stage, and at least the last three should never be permitted in a mixed society of men and women. There are attitudes too, which are a transition from ease to famil- iarity , and should never be indulged. A man may cross nig legs in the present day, but should never stretch them apart To wipe the forehead, gape, yawn, and so forth, are only a shade less obnoxious than the American habit of expec- toration. I shall have more to say on this subject, and must now pass to another. SHYNESS. ih Familiarity must be condemned or pardoned dfcoiding to the motive that suggests it. Not unfrequently it arise? from over-friendliness or even shyness, and must then bo gently and kindly repi’essed. As for shyness, which is pm evcelleiice the great obstacle to ease in English society, 1 r)r my part, think it infinitely preferable to forwardness It calls forth our kindest and best feelings, utterly disarms the least considerate of us, and somewhat endears us tf the sufferer. Yet so completely is it at variance with the spirit of society, that in France it is looked on as a sin ; and children are brought forward as much as possible that they may early get rid of it, the consequence of which is, that a French boy from his college is one of the most ob- noxious of his race, while you cannot help feeling that the extreme difiidence of the debutante is merely assumed in )bedience to ch re maman. Give me a boy that blushes when you speak to him, and a girl under seventeen, who looks down because she dares not look up. On the other hand, shyness is trying and troublesome in young people of full age, though a little of it is always becoming on first acquaintance ; while in middle-aged people it is scarce- ly pardonable. To the young, therefore, who are entering into society I would say. Never be ashamed of your shyness, since, however painful it may be to you, it is far less disagreeable to others than the attempt to conceal it by familiarity. The only way to treat familiarity arising from shyness 8 not to notice it, but encourage the offender till you have given him or her confidence. It is a kindness as much tc yourself as to the sufferer from shyness, to intro- duce merry subjects, to let fly a little friendly badinage at him, until he thinks that you are deceived by his assumed 44 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. manner, and no longer afraid of being thought nervous really gets rid of the chief cause of that feeling. ^ When Brummell was asked by a lady whom he scarce Ij knew, to come and take tea’’ with her. the Beau replied, ^ Madame, you take a walk, and you take a liberty, but you drink tea.” It was only one of those many speecbeg of the Beau’s, which prove that a man may devote his whole life to the study of manner and appearance, and, without good feeling to back them up, not be a gentleman The lady undoubtedly did take a liberty, but the would-bfl gentleman took a greater in correcting her idiom. The lady erred from a silly admiration of the ex-model of fashion ; the broken beau erred from excessive conceit, and an utter want of heart. Let the reader judge between the two. If the object of politeness is to insure harmony to society, and set every one at his ease, it is as necessary to good manners to receive a well-meant familiarity in a like spirit, as it is to check one which arises from coarseness. On the Continent, where diffidence is unknown, and tc be friendly is the first object, we find a freedom of manners which in England we should call familiarity. Let a man be of no matter what station, he has there a right to speak to his fellow-man, if good him seems, and certainly the barrier which we English raise up between classes savors very little of Christianity. W Hat harm can it do me, who call myself gentleman, if a horny-handed workman, waiting for the same train as myself, comes up and says, It is a .fine day, sir,” evincing a desire for a further interchange of ideas ; am I the more a gentleman because I cut him short with a ‘‘Yes,” and turn away; or because, as many people do I stare him rudely in the face, and vouchsafe ii3 answer? “Something God hath to say to thee wortJi TAKING A LIBERTY. 4c hearing from the lips of all,” and I may be sure that 1 shall learn something from him, if I talk to him in a friendly manner, which, if I am really a gentleman, hia socie y can do me no harm. But of course there is a limit to be fixed. Englishmen f aspect nothing so much as their purses and their private affairs, and in England you might as well ask a stiangei for five pounds as inquire what he was travelling for, ^\h^ l bis income was, or what were the names of his six children. But England is an exception in this case, and a foreigner believes that he does himself no harm by telling you his family history at first sight. While, therefore, it is a gross impertinence in this country to put curious questions to a person of whom you know little, while it is reserved for the closest intimacy to inquire as to private means and per- sonal motives, it is equally ridiculous in an Englishman abroad to take offence at such questions, and consider as an impertinence what is only meant as a friendly advance to nearer acquaintance. I certainly cannot understand whj an honest man should determine to make a secret of his position, profession, and resources, unless it be from a false pride, and a desire to be thought richer and better than he is ; but as these subjects are respected in this country, I should be guilty of great ill-breeding if I sought to rt- move his secrecy. I shall never forget the look of horror and astonishment r once saw on the face of an English lady talking to a foreign ambassadress. The latter, thoroughly well-brei, iccording to native ideas, had admired the former’s dress and touching one of the silk flounces delicately enough, she inquired, How much did it cost a yard?” Sucli questions are common enough on the Continent, and ouj 46 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. teiglibors see no harm in them. And why should we di BO? Is it anyway detrimental to us to tell how much wc pail for our clothes? Yet, such is the false pride of English people on matters connected, however slightly with money, that even to mention that most necessary articl is considered as bad breeding in this country. We must respect the prejudice, though, in fact, it is a vulgar one. The next kind of bad society is the vulgar, in which the morals may be good, but the manners are undoubtedly bad. What bad manners are in detail, will be shown in the course of this work ; but I shall now take as the distinguishing test of this kind of society — a general vulgarity of conduct Until the end of the last century, the w^ord vulgarity was confined to the low, mean, and essentially plebeian. It would be well if we could so limit it in the present day, but the great mixture of classes and the elevation of wealth, have thrust vulgarity even into the circles of good society, where, like a black sheep in a white flock, you may sometimes find a thoroughly vulgar man or woman recom« mended by little but their wealth, or a position gained by certain popular qualifications. Where the majority of the company are decidedly vulgar, the society may be set down as bad. Apart from coarseness and familiarity, vulgarity may be defined as pretension of some kind. This is shown promi- nently in a display of wealth. I remember being taken to dine at the house of a French corn-merchant, who had realized an enormous fortune. It was almost a family party, fcr there were only three strangers including myself The manners of every one present were irreproachable, and the dinner excellent, but it was sei'ved on gold plate. Such a display was unnecessary, inconsistent, and therefore THE VULGARITY OF DISPLAY. ^7 m gar. A display of dress in ladies comes under llic same liead and will be easily detected by inappropriateness. The lady who walks in the streets in a showy dress suitable only to a fite ; w^ho comes to a quiet social gathering with a ! r^fusion of costly jewelry; the man who eloctiifies a dtiuntry village" with the fashionable attire of Rotten Row cr reminds you of his guineas by a display of unnecessarj jewels ; the people, in short, who are always over-drest foi the occasion, may be set down as vulgar. Too much state is a vulgarity not always confined to wealth, and when a late nobleman visiting a simple commoner at his country house, brought with him a valet, coachman, three grooms, two men servants, a carriage, and half-a-dozen horsv^s, he was guilty of as gross vulgarity as Solomon Moses or A.biathar Nathan, who adorns his fat stumpy fingers with three rings a piece. So completely indeed is modesty the true spirit of good breeding, that any kind of display in poor or rich, high or low, savors of vulgarity ; and the man who makes too much of his peculiar excellencies, who attempts to engross conversation with the one topic he ia strong in, who having travelled is always telling you what they do on the Continent;” who being a scholar, overwhelms you with Menander or Manetho, who, having a lively wit, show’ers down on the whole company a per- petual hail of his own bo7i mots^ and laughs at them him- self, who, gifted with a fine voice, monopolizes the piano the whole evening, who, having distinguished himself in the Crimea, perpetually leads back the conversation to the ibcme of war, and rattles away on his own achlevementa ^ho, having Tvritten a book, interlards his talk with, ‘‘ As I say in my nrA'el,” &c., who being a fine rider, shows his & )r8e off in a aiore of iifficult manoeuvres, as LouisNapoleoo 48 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL ORSEnVANCES. did at the Egremont toui nameut. though not asked to takft part in the lists, who goes to a party with all the medals iud clasps he has perhaps most honorably earned, or wlio, being a great man in any line, puts himself prominently forward, condescends, talks loud, oi asserts his privileges 43 a vulgar man, be he king, kaiser, or cobbler. But there is a form of vulgarity found as much in th.Ci# uf small as those of large means, and known by the name of gentility.’’ I know a man who keeps a poor little worn-out pony-phseton, and always speaks of it as my carriage,” taking care to bring it in whenever possible. My friend Mrs. Jones dines at one o’clock, but invariably calls it her lunch.” The Rev. Mr. Rmich cannot alFord the first-class on a railway, but is too genteel to go in the second. Excellent man ! he tells me — and I am bound to believe it — that he positively prefers the third class to the first.' Those first-class carriages are so stuffy,” he says ‘ ‘ and in the second one meets such people, it is really un- bearable,” but he does not let me know that in the third he wdll have to sit next to an odoriferous ploughboy, get his knees crushed by a good woman’s huge market-basket, and catch cold from a draught passing through the ill- adjusted windows. There is no earthly reason why he should not travel in what carriage he likes, but the \ ulgar- ity consists in being ashamed of his poverty, and tacitly pretending to be better off than he is. Brown, again call his father’s nutshell of a cottage our country seat,” an Mrs. Brown speaks of the diminutive buttons as the ‘'man servant.” My tailor has his crest embossed on his mto paper; Bobinson, the successful stock-broker, covers lua pannels of his carriage with armorial bearings as large as iishes ; Tomkins, ashamed of his father’s name, signs him- fketensio:!^. 49 8elf Tomkvns; and Mrs. Williams, when I call always discourses >n English history that she may bring in John Gaunt ‘‘an ancestor of ours, you know.’’ Nor k gentility confined to a pretension to more wealth x’vter bi.th, or greater state than w^e possess. The com- iorm of it, found unfortunately in all classes, is the pie^c^s m to a higher position than we occupy. The John- sons, r« tired haberdashers, cannot visit the Jacksons, re- tired 1 aen-drapers, but have moved heaven and earth for an int eduction to the Jamesons, who are not retire^ from anything. The Jamesons receive the Johnsons, but stiffly annihilate them at once by talking of “our friends the Williamsons,” who have a cousin in rarliament, and the Williamsons again are for ever dragging the said cousin into their conversation, that the Jamesons may be stupefied. We go higher; the M. P., though perhaps a Radical, will for ever be dogging the steps of the noble viscount opposite, and call the leader of his own party “ that fellow so-and- so.” The viscount is condescendingly gracious to the commoner, but defer-ential to the iuke, and the duke him- self will be as merry as old King Cole, if “ the blood” should happen to notice him more than usual. Alas! poor worms, in what paltry shadows we can glory, and forget the end that lays us all in the common comfortless lap of mother earth ! Nothing therefore will more irretrievably stamp you as vulgar in ideally good society, than the repeated introduc • ion of tlie names of the nobility, or even of distinguishe 3 personages in reference to yourself. It is absurd to sup- pose that you can reflect the ligh?' of these greater orbs ; on the contrary, your mention of them naturally suggests a comparison . such as one make« between the unpretending 3 50 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. glorious sun, and the pale pitiable moon, when she quits her proper sphere and forces herself into broad daylight W hen Scribbles of the Seai and Tape Office tells us hi 'A as flirting last night with Lady Adelaide, when the Duk ^ ( came up, and “ shook hands with me, ’poa ho n< r Le did,’’ I am tempted to think Scribbles either a gvos^ exaggerator, or a grosser snob. When worthy Mrs. Midge relates for the thirteenth time how she travelled down with Her Grace,” and I see how her eyes glow, and how vainly she attempts to appear indifferent to the honor (which it is to her), she only proves to me how small she must feel herself to be, to hope to gain bril- liance by such a slight contact. I feel fain to remind her of the Indian fable of a lump of crystal, which thought it would be mistaken for gold because it reflected the glit- ter of the neighboring metal. It was never taken for gold, but it was supposed to cover it, and got shivered to atoms by the hammer of the miner. But when this vulgarity is reduced to practice it be- comes actual meanness. The race of panders, parasites, ir ‘‘flunkies,” as they are now called, is one which has f ourished through all time, and the satire of all ages has been freely levelled at their servile truculency. But, in general, they have had a substantial object in view, and mean as he may be, a courtier who flattered for place or for money, is somehow less contemptible than the modern groveller who panders to the great from pure respect of their greatness, from pure want of self-respect. I am not one of those who deny position its rights ; and as long as caste is recognised in this country, I would have re- spect shown from one of a lower to one of a higher class. But this respect for the position must not be blind ' it HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSB. 51 should not extend to worship of the man. No rank, no wealth, no distinction, even if gained by merit, should close our eyes to actual unworthiness in its holder. Wo may bow to the nobility of my lord, but we are truculent slaves if we call it nobleness. We may respect with dig- iity the accident of birth and wealth, but if the duke be an acknowledged reprobate, or the millionaire a selfish grasper, we are inexcusable if we allow their accidental distinctions to blot out their glaring faults. What wo should hate in our friend, and punish in our servant, we must never overlook as a ‘‘weakness” in the Duke or Dives. It is not mere vulgarity, it is positive unchristi- anity, hopeless injustice. A less offensive but more ridiculous form of vulgar gentility, is that which displays itself in a pretension to superior refinement and sensibility. We have all had our laugh at the American ladies who talk of the “ limbs ” of their chairs and tables, ask for a slice from the “ bosom ” of a fowl, and speak of a rump-steak as a “ seat-fixing,” but in reality we are not far short of them, when we in vent the most far-fetched terms for trousers, and ou* young ladies faint — or try to — at the mention of a petti- coat , — Honi soit qui mal y pense ; and shame indeed t( the man, still more to the woman, whose mind is so im« pure, that the mere name of one common object immedi- ately suggests another which decency excludes from con- versation. It is indeed difficult to define in what indelicacy X/nsists and where it begins, but it is clear that nature naa ntended some things to be hidden; and civilization^ le- moving farther and farther from nature, yet net going against it, has added many more. In this respect, civili* Bation has become a second nature, and what it has ouc« 52 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. concea-led cannot be exposed without indelicacy. For in stance, nothing is more beautiful than tho bosom (f ^ woman, and to a pure mind there is nothing shocking, but Bomething touching indeed, in seeing a poor woman wh has no bread to give it, suckling her child in public. Stil civilization has covered the bosom, and the ladies win wear their dresses ofi‘ their shoulders are, 7 ?i the present dai/j guilty of an immodesty which was none in the days wlien Lely painted — on canvas, I mean — the beauties of Charles’ court. But to go beyond the received opinion of the majority ;s super-refinement and vulgarity, and too often tempts us to fancy that an impure association has suggested the idea of impropriety. I cannot imagine what indelicate fancy those people jnust have who will not allow" us to say “ go to bed,” but substitute retire to rest.” Surely tho couch where dewy sleep drowms our cares and refreshes our wearied forms ; where we dream those dream.s which to some are the only bright spots of their lives ; where w^e escape for a time from the grinding of the worldly mill, from hunger, calumny, persecution, and dream maybe of heaven itself and future relief ; — surely our pure simple beds are too sacred to be polluted with the impure con- structions 01 these vulgar prudes. Or, again, w"hat more beautiful word than woman ? woman, man’s ruin first, and since then alternately his destroyer and savior ; w^oman, #lvj consoles, raises, cherishes, refines us ; and yet I must forgot that you are a woman, and only call you a lady ' La^iy ’ is a beautiful name, a high noble name, but it is n H dear and near to me like w"oman.” Yet if I speak •>f you as a woman, you leap up and tell me you will nut stay to be insulted Poor silly little thing, I gave you GENTILITY IN LANGUAGE. 53 (he name I loved best, and you^ not I, conrected som^ horrid idea with it ; is your mind or mine at fault ? Per= haps the most delightful instance of this indelicate delica cy of terms was in the case of the elderly spinster -of whom I was told the other day — who kept poultry, bu always spoke of the cock as the hen’s companion.” In short, it amounts to this. If it be indelicate to mention a thing, let it never be mentioned by 'my name whatever ; if it be not indelicate to mention it, it cannot be so to use its ordinary proper name. If legs are naughty, let us never speak of them ; if not naughty why blush to call them legs ? The change of name can- not change the idea suggested by it. If legs be a naughty idea^ tnen no recourse to limbs” will save you. You have spoken of legs, though, under another name ; you thought of legs, you meant legs ; you suggested legs to me under that other name ; you are clearly an egregious sinner ; you are like the French soldier, you will swear by the saprement,” saving his wretched little conscience by the change of a single letter. That reminds me of a nautical friend who cured” himself, he said, of the bad habit of swearing, by using, instead of oaths, the words Rotter — , Amster — , Potz — , and Schie — , mentally re- serving the final syllable of these names of towms, &c , and fully convinced that he did well. That same habit of demi-swearing is another bit cf |>ietension, which, if it cannot be called vulgarity, is cer tainly Pharisaical. The young lady would cut you properly enough — for using an oath, will nevertkclcs sry ‘^bother” when her boot-lace brfeaks, or what not But “bother” is only the feminine form of yowr Saxor expletive, and means in reality just as much 54 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES, your man who would cut his throat sooner than use a word, will nevertheless write it ^‘d — ^n,” as if everybody did not know what two letters were left out. Thorp it ^reat hypocrisy about these things But the worst vulgarity is an assumption of refinernen in th^‘ choice of language. This is common among sei 7ants in England, and in the lower orders in France and Germany, where it is sometimes very amusing to hear fine words murdered and used in any but the right sense. Mrs. Malaprop saves me any trouble of going into details on this point, but I may observe that the best speakers will never use a Latin w^ord wliere an Anglo-Saxon one will do as well; ’‘buy” is better than ^‘purchase,” ‘‘wish’’ than desire,^’' and so on. The small genteel, you will observe, never speak of rich and poor, but of “ those of large and those of small means.” Another sim- ilar piece of flummery is the expression, ‘ ‘ If anything should happen to me,” which everybody knows you mean for, “ if I should die.” As you do not conceal your meaning, why not speak out bravely ? Besides in words, there is an over-refinement in habits Even cleanliness can be exaggerated, as in the case of the Pharisees, and the late Duke of Queensbury, who would wash in nothing but milk. Our own Queen uses distilled water only for her toilet ; but this is not a case in point, since it is for the sake of health, I believe, with her. A sad case, however, was that of the lovely Princess Ale;? andrina of Bavaria, who died mad from over-cleanlineiV» It began by extreme scrupulousness. At dinner sih. v/ould minutely examine her plate, and if she saw the slightest speck on it, would send for another. She would then turn the napkin round and round to examine every DANGEROUS SOCIETY. 55 eoinei, and often rise from table because sbe thought sh« was not served properly in this respect. At last it be* came a monomania, till on plates, napkins, dishes, table- cloth, and everything else, she believed she saw nothiiiiS§ I at masses of dirt. It weighed on her mind, poor tiling^ ho could not be clean enough, and it drove her to in vanity. Anne of Austria could not lay her delicate limbs in any but cambric sheets, and there are many young gen- tlemen in England who look on you as a depraved barba- rian, if you do not wear silk stockings under your boots. Silver-spoonism is, after all, vulgarity ; it is an assump tion of delicacy superior to the majority ; and so too, is prudery, which is .only an assumption of superior mod- esty. In short, refinement must not war against nature, but go along with it, and the true gentleman can do anything that is not coarse or wrong. Fitzlow, who cannot lift his own carpet-bag into his own cab; Startup, who cannot put a lump of coal on the fire; Miss Languish, who never touched a needle and Miss Listless, who thinks it low to rake the beds in the garden, or tie up a head of roses, are not ladies and gentlemen, but vulgar people. It rather astonishes such persons to find that a nobleman can carry his bag, and stir his fire, and that a noble lady delights in gardening. But I shall risk the imputation of over-refinement my ..^df, if I say more on this point, and so I come to tliT Liitd class of bad society in which the manners and breeding are perfect, and tne morals bad, which is the mast dangerous class there is. Without agreeing at all with the Chartist school in their views of the aristocracy r ><5 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. 1 think it must be acknowledged that this class of Dad society is found mostly among the upper circles of soci- ety, anlfoi the simple reason, that except among them vice is generally accompanied with bad manners. We have historical proofs in any quantity of this class being aristocratic. The vice of courts is proverbial, but courtly manners are reckoned as the best. All the beaux and half the wdts on record have led bad lives. Chesterfield himself was a dissolute gambler, and repented bitterly in his old age of his past life, and it is he who says, that the best company is not necessarily the most moral, which determines the value of his work on Etiquette. There is, however, something in the vice of this kind of society which at once makes it the most and least dangerous. All vice is here gilded ; it is made elegant and covered with a gloss of good-breeding. Men of family have tc mix with ladies, and ladies of family have almost public reputations to keep up. All that is done is sub rosa. There are none of the grosser vices admitted in the pres- ent day. There is no drunkenness, little or no swearing, no coarseness. But there is enough of gambling still to ruin a young man, and the ‘‘ social evil’’ here takes ita most elegant and most seductive form. W’^hile, therefore, on the one hand, you may mix in this kind of society, and see and therefore know very little of its immorality, its vices, wdien known to you, assume a fashionable pres* ige and a certain delicacy which seem to deprive them of their grossness and make them the more tempting Let us therefore call no society good, till we have sound* dd its morals as well as its manners; and this brings ug 150 speak of what good society really is. We cannot do this better than by looking first intc SOCIETY UNDER GOOD QUEEN BESS. 61 what is generally taken as good society. I shall, there* fore, glance over the state of society in different ages h this country, and in the present day on the Continent. The real civilization of England can scarcely be datcti earlier than at the Reformation, and even thon the tui- bulent state of the country, setting one man's knife against another, and leaving when bloodshed was shamed lack, the same deadly hatred showing itself in open re- proaches and secret attacks, made social gatherings a lif- ficulty, if notan impossibility. Henry viii., indeed, had a somewhat jovial court, but the country itself was far too unsettled to join much in the merriment. In fact, up to the time of Charles l., there were but three kinds of so- ciety in England : the court, around which all the nobili- ty gathered, making London a Helicon of manners ; the small country gentry who could not come up to London : and the country people among whom manners were aS yet as rude as among the serfs of Russia in the present day. In the court there had succeeded to real chivalry a kind of false principle of honor. A man who wore a sword was bound to use it. Quarrels were made rapidly, and rapidly patched up by reference to the code of honoi With the country gentry, the main feature was a rough hospitality. People spoke their minds in those days with- out reserve, and a courtier was looked on as a crafty man, whose words served to conceal rather than express his thoughts. Among the people was a yet ruder revelry tnd the morality was not of a high kind. The position of woman is that which has always given the key to civilization. The higher that position has been raised, the more influence has the gentleness which arises from her weakness been felt by the other sex. Ip 8 * 58 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVAXCES. fact, the term gentleman*’ only came in when jvomen were admitted into society on a par with men. A ‘‘ geo* tleinan” was a man who could associate with ladies. And what was the respect exacted by and paid to woman be fere the time of Charles i., the dramatists of the Eliza fce^than age tell us in every page. What must have bcei tlie education of the Virgin Queen herself, who was not thought very ill of for allowing Leicester to be her lady’s- maid, and kiss her without asking leave, and who would fiave been thought a prude had she objected to the gross scenes in the masks and plays acted before her, and found o.^ten enough even in Shakspere. Not only were things called by their right names,” but an insidious innuendo took the place very often of better wit, and was probably enjoyed far more. The country gentry lived in their moated houses at great distances from one another, and the country lady was rarely more than a good housewdfe, serving a rough hospitality to her guests ; while the gentlemen drank deep, swore pretty oaths, talked far from reservedly in her presence, and pleased her most with the broadest com- pliment to her fair form. The dignity of Charles introduced a rather more noble bearing among the men, and the Puritans did much to cleanse society of its gross familiarities ; but the position of women was still a very inferior one, and it was not till th(' beginning of the last century that they took a promi nent place in society. There had gradually sprung up another class, which gave the tone to manners. Hitherto there had been in London only the Court-circles and the bourgeoisie. But as the lesser nobility grew richer and Socked t> ominence, one less distinct in appearance, far more subtle but far more difficult to attain. Indeed, rank and birtl were gifts, wealth often came by inheritance, and a might be born a wit or a genius, but that which has taken their place as a test can be acquired only by education, careful study, and observation, followed up by practice. It goes by the name of “breeding,” and when people talk to you of innate good breeding, they speak of an impos- sibility. Some of its necessary qualities may be innate, md these may show themselves on occasions, and be mis- taken for good-breeding itself, but a further acquaintance may reveal the possessor in a different light. Good-breed- ing is only acquired, being taught us by our nurses, our parents, our tutors, our school-fellows, our friends, our enemies still more, and our experience everywhere ; and yet Qot one of these teachers may possess it themselves ; many, Eis nurses and school-fellows, certainly do not. It is breed- ing which now divides the one class you claim to exist, into so many classes, all of which are educated. One set has no bleeding at all, another has a little, another more, another enough, and another too much — for this also is possible—^and between that which has none, and that which has enough, there are more shades than in the rainbow. We can now therefore speak of the principal requisites of good society, of which good-breeding — that is, enough and not too much of it — is the first. I have shown that, antil the development of a middle class, the best society ^not in a moral, but general point of view) was to be found among the aristocracy Hence the word “ aristO' ^4 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. sratic” has come to mean good for society/’ and tlierefcri while I premise that the best society is not no"^ high societj? either by wealth, birth, or distinction, I shall alsoprcmisf that good society is essentially aristocratic in the sense in r^l ich we speak of aristocratic beauty, aristocratic bearing aristocratic appearance ani manners. The first indispensable requisite for good society is eJn * nation. By this I do not mean the so-called finished education” of a university or a boarding-school. I think it will be found that these establishments put their finish' somewhere in the middle of the course ; they may pos- sibly finish you as far as teachers can, but the education which is to fit you for good society must be pursued long after you leave them, as it ought to have been begun long before you went to them. This education should have commenced with developing the mental powers, and espe- cially the comprehension. A man should be able, in order to (nter into conversation, to catch rapidly the meaning of anything that is advanced ; for instance, though you know nothing of science, you should not be obliged to 4tare and be silent, when a man who does understand it is xplaining a new discovery or a new theory ; though you /lave not read a word of Blackstone, your comprehensive powers should be sufficiently acute to enable you to take in the statement that may be made of a recent cause ; though you may not have read some particular book, you should be capable of appreciating the criticism which you tear of it. Without such a power — simple enough and easily attained by attention and practice, yet too seldom met with in general society — a conversation which departs from the most ordinary topics cannot be maintained with- out the risk of lapsing into a lecture ; with such a powei CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 6i society becomes instructive as well as amusing, and yot have m remorse at an evening’s end at having wasted three or four hours in profitless banter or simpering platitudes. This facility of comprehension often startles us in some ^omen, whose education we know to have been poor, ani ^hose reading is limited. If they did not rapidly receive your ideas, they could not therefore be fit companions fof intellectual men, and it is perhaps their consciousness of a deficiency which leads them to pay the more attention to what you say. It is this which makes married women ic much more agreeable to men of thought than young ladies, as a rule, can be, for they are accustomed to the society of a husband, and the effort to be a companion to his mind has engrafted the habit of attention and ready reply. No less important is the cultivation of taste. If it is tiresome and deadening to be with people who cannot un- derstand, and will not even appear to be interested in your better thoughts, it is almost repulsive to find a man, still more a woman, insensible to all beauty, and immovable by I nj horror. I remember passing through the galleries of Hampton Court with a lady of this kind in whom I had in vain looked for enthusiasm. Ah !” I exclaimed, we passed into a well-known gallery, we are come at last to Raphael’s cartoons.” ‘‘Are we?” she asked languidly, iis we stood in the presence of those grand conceptions. “ Deal me, how tigh the fountain’s playing in the court !” Ill the present day an acquaintance with art, eve i you have no love for it, is a sme qu i non of good society. Music and painting are subjects which will be .disOussed in every direction around you. It is only in bad society that people go to the opera, concerts and art-exhibit:u i THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. merely because it is the fashion, or to say they have been there ; and if you confessed to such a weakness in really good society, you would be justly voted a puppy. For this, too some book-knowledge is indispensable. You diould at least know the names of the more celebrated artists, composers, architects, sculptors, and so forth, and 5h«)uld be able to approximate their several schools. I have just bought a Hobbema,’’ was said to Mrs. B the other day. ‘‘ What shall you put into it ?” said ahe^ hoping to conceal her ignorance. So too, you should know pretty accurately the pronun- ciation of celebrated names, or, if not, take care not tc use them. An acquaintance of mine is always talking about pictures, and asks me how I like jHannibal Carraori, and GAarlanda^o. It was the same person who, seeing at the bottom of a rare engraving the name Raphael Menga,” said in a kind of musing rapture, ‘‘ Beautiful thing, in- deed, quite in Raphael’s earlier style ; you can trace the influence of Perugino in that figure.” So, too, it will never do to be ignorant of the names and approximate ages of great composers, especially in London, where music is so highly appreciated and so common a theme. It will be decidedly condemnatory if you talk of the new opera, ‘‘Don Giovanni,” or RossinVs “ Trovatore or are igno- rant who composed “ Fidelio,” and in what opera occur such common pieces as “ Ciascun lo dice,” or “ II segreto.’ I do not say that these trifles are indispensable, and wher a man has better knowledge to offer, especially with genius, or “cleverness” to back it, he will not only be pardoned for an ignorance of them, but can even take a high tone and profess indifference or contempt of them. But at the same time such ignorance stamps an ordinary man, and COXVERSAllON. 61 hinders conversatijn. On the oilier hand, tlu best society will not endure dilettantism, and whatever the knowledge a man may possess of any art, he must not display it as to make the ignorance of others painful to them. are gentlemen, not picture-dealers. But this applies every topic. To have only one or two subjects to conversi on, and to discourse rather than talk on them, is always ill-bred, whether the theme be literature or horse-flesh. The Newmarket lounger would probably denounce the former as a bore,’^ and call us pedants for dwelling on it ; but if, as is too often the case, he can give us nothing more general than a discussion of the ^‘points’’ of a mare that perhaps we have never seen, he is as great a pedant in his way. Reason plays a less conspicuous part in good society, because its frequenters are too reasonable to be mere reasoners. A disputation is always dangerous to temper, and tedious to those who cannot feel as eager as the dis- putants ; a discussion, on the other hand, in which every- body has a chance of stating amicably and unobtrusively his or her opinion, must be of frequent occurrence. But to cultivate the reason, besides its high moral value, has the advantage of enabling one to reply as well as attend to the opinions of others. Nothing is more tedious or dis- heartening than a perpetual Yes, just so,” and nothing more. Conversation must never be one-sided. Then, 4gain, the reason enables us to support a fancy or opinion, when we are asked why we think so and sc. To reply^ ‘‘ 1 don’t know, but ‘='till I think so,”* is silly in a man ind tedjous in a woman. But there is a part of our edu- cation so important and so neglected in our schools and colleges, that it cannot be too highly impressed on parents 68 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. on the one hand, and young people on the other. I meat that which we learn first of all things, yet often have not learned fully when Death eases us of the necessity— -th a art of speaking our own language. What can Greek and Latin, French and German, be for us in our every- da^ life, if we have not acquired this ? We are often encour aged to raise a laugh at Doctor Syntax and the tyrannj of Grammar, but we may be certain that more misunder- standings, and therefore more diflBculties, arise between men in the commonest intercourse from a want of gram matical precision, than from any other cause. It was once the fashion to neglect grammar, as it now is with certain people to write illegibly, and in the days of Goethe, a man thought himself a genius if he could spell badly. How much this simple knowledge is neglected in England, even among the upper classes, is shown by the results of the examinations for the army and the civil services ; how valuable it is, is now generally acknowledged by men of sound sense. Precision and accuracy must begin in the very outset ; and if we neglect them in grammar, we shall scarcely acquire them in expressing out thoughts. But since 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 man- ner, it follows that a proper mode of expressing ourselves is indispensable co good society. There is one poor neglected letter, the subject of a poetical charade by Byron, which people in the present day have made the test of fitness for good society. For my part, I would sooner associate with a man who dropped that eighth lett^ of our alphabet than with one who spoke had grammar and expressed himself ill. But if he hai language: 69 not learned to pronounce a letter properly, it is scaioely probable that he will have studied the art of speech at all. ft is amusing to hear the ingenious excuses made by people for this neglect. ‘^Mrs. A — one person tells u, is a woman of excellent education. You must not le surprised at her dropping her it is a Staffordshire luvbit, and she has lived all her life in that county.’’ I &ney that it is not Staffordshire or any other shire that can be .^addled with the fault. It is simply a habit of ill- bred people everywhere throughout the three kingdoms. L^oi is the plea of dialect any real excuse. It is a pecu- liarity of Middlesex dialect to put a for a and a w (br a V. Would any one on that account present Mr. Samivel Veller as a gentleman of good education, with a flight peculiarity of dialect in his speech ? Good society uses the same language everywhere, and dialects ought to be got rid of in those who would frequent it. The language of Burns may be very beautiful in poetry, and the bal- lads of Moore may gain much from a strong Irish brogue, but if we object to London slang in conversation, we have as much right to object to local peculiarities which make your speech either incomprehensible or ridiculous ; and certain it is that the persons whose strong nationality in- duces them to retain their Scotch or Irish idiom and accent, are always ready to protest against Americanisms, and would be very much bothered if a Yorkshire landownei were to introduce his local drawl into the drawing-room, fjccalism is not patriotism and therefore until the Union b dissolved, we must request people to talk English in Er^gli^h society. The art of expressing one’s thoughts neatly and suita- bly is one "whit^h, in the neglect of rhetoric as a study wi 70 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. must practice for ourselves. The commonest tl ought well put is more useful in a social point of view than the most brilliant idea jumbled out. What is well expiessc'l is easily seized and therefore readily responded to ; th most poetic fancy may be lost to the hearer if the Ian guage which conveys it is obscure. Speech is the gift which distinguishes man from animals, and makes society possible. He has but a poor appreciation of his high pri- vilege as a human being, who neglects to cultivate ‘‘ God’s great gift of speech.” As I am not writing for men of genius, but for ordina- ry beings, I am right to state that an indispensable part of education is a knowledge of English literature. But hoio to read is, for society, more important than what we read The man who takes up nothing but a newspaper, but reads it to think, to deduct conclusions from its pre- mises, and form a judgment on its opinions, is more fitced for society than he, who, having a large box regularly from Mudie’s, and devoting his whole day to its conlents, swallows it all without digestion. In fact, the mind must be treated like the body, and however great its appetite, it will soon fall into bad health, if it gorges but does not ruminate. At the same time an acquaintance with the best current literature is necessary to modern society, and it is not sufficient to have read a book without being able to pass a judgment on it. Conversation on literature i impossible, when your respondent can only say, Yes, I like the book, but I really don’t know why.” Or what can we do with the young lady whose literary stock is as lim ited as that of the daughter of a late eminent member of Parliament, whom a friend of mine had once to take down to dinner ? LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 7 ] He Lad tried her on music and painting in \ain. She haa no taste for either. Society was as barren a theme, for papa did not approve of any but dinner parties. “ Then I suppose you read a great deal?” asked m ^iiend. Oh, yes ! we read.” Light literature ?” Oh, yes * light literature.” ‘^Novels, for instance ?” ‘ Oh, yes ! novels.” Do you like Dickens?” “We don’t read Dickens.” “ Oh ! I see you are of Thackeray’s party.” “ We never read Thackeray.” “ Then you are lomantic, and devoted to Bu)wei L-/^n?” ‘ Never,” replied the young lady, rather shocked. Then which is your favorite novelist?” Tames,” she replied triumphantly. “ Ah !” my friend, reviving a little, “ James i exciUng.” “ Oh, yes * we like his books so much ! Papa reads them aloud U 4S, but then he misses out all the exciting parts.” After tliat iiy friend found his knife and fork better company than lu'* neighbor. An acquaintance with old English literature is not fier- haps indispensable but it gives a man great advantage m all kinds of sociciy, and in some he is at constant loss without it. The same may be said of foreign literature, which in the present day is almost as much discussed as mr own ; but, on the other hand, an acquaintance witk 72 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. home and foreign politics; with current history, uid everj subject of passing interest, is absolutely neces. ary ; and a poison of sufiScient intelligence to join in good society can- net dispense with his daily newspaper, his literary jour nal and the principal quarterly reviews and magazines The cheapness of every kind of literature, the facilities of our well-stored circulating libraries, our public reading- rooms and numerous excellent lectures on every possible subject, leave no excuse to poor or rich for an ignorance of any of the topics discussed in intellectual society. You may forget your Latin, Greek, French, German, and Mathematics, but if you frequent good company you wil.’ a ever be allowed to forget that you are a citizen of tlu world The respect for moral character is a distinguishing mark of good society in this country as compared with that of the Continent. No rank, no wealth, no celebr'ty will induce a well-bred English lady to admit to her drawing- room a man or woman whose character is known to be bad. Society is a severe censor, pitiless and remorseless. The woman who has once fallen, the man who has once lost his honor, may repent for years ; good society shuts its doors on them once and for ever. Perhaps this is the mly case in which the best society is antagonistic to Chris * tianity ; but, in extenuation, it must be remembered tha** there is no court in which to try tho?e who sin against it Society itself is the court in which are judged those man^ offences which the law cannot reach, and this inclemency >f the world, this exile for life which it pronounces, must De regarded as the only deterrent against certain sins. There is little or no means of punishing the seducer, the cheat, the habitual drunkard and gambler, and men and MORAL CHARACTER. 78 iromen whc ndulge in illicit pleasures except this one verdict of perpetual expulsion pronounced '■ ^ gjod society Uften is it given without a fair trial, on the ref ort of a landerer; often it falls upon the wu*ong head; often U iii'oves its injustice in ignoring the vices of one and ful minating against those of another : often, by its implaci* bility, drives the offender to despair, and makes the one false step lead to the ruin of a life : but it must be re- meiiibered what interests society has to protect — the puri- fy of daughters, wives and sisters, the honor of sons ; it must be allowed that its means of obtaining evidence is very slight ; and that, on the other hand, it cannot insti- mte an inquisition into the conduct of all its members, since the mere suspicion which such an inquiry would ex tjite is su^cient to ruin a character that might prove to Oe innocent. Society, then, is forced to judge by common fepoii., and though it may often judge wrongly, it gene- rally errs on the safe side. What it still wants, and must perhaps always w^ant, is some check on the slander and calumny which misleads its judgment. We w^ant some tribunal which, without blasting a reputation, can call to account the low sneak who lounges into a club-room, and actuated by pique, whispers into a frind’s ear, in strict- est confidence,’’ some silly slur on a lady’s character, knowing that it will pass from mouth to mouth, growing bigger and bigger, and that it can never be traced back to the original utterer. We want to put down those old aaids and dowagers who shake their cork-screw ringlets •t the mention of a name, and look as if they knew a great deal which they would not tell. We want gossip and scandal to be held a sin, as it is already held bad taste, and a higher tone which shall reject as inventiong 4 74 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. the pot-house stories of grooms and lacqueys, ar d receive with greater caution the gossip of the club-room. Ho\i many a fair fame of a virtuous girl is ruined by the mai. .^lie has rejested ; how many an lago lives and thrives '.n society to the present day ; how many a young man is blackened by a rival ; how many a man we meet in tlie best circles whose chambers are the scene of debauchery, or who carries on an illicit connexion in secret, unexposed These things make us bitter to the world, but, if we can- not see the remedy, we must endure them silently. Oh ! if the calumniator, male or female, could be hanged as high as Haman, if the ninth commandment, like the eighth, could be punished with death, many a hopeful ca- reer were not blighted at its outset, many an innocent woman were not driven from her home and thrust into the very jaws of sin, and the world would be happier and far more Christian. In the meantime good society discountenances gossip, and that is all it can do for the present. Fathers and husbands must be careful whom they introduce to their families, and every one should beware how they repeat what has been told them of their neighbors. There is in the church of Walton-on-Tharnes a kind of iron gag made to fit upon the face, and bearing this inscription : “ Thys is a brydel F or the women of Walton who speake so ydel.’ I know not w’hat poor creature, blasted by a venomous tongue, invented and gave to the church this quaint relic ; 1 only wish that every parish church had one, and tb.at every slanderer might be forced to wear it. One ! did I say ? we should want a hundred in some parishes all in use at tb.e sam® time TEMPER. 7? A (li.^courteous but well-merited reply which 1 heard the other day, reminds me that good temper is an essen- tial of good society. A young lady, irritated because a gentleman would not agree with her on some matter. ler balance, and irritably exclaimed, ^ Oh, Mr. A — , yo i jsave only two ideas in your head.’' You are right/ replied the gentleman, I have only two ideas, and cin of them is that you do not know how to behave yourself' Tamper has a great deal to answer for, and it would take a volume to discuss its effect on the affairs of the \^orld. It is a vice of old and young of both sexes, ol high and low, even I may say of good and bad, though a person who has not conquered it scarcely merits the name of good, though he should regenerate mankind. Mon- archs have lost kingdoms, maidens lovers, and everybody friends, by the irritation of a moment, and in society a display of ill-temper is fatal to harmony, and thus de- stroys the first principle of social meetings. We pardon it, we overlook it, and sometimes it even amuses us, but, sooner or later, it must chill back love and freeze friend- ship. In short, it makes society unbearable, and is justly pronounced to be disgustingly vulgar. I used once to frequent the house of a man who had every requisite for being charming but that of a command of temper. II? gave dinner-parties which ought to have been most pleas ant. He was well-educated, well-informed, well-mannereJ in every other respect. The first time I dined with him before I had seen anything of this failing, I was horror struck by hearing him say to a servant, Confound you, will you take that dish to the other end ! ” Of course J naid no attention, but hoping to cover him, talked loudlj and eagerly. It was useless. The servant blundered 76 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. and tlie master thundered, till at last there was a dead silence round the table, and we all looked down into our plates. The mistress of the house made the matter worse by putting in at last, *‘My dear Charles, do be mode- rate,’’ and the irritable man only increased the awkward ness by an irritable reply. I overlooked this, and dinee there again, but only once. This time it was his daugh ter w ho offended by some innocent remark. Really you’re quite a fool, Jane,” he said, turning savagely upon her, and the poor girl burst into tears. Our appetites were spoiled, our indignation rose, and though we sat through the dinner, we all of us probably repeated Solomon’s proverb about a dry morsel where love is, and a stalled ox with contention thereby, which I, for one, interpreted to mean that my chop and pint of ale at home would, for the future, be far more appetitlich than my friend’s tur- tle and turbot. As there is nothing to which an Englishman clings so tenaciously as his opinions, there are few things which rouse the temper so rapidly as an argument. In good society all disputation is eschewed, and particularly that which involves party politics and sectarian religion. It k at least wise to discover what are the views of your com- pany before you venture on these subjects. Zeal, how- ever well-meant, must, as St. Paul warns us, often be sacrificed to peace ; and where you cannot agree, an I feet that to reply would lead you into an argument, it i best to be silent. At the same time there are some oc- '^^ions where silence is servih No man should sit stil tCj. hear sacred things blasphemed, or his friend abused. The gentleman must yield to the Man where an athsist reviles Christianity, a Chartist abuses the Queen, or any* TEMPER. 77 body speaks ill of the listener’s friend or relation. Even then he best marks his indignation by rising and leaving the room. Nor need any man fear the imputation of cowardice, if he curbs his anger at direct abuse of him^ &elf. A soft answer turneth away wrath;’’ and if he cannot check his own feelings sufficiently to reply in onciliatory tone, no one can blame him if cooly po- litely he expresses to his antagonist his opinion of his bad manners. The feeling of the company will always go with the man who keeps his temper, for not only does society feel that to vent wrath is a breach of its laws, but it knows, that to conquer one’s-self is a far more difficult task than to overcome an enemy ; and that, therefore, the man who keeps his temper is really strong and trulj courageous. In fact the Christian rule is here (as ii should always be) that of society ; and the man who of ters his left cheek to the blow, displays not only the rarest Christian virtue, but the very finest politeness, which, while it teems with delicate irony, at once disarm? the attacker, and enlists the pity and sympathy, if no\ the applause, of the bystanders. Of course I speak of blows metaphorically. A blow with the hand is rarely if ver given in good society. Another case in which the Christian and the social rule coincide, if not in reality at least in appearance, is tJ'iat ^f private animosities. Of the ‘‘cut,” as a neces- sary social weapon, I shall speak elsewhere, but t Buffit 'es to say, that when given for the first time wdth a view to breaking off an acquaintance, it should not be done conspicuously, nor before a number of people. It.^ object is not to wound and cause confusion, but to make known to the person “cut” that your feelings towards 78 THE SPIRIT OF SCJIAL 0 B SI R VANCES. him are changed. In good society no one ever juts ane ther in such a manner as to be generally remarked, ani the reason is obvious : It causes awkwardness an 1 confis sion in the rest of the company. It is worse Betwee-^ i guest and host the relation is supposed to be friendly il not so, it can always be immediately discontinued ; si :bat generally the ill wdll must be between one guest and another under the same roof But what does it Iheit amount to? Is it not a slur upon your host’s judgment? Is it not as much as to say, “ This map is unfit for me to know ; and, since you are his friend, you must be un- worthy of me too?” At any rate, it is mortifying to a host to find that he has brought two enemies together, and. with the respect due from a guest to a host you must abstain from making his house a field of battle. There is no occasion for hypocrisy. Politeness, cold and distant f you like it, can cost you nothing, and is never taken to mean friendship. In short, harmony and peace are the rules of good society, as of Christianity, and its denizen* can and do throw aside the most bitter enmities when meeting on the neutral ground of a friend’s house. No; is the armistice without its value. Like that between Austria and France, it is not unfrequently followed by overtures of peace ; and I have known two people who had not interchanged two words for a score of years shake hands before they left a house where they had been accidentally brought together. Had they not been well bred this reconciliation could never have taken place. The relations of guest to guest are not so well under stood in this country as on the Continent. There youi host’s friends are for the time yo7ir friends. When you outer a room vou have a right to speak to and be ad HOSPITALITT. <9 drrssud by, ^verybjdy present. The friendship cf yjur host, declared, as it were, in his inviting them there, is ,a BiiOicient recommendation and introduction to every one ol his guests. If you and they are good enough for hire to invite, you and they are good enough for each other tti know, and it is, therefore, an insult to your host to re main next to a person for a long time without addressing him. In exclusive England we require that our host or hostess shall give a special introduction to every guest, but m the best society this is not absolutely necessary. Ex- clusiveness is voted to be of bad style ; and two people who sat next to one another for a long time, with no one to talk to, would be thought ill-bred as well as ridiculous if they waited for the formal introduction to exchange a few words, at least at a party where conversation was the main object. As we boast of English hospitality, it is a wonder that we do not better observe the relations of host and gujest On the Continent any man, whether you know him or not who has crossed your threshold with friendly intent, is your guest, and you are bound to treat him as one. Il E ngland a friend must introduce him, unless he has the ingenuity of Theodore Hook, who always introduced him- self where there was a dinner going on, and managed to make himself welcome, too ; but among ill-bred peopl ^ oven this introduction does not suffice, and the vulgai O^n take pride to themselves in proving that their houses ce their castles. A late neighbor of mine, of somewha j^v^pery temper, used to tell with glee how he had lurne- ontl; of his house a gentleman — an innocent but not attrao- fcive man - who had been brought there by a common frierd. but whom he did not wish to know. I often thought 80 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. when I lieard the tale repeated, How little you thiul you are telling a story against yourself!” So, too, wliei Arabella, speaking of Charles, with whom she has q[uar rell‘.*d tells me so proudly, 1 cut him last night dead and before the whole party, to his utter confusion,” I i^hi&pei to myself, ‘^He may richly have deserved the punishment, but I would not have been the executioner.” In fact, whether as host or guest, we must remember the feelings of the rest of the company, and that a show of animosity between any of them always mars the sense of peaceful enjoyment, for which all have met. To pick j juarrel, to turn your back on a person, to cut him openly or to make audible remarks on him, are displays of tern per only found in vulgar society. The other requisites indispensable for good society wil be found in various chapters of this work. Confidence calm, and good habits, are treated in the chapter on car- riage. Good manners is, more or less, the subject of the whole book, and appropriate dress, another indispensable, is discussed under that head. Accomplishments, on which I have given a chapter, are not generally considered in- dispensable, and certainly a man or woman of good educa- tion ar.d good breeding could pass muster without them But they lend a great charm to society, and in some cases are a very great assistance to it. Indeed, there are some accomplishments an ignorance of which may prove ex- tremely awkward. Perhaps, however, the most valuable accomplishment or rather art, especially in persons of full 'Rge, is that of making society easy, and of entertain- ing. Riles and hints for this will be given in various lections, but I may here say that it is an art which de- mands no little labor and ingenuity, and if anybody TO DINNBB-GTVERS. 8i imagines that the offices of host and hostess are sinecures, he is greatly mistaken. The great principle is that of movement. According t3 the atomic theory, warmth an^ brilliance are gained by the rapidity of the atoms abou cne another. We are only atoms in society after all, an we certainly get both warmth and brilliance when we Tolve round each other in the ball-room. But it is rather mental movement that I refer to just now, although the other is by no means unimportant, and the host and hostess should, when possible, be continually shifting their places, easily and gracefully, talking to everybody more or less, and inducing others to move. But fliere must be some thing for the minds of those assembled to dwell upon something to suggest thought, and thus generate conversa- tion. If the host or hostess have themselves the talent, they should do this by continually leading the conversation, not after the manner of Sydney Smith, who, while dinner was going on, allowed Mackintosh, Jeffrey, and Stewart, to fall into vehement discussion, while he himself quietly made an excellent meal, and prepared for better things. The moment the cloth was removed, which loas done ir those days, the jovial wit, happier than his companions who had had more of the feast of reason and the flow of soul*’ than of beef and mutton, would look up and make some totally irrelevant and irresistible remark, ant] having once raised the laugh, would keep an easy lead of the conversation to the end. But if they have not ting art, it is highly desirable, that dinner-givers should invite tneir regular talker, who, like the Roman parasite, n con • sideration of a good dinner, will always be ready with a fresh topic in case of a lull in the conversation and alway? be able to .ntroduce it with something smart and lively 82 THE SPIRIT OT bOCllL CBSERVAKOES. There is a hotel in the city where a certain number if Drokefi'down ecclesiastics are always ‘‘on hand” witli a cc'uple of sermons in pocket. If a clergyman is called suddenly out of town, or taken ill on the Saturday nigl’t or hindered from preaching by any accident, he has only t: send down a messenger and a reverend gentleman flies t him : the sermon is at his service for the sum of guinea, or less. Would it not answer to institute a similai establishment for the benefit of dinner-givers? The only question the cleric asks is, “High or low?” He has a sermon in each pocket, “ high” in the right, “ low” in the hjft, and produces the proper article, if he does not by mistake forget which is in which, and astound an evangel- ical congregation with the “ symbols of the Church,” or a Tractarian one with the “doctrine of election.” In the same way, the conviva would be always ready, in full dress, at six in the evening, and having put the question, “ Serious or gay. Whig or Tory ?” bring out his witticisms accordingly. We do everything now-a-days with money. Mr. Harker gives out our toasts, our servants carve and give out the wine for us. The host sits at the head or side of his' table, and only smiles and talks The next gene- ration will make a further improvement, and the host will hire a gentleman to do even the smiling and talking, or, like the Emperor Augustus, he will just look in on his guests at the middle of dinner, ask if the entremets are good, and go to his easy-chair again in the library Of the art of entertaining on various occasions I shal :reat under the proper heads, and we come now to the dis- pensables of good society, which / take to be wealth, rank birth and talent. Of birth there is little to say, because, if a man is fit MERE WEALTH. 88 for good societj, it can make very little diffeience wnethei Lis father were a chimney-sweep or a chancellor^ at least to sensible people. Indeed, to insist on good birth in Eng- land would not only shut you out from enjoying the socicl^ .f people of no ordinary stamp, but is now generally col sidered as a cowardly way of asserting your superiority^ A young lady said to me the other day, I wonder you can visit the C.’s ; their mother was a cook.” Well,” said I, it is evident she did not bring them up in the kitchen.” My interlocutrix wore the name of a celebrated poet, and was of one of the oldest families in England, but I confess that I thought her remark that of a snob, the more so as the C.’s happened to be the most agreeable people I knew. The advantages of wealth are considerable in the for- mation of society. In this country, where hospitality means eating and drinking, it demands money to receive your friends ; and in London, where a lady can with dif- dculty walk in the streets unaccompanied, a carriage of Bome sort, in which to visit them, becomes almost a neces- sity if you are to mix much in the world. But good society would be very limited if every man required hi • rougham or cabriolet. In the metropolis, again, a man ervant is almost indispensable, though not quite ; and if you have the moral courage to do without one you will hnd that your small dinners — always better than larg^ •Ties — will be more quietly served by women than by men. 'iondoners have still to learn that large pompous feel ags” are neither agreeable nor in good taste, and that mning meetings, for the purpose of conversation, with aif little ceremony as possible, are far /ess tedious less bilioua ind less expensive. 84 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. They do these things better in Paris, where the dinner party is an introduction of the nouveaux riches. Theri the X300 year does not exclude its owners from the en joynient of vho best, even the highest society. They ma} he asked to every ball and dinner of the season, and art not expected to return them. A voitiire de remise is good , enough to take them even to the Tuileries. The size of their apartment is no obstacle to their assembling their friends simply for tea and conversation. If the rooms are elegantly furnished and arranged, and the lady of the house understands the art of receiving, and selects her guests rather for their manners and conversational powers than for position or wealth, their reception may become fashionable at no furtlier expense than that of a few simple refreshments which are handed about. Even dances are given without suppers, and no one cares whether youi household consists of a dozen lacqueys or a couple of maid- servants. Mere wealth,’’ says Mr. Hayward, truly enough, ‘‘ can do little, unless it be of magnitude sufficient to constitute celebrity.” He might have added, that wealth, without breeding, generally draws the attention of others to the want of taste of its possessor, and gives envy an object to sneer at. I remember an instance of this in a woman who had recently, with her husband, returned from Australia, with a large fortune. I met her at a ball in Paris : she waa magnificently, almost regally dressed, and as she swept ^through the rooms people whispered, ‘‘That is the rich Mrs, .” I had not been introduced to her, and had no desire to be so, but I could not escape her vulgarity. On going to fetch a cup of chocolate from the buffet for my part- ner, 1 bad to passj within a yard of Mrs. , who was RANK 8a gorging ices amid a crowd of rather inferior Frenchmen there was not the slightest fear of my spilling the chocolate, and I was too far from her to spoil her dress, had I been awkward enough to do so ; but as I passed back, she suib Icnijr screamed out, in very bad French, Monsieur, Mon sieur quoi, faites-vous, vous gatery mon robe !’’ Of coursi everybody looked round. I bowed low, and begged iiei pardon, assuring her that there was not the slightest cause for alarm ; but she was not satisfied, and while I beat a retreat I heard her loud voice denouncing me as a stupid fellow,’’ and so forth, and I soon found that Mrs. — — was pronounced to be atrociously vulgar” as well as immensely rich. I cannot think that rank is a recommendation to a man with any but vulgar people. Not every nobleman is a gentleman, and fewer still perhaps bear that character that would entitle them to a free entr^ e among the well-bred. On the other hand, rank is a costly robe, which must be worn as modestly as possible, not to spoil that feeling of equality which is necessary to the ease of society. Some deference must be paid to it, and the man of rank who cannot forget it, will find himself as much in the way in a party of untitled people, as an elephant among a troop of jackals. If titles were as common in England as on the Continent, there would be less fear of a host devoting himself to My Lord to the neglect of his other guests, or of those guests centering their attention on the one star In Paris, it is only in the vulgar circles of the Chaussef il’Autiu, that ^‘Monsieur le Comte,” or ^‘Monsieur le Marquis,” is shown off as a lion; and in the well-bred circles in this country, the nobleman must be content with precedence, and the place of honor, and for the rest be ai S6 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. one of the company. In Southern Germany, the distino- XiciTTs^ttar'-o^Jjer way ; the simple Herr is almost as re> markable as thela^n (.(f title in England. In fact, every- body admitted to whatS^there called good society, has ^iome title, whether by birtn5!^'«i£ce ; and a man must be highly distinguished by talents or achievements to have the entree of the Court. I found that the Esquire after my name was generally translated by Baron ; the trades- men raised it to Graf, or Count; and the people who knew all about it,’’ called me Herr Esquire von Something in the same way are military titles allotted tc civilians in some parts of America. A store-keeper be- comes ‘‘Major;” a merchant, “ Colonel;” and a man of s^hom jou are to ask a favor, is always a “ General.” Nothing can be more ill-judged than lion-hunting. If the premise with which I set out, that society requires real or apparent equality, be true, anything wEich raises a person on a pedestal unfits him for society. The men of genius are rarely gifted with social qualities, and the only society suited to them is that of others of the same calibre. If Shakspere were alive, and I acquainted with him, I would not ask him to an evening party ; or, if I did so, it should be with huge Ben, and half-a-dozen more from the “ Mermaid,” and they should have strict injunc- tions not to engross the conversation. If you must have a literary lion at your receptions, you should manage to have two or three, for you' may be sure that they will be- have less arrogantly in one another’s presence ; or per- k^ps a better plan still, is to invite a score of critics to meet him ; you will then find your show beast as tracta- ble ana as quiet as his name-sake in the caresses of Van Amburg or Wotnbwell. The man of science again, has RANK AND DISTINCTION. 87 too lofty a range of thought to descend to the ordinary topics of society ; and the bishop and distinguished gene- ral usually bear about with them the marks of their pn> fession, which, for perfect ease and equality, should Jxj oencealed. Distinguished foreigners, if they are clean, ind can talk English well, may be very agreeable, but your guests will often suspect them, and their names must be known in England to make them desirable in any point of view. Of rank and distinction, however, it may be said, in preference to wealth and mere birth, that they are, whet seconded by character, absolute passports to good society. A title is presumed to be a certificate of education and good breeding, while a celebrity will often be pardoned for the want of both, in virtue of the talents and perseverance by which he has raised himself. Of the two, the latter excuses more our adulation. Rank is rarely gained by QQerit, and when it is so, it is swamped by it. Macaulay ind Brougham have not gained a single step in the esti- mation of well-bred people by being raised to the peerage, and no one would hesitate for a moment between them and the untitled son of a Duke or Marquis. While, too^ we naturally fear the epithet of toady,’’ if w^e cultivate noblemen only for the sake of their rank, ive may well defend ourselves for the admiration which genius, perse- verance, and courage excite. To women, again, distinc- tion is less trying, since it takes them less out of their ordinary sphere. They are still women, still capable of enjoying society, with two exceptions, the blue-stocking and the esprit fort^ neither of which should ever be ad- mitted into good society. But while genius is scarcely a recommendation in socW 88 THE SPIHIT OF SGtJIAL OBSERVANCES. meetings, there are mental qualities nearly allied to it which are the best Ave can bring to them ; I mean a thii k- ing mind and a ready Avit. The most agreeable men and wnmen are those Avho think out of society as AA^ell as in it liOse Avho have mind AAuthout affectation, and talents with ou; conceit ; those who have formed, and can form fresL opinions on every subject, and to whom a mere word servos as the springing-board from which to rise to new trains of thought. Where people of this kind meet together, the commonest subjects become matters of interest, and the conversation groAvs rapidly to brilliance, even without pos itive Avit. The man to whose mind eA^erything is a sug- gestion, and whose Avords suggest something to everybody, is the best man for a social meeting. We have now seen Avhat are, and Avhat are not the re- quisites for good society. High moral character, a polished education, a perfect command of temper, good breeding, delicate feeling, good manners, good habits, and a good bearing, are indispensable. Wit, accomplishments, and social talents are great advantages, though not absolutely necessary. On the other hand, birth is lost sight of, while wealth, rank, and distinction, so far from being desirable, must be carefully handled, not to be positively objection- able. We are now therefore enabled to offer a definition of good society. It is, the meeting on a footing of equal- ity, and for the purpose of mutual entertainment, of men, :>f Avomen, or men and women together, of gocKl character, gch^d education, and good breeding. But what is the real spirit of the observances whict this society requires of its frequenters for the preserva tiou of harmony and the easy intercourse of all of them I Certainly, one may have a spotless reputation, a gi ed DEFINITION OF GOOD SOCIETY. acatioii, and good breeding, w-thout being either good ii reality, or a Christian. But if we examine the laws which good society lays down for our guidance and governancOj we shall find without a doubt, that they are those which a eimple Christian, desiring to regulate the meetings of a number of people who lacked the Christian feeling, wculd dictate. I am, of course, quite aware that good society will never make you a Christian. You may be charming in a party, and every one may pronounce you a perfect and agreeable gentleman ; but you may go home and get pri- vately intoxicated,vor beat your wife, or be cruel to your children. If society finds you out, be sure it wdll punish you ; but society has no right to search your house, and intrude upon your hearth, and, as you say, it may be long before it finds you out. But, as far as its jurisdiction exterids^ good society can compel you, if not to be a Christian, at least to act like one. The difference between the laws of God and the laws of men, is, that the former address the heart from which the acts proceed, the latter, which can only judge from what they see, determine the axjts without regard to the heart. The one waters the root, the other the branches. The law^s of society are framed by the unanimous con- sent of men, and, in all essential points, they differ very little all over the world. The Turk may show his po- liteness by feeding you with his fingers, the Englishman by carving your portion for you ; but the same spirit dic- tates both — the spirit of friendliness, of goodwill. Thiis^ though the laws of society are necessarily imperfect, ans moulded by traditional and local custom, and are address ed to the outer rather than the inner man, their spirit . civariably the same. The considerations which dictati THF SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. them arc reducible to the same law, and this law fro^ea to be the fundamental one of Christian doctrine. Thus, wdjat the heathen arrives at only by laws framed for the comfort of society, we possess at once in virtue of our re iigion. And it is a great glory for a Christian to be abl to say, that all refinement and all civilization lead men— aa far as their conversation is concerned — to th< practice of Christianity. It is a great satisfaction tc feel that Christianity is eminently the religion of civili ^tio*^ and society. The great law which distinguishes Christ anity from every other creed, that of brotherly love and self-denial is essentially the law which we find at the basis of all so- cial observances. The first maxim of politeness is to be agreeable to everybody, even at the expense of one’s own comfort. Meekness is the most beauciful virtue of the Christian ; modesty the most commendable in a well-bred man. Peace is the object of Christian la\vs ; harmony that of social observances. Self-denial is the exercise of the Christian ; forgetfulness of self that of the well-bred. Trust in one another unites Christian communities ; con- fidence in the good intentions of our neighbors is that wdiich makes society possible. To be kind to one another is the object of Christian converse ; to entertain one another, that of social intercourse. Pride, selfishness, ill-temper, are alike opposed to Christianity and good breeding. The one demands an upright life ; the other requires the appearance of it. The one bids us make the most of God’s gifts and in^prove our talents ; the other will not admit us till we have done so by education. And CO go a step farther; as a Christian community excludes Binners and unbelievers from its gatherings, so a Aocial CHRISTIANITY AND SOCIETY. 9] wnimunity excludes from its meetings those of bad coar- acter, and those who do not subscribe to its laws. But society goes farther, and appears to impose on it§ members a number of arbitrary rules, which continuallj restrict them in their actions. It tells them how tlu) must eat and drink and dress, and walk and talk, and si xjxi. We ought to be very thankful to society for taking so much trouble, and saving us so much doubt and con- fusion. But if the ordinances of society are examined, it will be found that while many of them are merely derived from custom and tradition, and some have no positive val- ue, they all tend to one end, the preservation of harmony and the prevention of one person from usurping the rights, or intruding on the province of another. If it regulates jrour dress, it is that there may be an appearance of equal- ity in all, and that the rich may not be able to flaunt their wealth in the eyes of their poorer associates. If, for instance, it says that you are not to wear diamonds in the morning, it puts a check upon your vanity. If it Bays you may wear them on certain occasions, it does not compel those who have none to purchase them. If society says you shall eat with a knife and fork, it is not because fingers were not made before forks, but because it is well known that jf you were to use the natural fork of five prongs instead of the plated one of four, you would want to wash your hands after every dish. If she goes farther and says you shall not put your knife into your mouth, it is because she supposes that you, like ninety-nine out of every hundred of civilized beings, can taste the steel when you do so,-^nd is surprised at your bad taste, and since ghe demands good taste she cannot think you fit for her court Of course, she cannot stop to hear you explain ii2 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. that you find a particular enjoyment in the taste of atcel and that therefore on your part it is good not bad taste She is by necessity forced to judge from appearance. 11 again she forbids you to swing your arms in walking, likf whe sails of a windmill, it is not because she finds an}- pleasure in pinioning you, but because beauty is a result of harmony, which is her first law, and she studies beauty, adopts the beautiful, and rejects the inelegant. That mo- tion of the arms is not lovely, confess it. Society is quite right to object to it. Once more, if she dubs you vulgar for speaking in a loud harsh voice, it is because whatever he your case, other people have nerves which may be touched and heads which can ache, and your stentorian tones set the one vibrating and the other throbbing. In short, while she may have many an old law that needs n^pealing, you will find that the greater number of her enactments are founded on very good and very Christian considerations. You will find that the more religious a man is, the more polite he will spontaneously become, and that too in every rank of life, for true religion teaches him to forget himself, to love his neighbor, and to be kindly even to his enemy, and the appearance of so being and doing, is what society demands as good manners. How can it ask more ? How can it rip open your heart and see if with your bland smile and oily voice you are a liar and a hypocrite ? There is One who has this pow- er — forget it not ! — but society must be content with thr semblance. By your works men do and must judge you Before I quit the demands of society, I must say a few words on the distinction she makes' between people of dif- ferent ages and different domestic positions ; to wit, how ihe has one law for the bachelor, another for the beno PATERJAMILIAS. 98 diet; one for the maid, another for the matron; ere law. I mean, to regulate their privileges and to restiict thei! vagaries. Let us begin with that awful, stately, and majestic being, Paterfamilias Anglicanus ; the same who, havirig leached the age of perpetual snow, exacts our reverencfa and receives our awe ; the same who, finding his majesty lost on the vagabond Italian with the monkey and orgaiij resolves to crush him in a column of The Times : the same before whom not Mamma herself dares open that same newspaper ; the same who warns her against en- couraging the French count, for whom Mary Anne has taken such a liking, — who pooh-poohs the idea of a watering-place in summer, who fi^owiis over the weekly bills, and talks of bankruptcy and ruin over the milli- ner’s little account, who is Mamma’s excuse with the sons, the daughters, and the servants — your papa wishes it,” she says, and there is not a word more, — who with a mistaken dignity raises up an impassable barrier between himself and his children, chilling back their tenderest ad- vances, receiving their evening kiss as a cold formality, and who, ah, human heart ! when one of them is laid low, steals to the chamber of death privily and ashamed of his grief, turns down the ghastly sheet, and burying his head there pours out the only tears he has shed fi/r so many a year. Poor father ! bitter, bitter is the self-reproach ^ver that cold form now. What avails now the stern veto that bade her reject the handsome lover who had m poor a fortune, and broke — ay, broke her heart that beats no more? Of what use was that cold severity which drove him to sea, who lies there now past all recall Ah! stern, hard, cold father; so they thought yois m 94 THE SriRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. you seemed, and yet you meant it for the best, aaJ yua gay you loved yvur children too well. Well, well, it is not all fathers who are like this. There is another epe cies of the genus Paterfamilias Anglicanus, who is a jo vial and merry, and blithe by his fireside, whose child ren nestle round his knees, and who has a kiss and word, and a kind, soft smile for each. But what is the position of Paterfamilias in society? Where is his place ? Certainly not in the ball-room. Il he comes there, he must throw aside his dignity, and de- light in the pleasure of the young. He must be young himself. In his own house he must receive all comers merrily — the hal folatre is to be a scene of mirth ; he must not damp your gaiety with his solemn gravity. He is as little missed from his wife’s ball-room, as a mute from a wedding procession ; and yet he must be there to talk to chaperons, to amuse the elderly beaux, and, if necessary, to spread the card-table and form the rubber. At all events, he never dances unless to make up a set in a quadrille. He is still less at home in the pic-nic, the matinee^ and the fite^ but he is great at the evening party, and all-important at the dinner. But even here there is a dignity proper to Paterfamilias, which, while it should avoid stateliness, should scarcely descend to hilari ty. He must not be a loud laugher or an inveterate talKer. He is seen in his most trying light in his con- duct to the young. While we excuse his antique fashion, which rather becomes him, and would laugh to see him in the latest mode of the day, while we are pleased with his old-fashioned courtesy, and would not have him talk slang or lounge on the sofa, we expect from him some consid- eration for the changes that have taken place since h« THE MATRON. 95 courted his worthy spouse. Paterfamilias is too api to insist that the manners and fashions of his spring U;tter than those of his winter are. He should be smil- ing to young women, and even a little gallant, and hi diould rejoice in their youthful mirth. But too often h ii tempted to sex down his younger brethren, too often h iS a damper, and wished away. The dignity of Patx.T familias should never interfere Avith the ease, though it may well check the impudence of youth. The Matron is tender to her OAvn. How much I Avish she was as tender to the pride of otliers. But one her. will alAvay:^ kill another's chickens if she has the oppor- tunity, and Mrs. Jones Avill ahvays pick to pieces Mrs. Brown’s daughters. The Matron has Uiany more social duties than Paterfamailias. It is she avIio arranges every- thing ; who selects the guests ; Avdio, Avith her daughter’s pen, invites them ; Avho receives their visits ; Avho looks after their comforts ; who, by her active attentions, keeps up the circulation in evening parties ; Avho orders dinner, and distributes the guests at it ; Avho introduces partners at balls Avith her daughter’s assistance ; Avdio engages the chaperons ; wdio herself must go, willing or not. to look after her Ada and her Edith at the ball, and sit unmur- muring to the end of the dance. But she is Avell repaid by their pleasure, and Avhen Ada talks of the Captain’s attention, and Edith tells her Avhat the curate wdiispcred, she is perfectly happy. The matron without children is a woman out of her sphere, and until her children are grown up, she is a young married Avoman, and not a raa^ tron. It is only Avhen Ada comes out” that her office commences. She must then in society be an appendage U) her daughter, and forget herself. But in the evening 90 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. party and the dinner-party she takes a higher place^ a!id in fact the highest, and wliether as guest or host, it is to tier that the most respect is shown ; she has a right to it, and it is her duty to keep it up. Still the matron appears more in her relation to her children than any other posi tion, and in this her place in society is one that demand *;are. Great as her pride may be in her family, she has no right to be continually asserting their superiority to all other young people. This is particularly remarkable in her treatment of her grown-up sons ; and a mother should remember that when fully fledged, the young birds can take care of themselves. She has no right to tie them tc her apron-string, and her fondness becomes foolish when she fears that poor Charles will catch cold at eight-and- twenty^ or shrieks after James, because he will stroll away to his club. But when she assumes the dress and airs of youth, she becomes ridiculous. When once she has daughters presentable, she must forget to shine her- self ; she should never, even if a widow, risk being her daughter’s rival, and her conduct to young men must be that of a mother, rather than of a friend. It is very different in France, where the married woman is par excellence the woman jf society, no matter what her age. But in England, the bearing of the married woman with grown-up children must be the calm dignity and affability of the matron. The French have a pro* verb, Faire la cour d la m^.re pour avoir la fille and I should strongly recommend the young man who wishejg to succeed with a damsel, to show particular attent ons to her mamma. A mother indeed does not expect you to leave her daughter’s side in order to talk to her ; but be sure that such an act gains you much more good will than THE YOUNG MARRIED MAN. 97 all xht pretty speeches you could have made in that time to the daughter. And it is only kind too. As 1 have said, the mother’s and chaperon's position is secondarj »^hen the daughter or e is present, at least in Eng* land ; but a good-natured man will take care that she does aot feel it to be so. A good girl is always pleased to see proper respect and attention shown to her mother ; and when at breakfast the next morning, mamma says, My dear, I like Mr. Jones very much ; he is a well-bred and agreeable young man ; I recommend you to cultivate him.” And when Arabella exclaims, Oh, mamma, the idea ! Mr. Jones indeed !” you may be sure the maternal praise is not lost upon her, and the idea is precisely one that she will allow to return to her mind. One of the most fattening dishes on which Master Cupid feeds, is that same praise bestowed by others. But whether you have an eye to Arabella or not, the chaperon ought not to be neglected. Now, what part young Benedict shall take in society depends on his young wife. If she be wise, she will not fret when he dances with pretty girls, and if he be kind he will not let the dance lead him into a flirtation. But Benedict may go everywhere, and need not sigh over the days of his celibacy. Only he must remember, that while he has gained some privileges, he has lost others. In the meetings of the young, for instance, he is less wanted than Ccelebs, while since he cannot be invited without his wife, ho can no longer expect to fill the odd seat at dinner. On the other hand, he takes precedence of the bachelor, and Is naturally a man of more 'weight, so that when he haa passed his head under the yoke, he must be calmer^ more sober, less frivolous, though not less lively than he was 98 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. the old ‘^chambers” days. A great deal is forgiven u Coelebs on account of bis position. If he talks nonsen.4f occasionally, it is his high spirits ; if he dances incessant ly the whole evening, it is that he may please ‘'t!ics<' ioar girls if he dresses au 'point de vice now and then ■le is Claudio in love, lying sleepless for the night, “ cai v* fig out a new doublet if he hurries to the drawing- room after dinner, or is marked in his attention to ladies, lie is only on his promotion ; and if he has a few last lounging habits, it is all very well for the boys,” says Paterfamilias, and in short, a young fellow like that” jQay do a thousand things that Benedict the married man *aust abstain from. Greater than any change, however £3 that of his relations to his own sex. Some married men throw all their bachelor friends overboard, when they take that fair cargo for which they have been sighing sc long; but I would not be one of such a man’s friends At the same time, I must expect to see less of Benedict than before. “Adieu the petit sonpe?'^^^ he murmurs “ the flying corks, the chorused song, the trips to Rich mond and Greenwich, the high dog-cart, and the seat oi* the box of my friend’s drag ! Adieu the fragrant weed the cracking hunting-whip, the merry bacheloi -dinnei , and the late hours ! Shall I sigh over them ? No, in- deed ! Mrs. Jones is not only an ample compensation foi Buch gaieties, but I am thankful to her for keeping me Brom them. Why, that little baby-face of hers, that pouts 80 prettily for a kiss when I come home, is worth a hun dred dozens of champagnes, a thousand boxes of Hudson’s best, and a score of the longest runs after reynard wo ever had.” Yes, Benedict-I envy thee, and if Beatrice be wise, she will draw the reins too tight all at once THE BACHELOR m Miil whatever she may say to hunting, she will sc?o no harm in a mild havana and a couple of bachelor frienda to dinner now and then. But Benedict has not only changed his manner and his habits, he has got new duties nd where his wife goes he may go, and ought to go le can no longer claim exemption from solemn dinners from Aveary muffin-worries, and witless tea-parties. On the other hand, he will never be made use of, and his wife will furnish a ready excuse for refusing invitations which he had better not accept. Lastly, the young mar- ried man should never assume the gravity of Paterfamiliaa and though he is promoted above Coelebs, he will take care not to snub him. ^ What a happy man is Coelebs ! The more I sit in my club- window the more I feel convinced of this. It is true that I have never been married, and therefore know nothing of the alternative, but will make vou a little confession, priestly reader — I have been once or twice very near it. Free from incumbrance, Coelebs is as irresponsible as a butterfly ; he can choose his own suciety, go anywhere, do anything, be early or late, gay or retired, mingle with men or with ladies, smoke or not, wear a beard or cut it off, and, if he likes, part his hair down m the middle. What a happy man is Coelebs ! free and independent as he is, he is as much courted as a voter at an election ; he is for ever being bribed by mammas and feasted by papas ; nothing is complete without him ; he is the wit at the din- ner, the life” of the tea-fight, an absolute necessity in the ball-room, a sine qua non at f te and pic nic, and W(d come everywhere. Indeed, I don’t know what society cai. do without him. The men want hrm for their parties, the ladies, I suppose I must not sav, still more” for theirs 100 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL C HSERVANCBS. The old like him because he is young, the young like hia because he is not old ; and in short he is as much a neces- sity as the refreshments, and must be procured someho\^ other. Then, too, if he does not care for these things he can come and sit here in the club-window ; or he can travel, which Benedict seldom can ; or he can take an oc- cupation 6r an art, while the married man has no choice, i^nd must work, if he work at all, to keep quiet the mouths of those blessed cherubim in the perambulator. But that which makes Coelebs a happy man is, that he jan enjoy society so much. If it be the bachelor-party, he is not there against his conscience with fear of a Cau- dle lecture to spoil his digestion. If it is among ladies, he has the spice of galanterie to curry his conversation with, and as for dancing, he at least enjoys it as an intro- duction to flirtation. But perhaps his greatest privilege is the power of falling in love, for as long as that power lasts — which, heigh-ho ! is not for ever — there is no inno- cent pleasure which is greater. But Coelebs has not always the privilege of falling out of love again, and if the married man has a wife to look after his doings, the bachelor is watched by chaperons, and suspected by papas Poor Coelebs, do not leave the matter too late ; do not say, Hang me in a bottle like a cat, and shoot at me,” if ever 1 lose my heart. Believe me, boy, the passion must be enjoyed when young. When you come to my age, Cupid ^oift waste an arrow on you, and if he did so, it would :nly make you ridiculous. Yes, the young bachelor is a ‘iappy man, but the old bachelor- -let me stop, if I once begin on that theme, I shall waste three quires of paper, and tire you out But if much is allowed to Cceleba THE YOUNG LADY. 101 much IS expected of him. He has not tue substanc-*.' of Benedict to back him up, not the respectability of wedded life, not the charms of his young wife to make amends for his deficiencies. The young bachelor is more than any man a subject for the laws of etiquette. Less than an will he be pardoned for neglecting them. He has no ex case to ofier for their non-observance. He must make himself useful and agreeable, must have accomplishments for the former, and talents for the latter, and is expected to show attention and respect to both sexes and all ages. Happier still is the young lady, for whom so many al- lowances are made, and who, in society, is supposed to do nothing wrong. To her the ball is a real delight^ and the evening party much more amusing than to any one else. On the other hand, she must not frequent dinner-parties too much, particularly if she is very young, and in all cases she must consider modesty the prettiest ornament she can wear. She has many privileges, but must beware how she takes advantage of them. To the old her manner must always be respectful and even affectionate. If she lacks beauty, she will not succeed without conversational pow- ers ; and if she has beauty, she will soon find that wit is a powerful rival. With the two she may do what sho will ; all men are hej slaves. She must, however, have a smile as well, for every person and every occa^3ion. Dignity she seldom needs, except to repel familiarity. Without a good heart her mind and her face will only draw envy and even dislike upon her. In England , tha young lady is queen ; in France, the young married woman takes her place ; and though society can do without her there is, in my opinion, no more charming companion tha'^ 102 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. a young married wman. She has left off nonsense, ’iiid forgotten flirtation, and she has gained from the- corn} am ionship of her husband a certain strength of mind, which tempered by her modest dignity, enables her to broach almost any subject with a man. She is at home every •where, may dance in the ball-room, and talk at the dinnei table, and the respect due to her position enables her to be more free in ner intercourse without fear of remark In short, if a man wishes for sensible conversation, wdth gentleness and beauty to lend it a charm, he must look for it in young married women. Of the elderly unmarried lady — for of course there ia no such thing as an old maid” — I decline, from a feeling of delicacy, to say anything. I shall conclude this de resistance with a few part- ing remarks on the art -of making one’s self agreeable. I take it that the first thing necessary is to be in good spirits, or at least in the humor for society. If you have any grief or care to oppress you, and have not the strength of will to throw it off, you do yourself an injustice by enter- ing the society of those who meet for mutual entertain- ment. Nay, you do them too a wrong, for you risk be- coming what is commonly known as a ‘^damper.” Tiie next point is to remember that the mutual entertainment in society is obtained by conversation. For this you re- ♦juire temper, of which I have already spoken ; confidence of which I shall speak elsewhere; and appropriateiies?, which has been treated under the head of ‘‘Conversaticn.’* I have already said, that that man is the most agreeable to talk to who thinks out of society as well as in it li will be necessary to throw off all the marks and feelings TUE ART OF MAKINa ONE'S-SELF AGREE IDLE. 1 Ot of your profession and occupatioiij and surround yourself, so to speak, with a purely social atmosphere. You must remember that society requires equality, real or apparent and that all professional or official peculiarities militatf^ against this appearance of equality. You must, in the iame way, divest yourself of all feeling of superiority or iiiferiority in rank, birth, position, means, or even acquire Dients. You must enter the social ranks as a private If you earn your laurels by being agreeable, you will, ir time, get your commission. Having made this mental preparation, having confidence without pride, modesty without shyness, ease without insolence, and dignity with- out stiffness, ycu may enter the drawing-room, and see in what way you may best make yourself agreeable. The spirit with which you must do so is one of general kindliness and self-sacrifice. You will not, therefore, select the person who has the most attractions for you, so much as any one whom you see neglected, or who, being not quite at his or her ease, requires to be talked into confidence. On the same principle, you will respect prejudices ; you will take care to ascertain them, before coming, on subjects on which people feel strongly. Then you will not open a conversation with a young lady by abusing High or Low Church, nor with an elderly gentleman by an attack on Whig or Tory. You will not rail against babies to a mar- ried woman, nor sneer at modern literature to a man witli t beard, for if he is not a Crimean officer, he is sure to Ik? n author. In like spirit you will discover and even anticipate th wants of others, particularly if you are a man. On first acquaintance you will treat every one with particuiai 104 THE SPIRIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. respect and delicacy, not rushing at once into a familial joke, or roaring like a clown. "Your manner will be calm— because if you have no nerves, other people have them — and your voice gentle and low. Oh ! commend me to at agreeable voice, especially in a woman. It is worth an^ ameunt of beauty. The tone, too, of your conversation and style of your manner will vary with the occasion. While it wdll be sensible and almost grave at table, it will be merry and light at a pic-nic. Your attention, again, must not be exclusive. However little you may enjoy their society, you will be as attentive to the old as to the young ; to the humble as to the grand to the poor curate, for instance, as to the M.*P. ; to the elderly chaperon as to her fair young charge. In this manner you not only evince your good-breeding, but often do a real kindness in amusing those who might otherwise be very dull. On some occasions, particularly when a party is heavy and wants life, you will generalize the con- versation, introducing a subject in which all can take an interest, and turning to them all in general. On the other hand, when, as in a small party, the conversation is by necessity general, you will particularly avoid talking to one person exclusively, or mentioning people, places, or things with which only one or two of them can be ac- quainted. For instance, if at a morning call there happen to be two or three strangers at the same time, it is bad ta^te to talk about Mr. this or Mr. that. It is far bettei to have recourse to the newspapers, which every tody i supposed to have read, or to public affairs, in which every- body can take more or less interest. But it is not in your words only that you may offen^/ MANNERS. 105 against good taste. Your manners jour persoral habits jour vcrj look even inaj give offence. These, therefore, must not onlj be studied, but if jou have the misfortune to be with people who are riot accustomed to refined man Dei s and to find that insisting on q, particular refinemcrj Wbfuld give oSence, or cast an imputation on the rest, it ia alwajs better to waive a refinement than to hurt feelings and it sometimes becomes more ill-bred to insist on one than to do without it. For instance, if jour host and his guest dine without dinner napkins, it would be verj bad taste to call for one, or if, as in German j, there be no spoons for the salt, jou must be content to use jour knife or fork as the rest do. To do in Rome as the Romai s do,’* applies to everj kind of societj. At the same time, you can never be expected to commit a serious breach of manners because .jour neighbors do so. You can never be called on in America to spit about the room, simpl^v because it is a national habit. But what JOU should do, and what not, in particular cases, JOU will learn in the following chapters. I have onlj' now to saj, that if jou wish to be agreeable, which is certainlj a good and religious desire, jou must both gtudj how to be so, and take the trouble to put jour studies into constant practice. The fruit jou will soon reap. You will be generallj liked and loved. The gratitude of those 0 whom JOU have devoted jourself will be shown in jpcakmg well of jou; jou will become a desirable adJi ion to everj partj and w^hatever jour birth, fortune, r jiosition, people wiU saj of jou He is a most agreeabl tnd well-bred man ” and be glad to introduce jou to good societj. But JOU will reap a jet better reward. Yor / 5 * 106 THE SPIKIT OF SOCIAL OBSERVANCES. have in yourself the satisfaction of having taken trcubU and made sacrifices in order to give pleasure and happiness for the time to others. How do you know what grief or care you may not obliterate, what humiliation you may not alter to confidence, what anxiety you may not soften what — last, but really not least — what intense dullnea you may not enliven ? If this work assist you in becom ing an agreeable member of good society, I shall rejoice fit the labor it has given me. PART I - THE INDIVIDUAL CHAPTER I INSIDE THE DHESSING-ROOM. There are several passages in Holy Writ which have been shamefully, I may almost say, ludicrously misapplied. Thus when we want a scriptural authority for making ag u uch money as possible in an honest way, we quote St. Paul, ‘‘Not slothful in business, forgetting that the word “business” had once a far wider meaning, and that the Greek, for which it is placed, means really “ zeal,” that is, in God's w’ork. But the most impudent appro- priation is that of cleanliness being next to godliness, and the apostle is made to affirm that if you cannot be reli- gious, you should at least w^ear a clean shirt. Of course a reference to the Greek would show in a moment tha purity of mind and heart are meant, and that “cleanli- ness” was once the proper English for “ purity.” Though we have no right to claim scriptural authority foi soap and water, we cannot agree with Thomas of Ely, who tells us that Queen Ethelreda was sc clean of heart as to need no washing of the body ; nor can we believe ^hat the loftiness of Lady Mary Wortley Montague’s sen- dmenta at all replaced the brush and comb, towel and ( 107 ) 108 INSIDE THE DRESSING-BOOM. sin, to which tne liveliest woman of her day had such a strange aversion It was she who, when some one said Ic her at the opera, ‘‘ How dirty your hands are, my lady!^’ slie replied with naive indifference, What would you ay if you saw my feet?’’ Genius, love, and fanaticism, seem partial to dirt Every one knows what a German philosopher looks like, and Werther showed his misery by wearing the same coat and appendices for a whole year. As to the saints, they were proud of their unchanged flannel, and the monk was never made late for matins by the intricacy of his toilet. St. Simeon of the Pillar is an instance of the common opinion of his day, that far from cleanliness being next to godliness, the nearest road to heaven is a remarkably dirty one. Perhaps, however, he trusted to the rain to cleanse him; and he was certainly a user of the shower bath, which cannot be said of many a fine gentleman Religion, however, is not always accompanied with neglect * the person. The Brahman bathes twice a day, and ^ises his mouth seven times the first thing in the morn- ing. It is strange that Manu, while enumerating the pollutions of this world, should have made the exception of a woman’s mouth, which he tells us is always clean. Probably the worthy old Hindu was partial to osculation but it is certain that there can be no Billingsgate in India In the beginning of the present century, it was thought ^aoper for a gentleman to change his under garment three ^times a day, and the washing bilk of a beau comprised seventy shirts, thirty cravats, and pocket-handkenibiefs iscr ' tion. What would Brummell say to a college chum ' 1 mine who made a tour through Wales with but one flannel shirt in his knapsack ? The former’s maxim was CLEANLINESS. 109 ^ linen of the finest quality, plenty of it, and country washing.*' Fine linen has always been held in esteem, but it did not save Dives. Cleanliness is a duty to one’s self for the sake ol health •\nd to one’s neighbor for the sake of agreeableness DirU' Less is decidedly unpleasant to more than one of the senses, and a man who thus offends his neighbor is not free from guilt, though he may go unpunished. But ii these reasons were not suflScient, there is another fin stronger than both. St. Simeon Stylites may have pre- served a pure mind in spite of an absence of ablutions, but w^e must not lose sight of the influence which the body has over the soul, an influence, alas, for man ! some- times far too great. We are convinced that bad personal habits have their elfect on the character, and that a man who neglects his body, which he loves by instinct, will neglect far more his soul, which he loves only by com- mand. There is no excuse for Brummell’s taking more than two hours to dress. It was in his case mere vanity, and he was — and was content to be — one of the veriest show- things in the world, as useless as the table ornaments on which he wasted the money he was not ashamed to take from his friendjs,. On the other hand, when a young lady assures me that she can dress in ten minutes, I feel con- fident that the most important part of the toilet must be neglected. The morning toilet means more than a mere putting on of clothes, whatever policemen and French concierges may think. The first thing to be attended to after rising is the baM. The vessel which is dignified, like a certain part of lady’s dress, with a royal Order, is one on which folios might no INSIDE THE DRESSING- ROOM. oe written. It has given a name to two towns — Bath and Baden — renowned for their toilets, and it is all that is left in thn e continents of Roman glory. It is a club-room in (R'l manj and the East and was an arena in Greece and Home. It was in a bath that the greatest destroyer oi life had liis own destroyed, when he had bathed all France in blood. But Clarence, I am convinced, has been much maligned. He has been called a drunkard, and people shudder at his choosing that death in which he could not but die in sin ; but for my part, so far as the Malmsey is concerned, I am inclined to think that he only showed himself a gentleman to the last. He was determined tc die clean, and he knew, like the Parisian ladies — which we should perhaps spell laides — who sacrifice a dozen of champagne to their morning ablutions, that wine has a peculiarly softening effect upon the skin. Besides Cham- pagne, the exquisites of Paris use milk,* which is sup- posed to lend whiteness to the skin. The expense of this luxury is considerably diminished by an arrangment with the milkman, who repurchases the liquid after use. I need scarcely add, that in Paris I learned to abjure cafe au lait^ and to drink my tea simple. The bath deserves an Order, and its celebrity. It is of all institutions the most unexceptionable. Man is an am- phibious animal, and ought to pass some small portion of each day in the water. In fact, a large, if not the larger [proportion of diseases arises from leaving the pores of die skin closed, whether with natural exudation or mat ter fiom without, alias dirt. It is quite a mistake to ♦The late Duke of Queensbury had his milk-bath every day It k gappQS^ J U uourish as well as whiten and soften the skin THE BATH. in gui^pode, and ti 3 idea must at once be done away with, that one is to wash because one is dirty. We wash be- cause we wear clothes ; in other words, because we are obliged to remove artificially what would otherwise escape by evaporation. We wash again, because we are never ir a state of perfect health, although with care we might b« so. Were our bodies in perfect order — as the Sweden- borgians inform us that those of the angels are — wo should never need washing, and the bath would chill rather than refresh us, so that, perhaps, man is by neces- sity and degradation — not by destination — an amphibious creature. However this may be, we must not suppose, because a limb looks clean, that it does not need washing, and how- ever white the skin may appear, we should use the bath once a day at least, and in summer, if convenient, twice. The question now arises. What kind of a bath is best ? ind it must be ansAvered by referring to the personas eonstitution. If this is weak and poor, the bath should be strengthening ; but at the same time it must be remem- bered, that while simple water cleanses, thicker fluids are apt rather to encumber the skin, so that a tonic bath is not always a good one. This is the case with the champagne^ milk, mud, snake, and other baths, the value of which en- tirely depends on the peculiar state of health of the patient so that one person is cured, and another killed by them The same is to be said of sea-bathing, and the commor^ hath even must be used with reference to one’s condition The most cleansing bath is a warm one from 96* te 100°, into which the whole body is immersed. If cleans- ing alone be the aim, the hotter the water the better, uf to 108°. It expands the pores, dives well into them 112 INSIDE TUB DRESSING-ROOM. and increases the circulation for the time being. Bat since it is an unnatural agent, it exhausts the physical po^vers/ and leaves us prostrate.^ For health therefore it should be sparingly indulged in, except in persons of rapid and heated circulation. Even with such, it should Oe used with discretion, and the time of remaining in the bath should never exceed a few minutes. Th^'cold bath of from 60° to 70°, on the other hand, tleanses less, but invigorates more. It should therefore be avoided by persons of full temperament, and becomes really dangerous after eating, or even after a long rest following a heavy meal. If you have supped largely over night, or been foolish, perhaps I may say wrong enough, to drink more than your usual quantity of stim- ulating liquids, you should content yourself with passing a wet sponge over the body”. A tepid bath, varying from 85« to 95^^, is perhaps the safest of all, but we must not lose sight of health in the desire for comfort. The most healthy, and one of the handsomest men I ever saw, and one who at sixty had not a single grey hair, was a German, whose diet being mod- erate, used to bathe in running water at all seasons, breaking the ice in winter for his plunge. Of the shower bath, I will say nothing, because I feel, that to recom- mend it for general use, is dangerous, while for such ai work as this, which does not take health as its main sub- ject it would be out of place to go into the special cases. Tue best bath for general purposes, and one which can dc little harm^ and almost always some good, is a sponge bath It should consist of a large flat metal basin, some four feet in diameter, filled with cold water. Such a ves- sel may be bought for about fifteen shillings. A largi THE BATH. 113 coarse sponge — the coarser the better — will cost anothei five or seven shillings, and a few Turkish towels, com- plete the ‘^properties.’’ The water should be plentiful and fresh, that is, brought up a little while before the bath is to be used ; not placed over night in the bed-room, Let us wash and be merry, for we know not how soon tlu supply of that precious article which here costs nothing may be cut off. In many continental towns they buy their water, and on a protracted sea voyage the ration is often reduced to half a pint a day for all purposes^ so that a pint per diem is considered luxurious. Sea-water, we may here observe, does not cleanse and a sensible man who bathes in the sea will take a bath of pure water im- mediately after it. This practice is shamefully neglected, and I am inclined to think, that in many cases a sea-bath will do more harm than good without it, but if followed by a fresh bath, cannot but be advantageous. Taking the sponge bath as the best for ordinary pur- poses, we must point out some rules in its use. The sponge being nearly a foot in length, and six inches broad, must be allowed to fill completely with water, and the part of the body which should be first attacked is the stomach. It is there that the most heat has collected during the night, and the application of cold water quick- ens the circulation at once, and sends the blood which has been employed in digestion round the whole body. The head should next be soused, unless the person be of full habit when the head should be attacked before the feel touch the cold water at all. Some persons use a small hand shower bath, which is less powerful than the com- mon shower bath, and does almost as much good. The use of soap in the morning bath is an open question. 1 INSIDE THE DKESSING-ECOM. 3ontbss a preference for a rough towel or a hair glove Brummell patronized the latter, and applied it for nearlj a quarter of an hour every morning. The ancients followed up the bath by anointing the body, and athletic exercises. The former is a mistake; the latter an excellent practice shamefully neglected ic the present day. It would conduce much to health ind strength if every morning toilet comprised the vigorous use of the dumb-bells, or, still better, the exercise of the arms without them. The best plan of all is, to choose some object in your bedroom on which to vent your hatred^ and box at it violently for some ten minutes, till the perspiration covers you. The sponge must then be again applied to the whole body. It is very desirable to remain without clothing as long as possible, and I should therefore recommend that every part of the toilet which can con- veniently be performed withou: dressing, should be so. The next duty, then, must be to clean the Teeth. Dentists are modern inquisitors, but their torture-rooms are meant only for the foolish. Everybody is born with good teeth, and evorybody might keep them good by a proper diet, and the avoidance of sweets and smoking. Of the two the former are perhaps the more dangerous. Nothing ruins the teeth so soon as sugar in one’s tea, and liighly sweetened tarts and puddings, and as it is le pre- mier pas qui coute^ these should be particularly avoided in childhood. When the teeth attain their full growth and strength it takes much mere to destroy either vhe*r en amel or their substance. It is upon the teeth that the effects of excess are firsi seen, and it is upon the teeth that the odor of the breatli depends What is more repulsive than a woman’s smiU THE TEETH 115 SiscovcriQg a row of black teeth, unlcfei^ it be the rank Bmell of the breath ? Both involve an offence of joui neighbor’s most delicate senses, and neither can therefore be pardoned. If I may not say that it is a Christian duty to keep your teeth clean, I may at least remind you that you cannot be thoroughly agreeable without doing sc Ladies particularly must remember that men love with their eyes, and perhaps I may add with their noses, and that these details do not escape them. In fact, there arc few details in women that do escape their admirers, and if Brummell broke off his engagement because the young lady ate cabbages, there are numbers of men in the pres* ent day who would be disgusted by the absence of refine- ment in such small matters as the teeth. Let words be whsit they may, if they come with an impure odor, they cannot please. The butterfly loves the scent of the rose more than its honey. The beau just mentioned used a red root, which is of oriental origin. It is not so penetrating as a good hard tooth-brush, with a lather of saponaceous tooth-powder upon it. The Hindus, who have particularly white teeth, use sticks of different woods according to their caste ; bu^ perhaps a preparation of soap is the best thing that can be employed. The teeth should be well rubbed inside as well as outside, and the back teeth even more than the front. The mouth should then be rinsed, if not seven times, ac- cording to the Hindu legislator, at least several times, with fresh cold water. This same process should be re- peated several times a day, since eating, smoking, and sc forth, naturally render the teeth and mouth dirty more or less, and nothing can be so offensive, particularly to ladies, whose sense of smell seems to be keener thf ji that of the 116 INSIDE THE DRESSING-ROOM. other sex, and who can detect at your first approaci whether you have been drinking or smoking. But if onlj for your own comfort, you should brush your teeth hot I morning and evening, w’hich is quite requisite for the pro servatron of their soundness and color; while if you arc tc mingle with others, they should be brushed, or at least the mouth well rinsed after every meal, still more after smoking, or drinking wiiie, beer or spirits. No amount of general attractiveness can compensate for an olFensive odor in the breath ; and none of the senses is so fine a gentleman, none so unforgiving if offended, as that of smell. The following reproof was well-merited, if not polite. I have had the wind in my teeth all the way,^’ said an Irishman, after a brisk walk on a breezy morn- ing, before which he had been indulging his propensity to onions. “ Well, sir,’’ replied his friend, who at once perceived how he had breakfasted, I must say that the wind had the worst of it.” The custom of allowing the nails to grow as a proof of freedom from the necessity of working, which is most absurdly identified with gentility, is not peculiar to China. In some parts of Italy the nails of the left hand are never cut till they begin to break, and a Lombard of my ac- quaintance once presented me a huge nail which he had just cut, and which I must do him the justice to say was perfectly white. I admired it, and threw it away. ‘‘ What !” cried he indignantly, is that the way you re- ceive the greatest proof of friendship which a man car give you ?” and he then explained to me that in his native province the nail held the same place as a lock of hair with us. I really doubt which has the preference, and whether a Lothario’s desk filled with little oily packets of THE NAIIiS. 117 lifferent coiored hair is at all more romant’.3 tliaii a boA of beloved finger nails. Certainly there is beauty in a long silken tress, the golden tinge reminding us of the fair head of some lost child so like its mother’s, or in th^i rich dark curl that, in the boldest hour of love, we raped from her head, who was then so confidently ours, and now — What is she now ? But even this fancy can take a very disagreeable form, and what can we say of an ardent hopeless lover whom I once knew, and who I was assured gave a guinea to a lady’s maid for the stray hairs left in her mistress’ comb ! But though we may not be cultivating our nails either to tear a rival’s face with, or to confer with a majestic con- descension on some importunate admirer, we are not ab- solved from paying strict attention to their condition, and that both as regards cleaning and cutting. The former is best done with a liberal supply of soap on a small nail- brush, which should be used before every meal, if you would not injure your neighbor’s appetite. While the land is still moist, the point of a small pen-knife or pair of stumpy nail-scissors should be passed under the nails so as to remove every vestige of dirt ; the skin should be pushed down with a towel, that the white half-moon may be seen, and the finer skin removed with the knife or scissors. Occasionally the edges of the nails should be filed, and the hard skin which forms round the corners them cut away The important point in cutting the nails k tc preserve the beauty of their shape. That beauty even in details is worth preserving I have already remark ed, and we may study it as much in paring our nails, as in the grace of our attitudes, or any other point The shape, then, of the nail should approach as nearly as 118 INSIDE THE DRESSING-ROOM. sible to the oblong. The oriental ladies kno^v this and allow the nail to grow to an enormous length, and bend down towards the finger. Eut then they cultivate beauty ij3 every detail, for, poor things, they have none but per f :nal attractions to depend on ; and they give to the pin Miu a peculiar lustre by the little speck of purple henna just as Parisian beauties pass a line of blue paint under the lower eyelash ; perhaps, too, they keep their fingers thus well armed to protect themselves from angiy pashas, or even — but let us hope not — to spoil the beauty of some iQore favored houri. However this may be, the length ol I he nail is an open question. Let it be often cut, but al- ways long, in my opinion. Above all, let it be well cut, rmd never bitten. Had Brummell broken off his engage- ment because the young lady bit her nails, I think I could not have blamed him. Perhaps you tell me these are childish details. DetailS: yes, but not childish. The attention to details is the true sign of a great mind, and he wdio can in necessity consider the smallest, is the same man who can compass the largest subjects. Is not life made up of details ? Must not the artist who has conceived a picture, descend from the dream of his mind to mix colors on a palette? Must not the great commander who is bowling down nations and setting up monarchies care for the health and comfort, the bread and beef of each individual soldier ? I have often seen a groat poet, whom I knew personally, counting on his fing( rs the feet of his verses, and fretting with anything but poetic language, because he could not get his sense into as many syllables What if his nails were dirty ? Let genius talk of abstract beauty and philosophers dog- matize on order. If they do not keep their nails clean, I chilblains. lift gfiall call them both charlatans. The man who really lo\es beauty will cultivate it in everything around him. Tlu man who upholds order is not conscientious if he cannot observe it in his nails. The great mind can afford to de-* K^end to details ; it is only the weak mind that fears tc i?e narrowed by them. When Napoleon was at Municl lie declined the grand four-poster of the Witelsbach family, and slept, as usual in his little camp-bed. The power tc be little is a proof of greatness. For the hands, ears, and neck we want something more than the bath, and as these party are exposed and really lodge fugitive pollutions, we cannot use too much soap, )r give too much trouble to their complete purification. Nothing is lovelier than a woman’s small white shell-like ear; few things reconcile us better to earth than th^ cold hand and warm heart of a friend ; but to complete the charm, the hand should be both clean and soft. Warm water, a liberal use of the nail-brush, and no stint of soap, produce this amenity far more effectually than honey, cold cream, and almond paste. Of wearing gloves I shall speak elsewhere, but for weak people who are troubled with chilblains, they are indispensable all the year round. I will add a good prescription for the cure f chilblains, which are both a disfigurement, and one of cue petites misires of human life. Roll the fingers in linen bandages, sew them up well, and dip them twice or thrice a day in a mixture, con- sisting of half a fluid ounce of tincture of capsicum, and a flaid ounce of tincture of opium.” Q'he person who invented razors libelled Nature, and add 3d a fresh misery to the days of man. Ah !” said Diogones, who would never consent to be shaved, would 120 INSIP E THE DRESSING-ROOM, you insinuate that Nature had done better to make jc u*a woman than a man?” As for barbers, they have always been gossips and mischief-makers, and Arkwright, \^ho inyented spinning by rollers, scarcely redeemed his trade from universal dishonor. They have been the evil spirits t f great men too, whom they shaved and bearded in their private closets. It was a barber who helped the late King of Oude to ruin the country he governed ; and it was a barber who, at the beginning of the present centu- ry, was the bottle-imp of a Bishop of Hereford. Who in fact can respect a man whose sole office is to deprive his sex of their distinctive feature ? It is said that Alexander the Great introduced shaving, to prevent his soldiers being caught by the beard by their enemies, but the conqueror of Asia must be absolved of priority in this iniquitous custom, which he probably found prevalent in the countries he invaded. At any rate it would appear that the Budhist priests of India were ashamed of their locks at least a century before, and this reminds me that shaving and fanaticism have always gone together. The custom of the clergy wearing a womanish face is purely Romanist, and I rejoice to see that many a good preacher in the present day is not afraid to follow Cranmer and other fathers of our Church in wearing a goodly beard. The Romish priests were first ordered to shave when transubstantiation was estab- iiahed, from a fear that the beard might fall into the cup. It is clear that a Protestant chin ought to be well covered Whatever be said of the clergy, the custom of snaving came to this country like many other ugly personal habits, with the foreign monarens. As long as we had Planta- genets, Tudors, and Stuarts on the throne we were men THE BEAKD. 12: !i 9 to the out^\ard form. William of Orange wdi asham- ed of that very appendage which it is a disgrace to a Mussulman to be without. Peter the Great had already proved that barber and barbarian are derived from iht same root, by laying a tax on all capillary ornaments. In England there has always been a great distinction between civil and military men, and this is the only coun- try in the world where the latter have been held in such dislike, as to compel them to abandon their uniform in everyday life. Perhaps it was on this account that ci- vilians in general adopted the coutiimes of the learned professions, lest they should be thought to belong to that of the sword. The beard and the rapier went out to- gether at the beginning of the last century. In the pres- ent day many a young shop-boy joins the moustache movement” solely with a hope of being mistaken for a captain.” Whatever Punch may say, the moustache and beard movement is one in the right direction, proving that men are beginning to appreciate beauty and to acknowledge that Nature is the best valet. But it is very amusing to hear men excusing their vanity on the plea of health, and find them indulging in the hideous Newgate frill”* as a kind of compromise between the beard and the razor. There was a time when it was thought a presumption and vanity to wear one’s own hair instead of the frightful elaborations of the wig-makers, and the false curls which ^ir Godfrey Kneller did his best to make graceful on canvas. Who knows that at some future age some Punch of the twenty-first century may not ridicule the wearing of one’s own teeth instead of the dentist’s ? At any rat-6 Nature knows best, and no man need be ashamed of show- 6 122 INSIDE THE DRESSING-ROOM. . ^ ing his manhood in the hair of his face. Of razors ind shaving therefore I shall only speak from necessity, canse, until everybody is sensible on this point, they udl’ ^till be used. Napoleon shaved himself. A born king,’^ said lie has another to shave him. A made king can use hi^ *wn razor.’’ But the war he made on his chin was very different to that he made on foreign potentates. He took a very long time to effect it, talking between whiles to his hangers-on. The great man, however, was right, and every sensible man will shave himself, if only as an exer- cise of character, for a man should learn to live in every detail without assistance. Moreover, in most cases 'we shave ourselves better than barbers can do. If we shave at all, we should do it thoroughly, and every morning nothing, except a frown and a hay-fever, makes the 1‘aco look so unlovely as a chin covered with short stubble^ The chief requirements are hot water, a large soft brush of badger hair, a good razor, soft soap that will not dry rapidly, and a steady hand. Cheap razors are a fallacy. They soon lose their edge, and no amount of stropping will restore it. A good razor needs no strop. If you can afford it, you should have a case of seven razors, one for each day of the week, so that no one shall be too much used. There are now much used packets of papers of a certain kind on which to wipe the razor, and which keep its edge keen, and are a substitute for the strop. I may here remark, that the use of violet-powder aftei shaving, now very common among well-dressed men, is one that should be avoided. In the first place, it is al- most always visible, and gives an unnatural look to the Gspce I know a young lady who being aflSicted with a WHISKERS. 123 redness in a feature above the chin, is in the habit of pow- dering it. For a long time I thought her charming, but since I made the discovery I can never look at her with- out a painful association with the pepper-caster. Violet- owder also makes the skin rough, and enlarges the poros f it sooner or later. Beards, moustaches^ and whiskers, have always been most important additions to the face. Italian conspira- tors are known by the cut of those they wear ; and it is not long since an Englishman with a beard was set down as an artist or a philosopher. In the present day literary men are much given to their growth, and in that respect snow at once their taste and their vanity. Let no man be ashamed of his beard, if it be well kept and not fantas- tically cut. The moustache should be kept within limits. The Hungarians wear it so long that they can tie the ends round their heads. The style of the beard should be adopted to suit the face. A broad face should wear a large full one ; a long face is improved by a sharp-pointed one. Taylor, the water poet, wrote verses on the vari- ous styles, and they are almost numberless. The chief point is to keep the beard well-combed and in neat trim. As to whiskers, it is not every man who can achieve a pair of full length. There is certainly a great vanity about them^ but it may be generally said that foppishness should be avoided in this as in most other points. Abovo all the whiskers should never be curled, nor pulled out tc an absurd length. Still worse is it to cut them close with the scissors. The moustache should be neat and not toe large, and such fopperies as curling the points thereof, cr twisting them up to the fineness of needles- -though pa- tronized by the Emperor of the French- -are decidedly ^ 124 INSIDE THE DRESSING-ROOM. prool‘ of vanity. If a man wear the hair on his face which nature has given him, in the manner that nature iistributes it, keeps it clean, and prevents its overgrowth, he cannot do wrong. If, on the other hand, he applies to Marie Coupelle, and other advertisers, because he believer jhat those dear silky whiskers” will find favor in th eyes of the fair, he will, if unsuccessful, waste much money — if successful, incur the risk of appearing ridicu- lous. All extravagancies are vulgar, because they are evidence of a pretence to being better than you are ; but a single extravagance unsupported is periiaps worse than a numbei together, which have at least the merit of con- sistency. If you copy puppies in the half-yard of whis- ker, you should have their dress and their manner too if you would not appear doubly absurd. The same remarks apply to the arrangment of the hail in men which should be as simple and as natural as pos- sible, but at the same time a little may be granted t5 beauty and the requirements of the face. For my part I can see nothing unmanly in wearing long hair though undoubted- ly it is inconvenient and a temptation to vanity, wh‘le its arranorement would demand an amount of time and atten- O tion which i« unworthy of a man. Bat every nation and every age has had a different custom in this respect, and to this day even in Europe the hair is sometimes worn long. The German student is particularly partial to hya- ointlime locks curling over a black velvet coat ; and tho >>asant of Brittany looks very handsome, if not always ?)ean, with his love-locks hanging straight down under a broad cavalier hat. Religion has generally taken up the matter severely The old fathers preached and railed igainst wigs, tlie Calvinists raised an insurrection in Bor THE HAIR. 12£ Jeaux on the same account, and English Rouniheads con- signed to an unmentionable place every man who allowei] his hair to grow according to nature The Romans con demned tresses as unmanly, and in France in the middh ages the privilege to wear them was confined to royalty Our modern custom was a revival of the French revolu- tion, so that in this respect we are now republican as well as puritanical. If we conform to fashion w'^e should at least make the best of it, and since the main advantage of short hair is its neatness, we should take care to keep ours neat. This should be done first by frequent visits to the barber, for if the hair is to be short at all it should be very short, and nothing looks more untidy than long, stiff, uncurled masses sticking out over the ears. If it curls naturally so much the better, but if not it will be easier to keep in order. The next point is to wash the head every morning, which, when once habitual, is a great preservative against cold. I never have more than one cold per annum, and I attribute this to my use of the morning bath, and regular washing of my head. A pair of large brushes, hard or soft, as your case requires, should be used, not to hammer he head with, but to pass up under the hair so as to reach the roots. As to pomatum, Macassar, and other inven- tions of the hairdresser, I have only to say that, if used at all, it should be in moderation, and never sufficiently tc make their scent perceptible in company. Of course the rrangment will be a matter of individual taste, but ruf the middle of the hair is the natural place for a pariijig it is rather a silly prejudice to think a man vain who p:u r? his hair in the centre. He is less blamable than one wliO is too lazy to part it at all, and has always the appeai anca ef having lust sot un. 126 IKSIDE DRESSING-ROOM. (Jf wigs and false hair, the subject of satires and sei aions since the days of the Roman emperors, T shall saj nothing here except that they are a practical falsehood which may sometimes be necessary, but is rarely success* ful Fcr my part I prefer the snows of life’s winter to the best made peruke, and even a bald head to an inferior wig. When gentlemen wore armor, and disdained the use of their legs, an esquire was a necessity ; and we can under- stand that, in the days of the Beaux, the word ‘‘gentle- man” meant a man and his valet. I am glad to say that in the present day it only takes one man to make a gentle- man, or, at most, a man and a ninth — that is, including the tailor. It is an excellent thing for the character to be neat and orderly, and, if a man neglects to be so in his room, he is open to the same temptation sooner or later in his person. A dressing-case is, therefore, a desideratum. A closet to hang up cloth clothes, which should never be folded, and a small dressing-room next to the bed-room, are not so easily attainable. But the man who throws his clothes about the room, a boot in one corner, a cravat in another, and his brushes anywhere, is not a man of gooer this reviving influence, that c^ombine to form a restorati such as neither medicme nor regimen can offer ; that pre- serves looks, appetite for food, aiid bloom and delicacv of v^omplexion. An aged clergyman who b"^d known not one day's ill ness was asked his secret : Dry feet and early rising,’' was his reply; these are my only two precautions.” With regard then to what a French author calls “a whole Cyclopaedia cf narcotics,” young women forget that there is no royal road to health and beauty. They must take the right path if they wish to reap the reward. No person in good health should remain in bed after seven j’clock, or half-past seven, in the spring and summer , that may, in the present century, when the daughters of England are reproached with self-indulgence, be termed early rising. She may then be down stairs at eight, and without taking a long and fatiguing walk, saunter in the garden a little ; or, if in a large town, have time to prac- tise, supposing that the opportunity of going out into the air is denied. By this means, that vigor which is the very soul of comeliness, the absence of hurry and the sense of self-reproach incurred by late rising, and the hunger felt for breakfast, will all conduce to arrest Time, as she hovers over his wholesale subjects, and to beguile him into sparing that process with his scythe by which he furrows the brow of the indolent with wrinkles, whilst he colors the pool victim, at the same time, with his own pet preparation of saffron Suppose then that this first and vital standing order foi the toilet be stringent, and that refreshed, and therefore energetic, buoyant, and conscious of one duty being at least CLEANLINESS ANL EXERCISE. 131 performed, the lady leaves her bed and prepares to dress L. E. L. used to say, for she was no early riser, that w« begin every day with a struggle and a sacrifice.’’ But the struggle is soon changed by habit into an eager desire te get up ; and the sacrifice, to the habitual early riser, is U be in bed. She rises : if in summer, throws open the window for a quarter of an hour, whilst the bath is being prepared, then closes it again, until the ablutions are com- pleted. The nature of these must be guided in a great measure by the general health. Of all bracing processes, to a sound constitution, that of the shower-bath is the greatest. It should be used however ©nly with the sanc- tion of the physician. The nervous energy is invigorated by it, the digestion, a great desideratum for the complexion, is improved ; the balance of circulation between the viscera and skin is maintained ; and taking cold, that enemy of the graces, rheums, catarrhs, and sore throats are kept off; swelling glands are prevented, and the whole powers of the frame increase. But, since the reaction is not in some delicate constitutions sufficient to make the use of the shower-bath desirable, the hip-bath, half filled with tepid water at first, and with cold afterwards, or the spong ing bath, are admirable modifications of the shower-bath. Thus fortified, the lady wffio has courage to conquer a shower-bath, or to plunge into a hip-bath, can face the morning air, and go forth with the self-earned coat-of- aail, as a defence against all that ugly family of jatarrhal Sections. We iiow come, to the toilet-table. This, in a lady’s as well as in a gentleman’s room, should be always neatly set out, and every article placed where it can be most ccn- veniently used. In former times, vast expense used to bf 132 THE lady’s toilet. bestowed on china, and even on gold and silver toilet services ; then came the war, and the national poverty, and those luxurious appliances were let down, if not aban doned. We have now resumed them with a degree of c% pense that is hardly wise or consistent. The secrets of the toilet were, indeed,- no fancied mysteries in formes days. Until the first twenty years of this century had passed away, many ladies of do?i ton thought it necessary^ in order to complete their dress, to put a touch of rouge on either cheek. The celebrated Mrs. Fitzherbert was rouged to the very eyes ; those beautiful deep blue eyes of hers. The old^ Duchess of R — enamelled, and usually fled from a room when the window^s were opened, as the compound, whatever formed of, was apt to dissolve and run down the face. Queen Caroline (of Brunswick) was rouged fearfully; her daughter, noble in form, fair but pale in complexion, disdained the art. Whilst th^^ rouged ladies might have sung or said, “We are blushing roses, Bending with our fulness,’* that gifted and lamented princess might have xnswered. “We are lilies fair. The flower of virgin light. Nature held us forth, and said, Lo ! ‘ my thoughts of white. ’ ” * A.iid it was certainly remarkable, that after the Princess Charlotte’s introduction at Court, rouge, wdiich had been the rule, became the exception, and that young people gen-^ srally never used it. ♦ Hunt. ROUGE AND COSMETICS. 138 Still there were other means resorted to for attaining the whiteness of skin which medical men dread, but which is certainly a very striking and beautiful characteristi^i of an English woman. I once knew a lady who was bled from time to time to keep the marble-like w^hitencss of her complexion ; others, to my knowledge, rub their faces: with bread-crumbs as one should a drawing. But, wc.isl of all, the use of pearl powder, or of violet powder, hae been for the last half century prevalent. Independent of all sorts of art being unpleasant, nc mistake of the fair one is greater than this. She may powder, she may go forth with a notion that the pearly whiteness of her brow, her neck, wall be deemed all her own ; but there are lights in which the small deception will be visible, and the charm of all coloring is gone w^hen it proves to be artificial. We tremble to think what is un- derneath. There is another inconvenience attached to the use of pearl powder, its great unwholesomeness. It checks the natural relief of the skin, perspiration ; and though it may not always injure the health, it dries up the cuticle, and invites as it were age to settle. Where pearl powder Aas been made an article of habitual use, wrinkles soon require additional layers to fill it up, just as worn out roads have ruts, and must be repaired ; but the macada* mising process cannot be applied to wTinkles. Still more fatal is the use of cosmetics ; its extrava- gance, in the first place, is an evil ; but I treat not of the moral question, but of its physical effects. Some women spend as much on essences and sweet waters as would enable them to take a journey, and thus do more for theii looks than all that a bureau full of cosmetics could insure 134 THE LADY'S TOILET. Many an eruptive disease Las arisen from the desirr cc make tlie skin clear ; above all, avoiil specifics. Youi friends are in the habit of saying, such a thing is goal for the complexion but remember that complexion is the dial of constitution, and that no two constitutions are alike. What is salutary in one case, may produce seriou® mischief in another. For instance, when abroad^ a lady who had been very much sunburnt was told that cucumbers cut into slices and put into cream, produce a decoction that would take oflf the burning effects of the sun. It is, in fact, a remedy used by German ladies, who must however have skins differently constituted than ours to bear it. The lady used this very powerful specific, and her face was blister- ed. Nothing, indeed, but time and cold 'weather will take away the effects of the sun : butter-milk, from its gentle f),cid, has some eflBcacy on certain skins, but it is a disa- greeable remedy. The softest possible water ought, however, to be resort- ed to in washing the face ; and rain-water, filtered, is in- comparably the best. Great care should be taken not to check perspiration by washing when heated ; these are precautions consistent with nature, and therefore valuable The water should be dashed freely over the face several times, and the process be pursued in the middle of the day, as well as in the morning and at dinner-time ; it is true, the face may, without that, be clean all day, but it will not be fresh. The Turkish towels now used so much are excellent foi wiping, as they do that important opera° tion not only thoroughly, but without irritating the skin , the body, on the other hand, should be dried with a coarse huckaback^ an article unknown in France, but excellent THE TRUE COSMETICS. 13i for promoting quick circulation in the frame alter bathing To complete, then, the toilet so far as the person is con* cerned ; with few or no cosmetics, with nothing but the use of soap (the old brown Windsor being still, in spite ‘)f all modern inventions, far the best for the skin,) tu Lave the water brought in fresh in the morning, as tha in the room is seldom, except in winter, really cool, these are the simple preservatives of the skin^ which it is very easy to injure and irritate, and very difiScult to restore to a healthy condition. It must, however, be remembered that a healthy condition of the skin depends far less on external than on internal causes ; and that good health, maintained by early rising, and a simple, nutritive diet, is the great .originator of a clear and blooming complexion. In cases of eruption, however, do nothing without good advice. Many an eruption which poisons the comfort even )f the strongest-minded woman, has been fixed beyond 3ure by dabblings of Eau-de-Cologne on the face — thus 3xciting instead of allaying the fiery enemy — milk of roses, essences, and cosmetics, whose name is Legion. Such is the effect of desperation on the female mind, that it has been even tried whether raw veal cutlets being put on the face would not soften and improve the skin ; an act of folly which can only be characterized as disgusting. Banish, therefore, if free from any cutaneous disease, every essence, cosmetic, or sweet- water from your toilet ; and remember that to keep the skin smooth and clean, all rubbing and touching should be avoided : fresh air. when the heat of the sun is not intense, and pure water, are the best and only cosmetics that can be used without pre* judice. There are many alleviations to eruptive comf Jaints 136 THE lady's toilet. among the best is a solution of sulphur ; but even this should never be resorted to without advice, and in the proper proportions In many cases, however, it almost Immediately removes an eruption, by cooling the skin ; bence it will be seen how very injurious are all essences ivitli spirit in them, which have a tendency to heat and inflammation. Do you want luxuriant hair?" is a question we see daily in the papers, answered, of course, by a specific. If possible, the skin of the head requires even more tender- ness and cleanliness than any other portion of the body, and is very soon capable of being irritated into disease. In respect of this, as of the complexion, people err gene- rally, from doing too much. In the first place, the most perfect cleanliness must be enjoined ; formerly the use of a fine-tooth comb was considered essential, and abroad it is still resorted to, and is in some cases salutary. But, in general, to the careful brusher the comb is not essential. I say the careful brusher, for great harm is often done to the hairs by rude, sharp, irregular brus’. ing. The hain should be separated with a comb, so that the head and not the hairs be brushed. The brush should not be too hard; it may slightly redden the skin, but n > more ; the use of pomatum should be sparing, and confi led to that of which the ingredients are known — marrow ? >nd bear's grease are the best, and the former is most eas ly obtained genuine. ^ All scents are more or less injurious to the hair, and they dhould be used in the slightest possible proportion. To wash the roots of the hair from time to time with weak vinegar and water, or with a solution of ammonia, cleanseg it efiectually, whilst a yolk of an egg beaten up and mix* ed with warm water is excellent for the skin and hair THE HAIR. 131 bat it is troublesome to wash out, and must be done by a careful maid. There is no risk, but great benefit, in wash- ing even the luxuriant hair'’ of a person in health, if lone in warm weather, and well dried, or by a fiie ; and small quantity of ammonia insures from catching cold. It is quite a mistake to suppose that washing the hail makes it coarse ; it renders it glossy and flexible ; ths washing cools the head, the heat of which is the great source of baldness and grey hairs ; it prevents all that smell from very thick hair which is detected in persons who trust to the brush only ; lastly, it is one of the most refreshing personal operations, next to the bath, that can be devised. A lady’s hair should, in ordinary life, be dressed twice a day, even if she does not vary the mode. To keep it iool and glossy, it requires being completely taken down m the middle of the day, or in the evening, according to the dinner-hours. The taste in dressing it in the morning should be simple, without pins, bows, or any foreign aux- iliary to the best ornament of nature. I do not mean to deprecate the use of the pads, as they are called, or sup- ports under the hair used at this time, because they super* sede the necessity of frizzing, which is always a process most injurious to the hair ; but I own I object much to the ends of black lace, bows of ribbon, &c., used by many young women in their morning coiffure : of course, foi thos9 past girlhood, and not old enough to wear caps, the Oftse is different. CHAPTER m. DRESS. * A STORY,’’ says an eminent writer, is never too old k) tell; if it be made to sound new.” If this be true, I may be excused for narrating the folloAving veritable his- tory : — In an Indian jungle there once resided a tawnj jackal, a member, as all those animals are, of a jacka. club which met at night in the said jungle. It was .the custom for the different subscribers to separate early in the evening on predatory excursions, and on one occasion the individual in question having dined very sparingly that day on a leg of horse, ventured, in hopes of a supper, within the precincts of a neighboring town. It happened that while employed in the prowling distinctive of his kind, he fell into a sunken vat filled with indigo, and when he had contrived to struggle out again, discovered, by the light of the moon, that his coat had assumed a brilliant blue tinge. In vain he rolled himself on the grass, in vain rubbed his sides against the bushes of the jungle to which he speedily returned. The blue stuck to him, and so, with the acutenes for which jackals are re- nowned, he determined to “stick to” it. Shame indeed would have overcome him, ridicule have driven him to despair, when he rejoined his club, but for this resola tion. That very morning he appeared among his kind whisking his tail with glee^ and holding his head erect \ titter, of course, welcomed him. and, before Ion , , oo ' ( 138 ) FASHION AND ITS LEADERS. 139 «rould have thought that every jackal present hal beer turned into a laughing hyaena. Our hero was nothing abashed. Gentlemen/’ said he, in the dialect of Hin- Justani peculiar to his kind, ‘‘ I have been to town, anc iuiiig you the last new fashion.” The laughter changei to respectful admiration. One by one the members of the club stole up to him and inquired v/here he had met with the coloring, just as George iv. asked Brummell what tailor had made that coat. The address was im- oarted, and if on the following evening not all of the prowl- ing beasts appeared in a blue coat, it was only because three of them had been drowned in the attempt to pro- cure it The fable, which is a real Sanskrit one, will at once re- mind us of one concerning that sharp-nosed quadruped which farmers denounce, and squires combine to run to death. But it has a moral as well as a satirical bearing, a.nd we believe that this moral has not been done justice to. Fashion is called a despot ; but if men, like the jackals and foxes, arc willing, nay, eager to be its slaves, we can- not, and ougHt not, to upbraid fashion. Its crowning is, in short, nothing more than the confession that vanity makes of its own weakness. We must be vain; we art weak ; all we ask is to be guided in our vanity. The worst of it is, that the man who rebels against foshion, is even more open to the imputation of vanity than he who obeys it, because he makes himself conspicu- ous, and practically announces that he is wiser than hia kind There cannot be greater vulgarity than an affecta- tion of superior simplicity. Between the two it is left to the man of sense and modesty only to follow fashion sc fai iS not to make himseT peculiar by opposing it. 140 DRESS. Dress and sin came in together, and have kepi goJ fellowship ever since. If we could doubt, as some have done, the authenticity of the Pentateuch, we should havf to admit that its author was at least the shrewdest ob server of mankind.^ inasmuch as he makes a love of dress the first consequence of the Fail. That it really was su. we can be certain from the fact that it has always accom- panied an absence of goodne.^s. The best dressers of every age have always been the w'orst men and women. We dc not pretend that the converse is true, and that the best people have always dressed the worst. Plato was at once a beau and a philosopher, and Descartes was the former before he aspired to be the latter. But the love of dress, take it as you will, can only arise from one of two closely allied sins, vanity and pride ; and when in excess, as in the miserable beaux of different ages, it becomes as ridic- ulous in a man as the glee of a South Sea islander over a handful of worthless glass beads. No life can be more contemptible than one of which the Helicon is a tailor’s shop, and its paradise the Park ; no man more truly wretched than he whose mind is only a mirror of his body, and whose soul can fly no higher than a hat or a neck-tie ; wFo strangles ambition with a yard-measure, and sufibcatea glory in a boot. But this puny peacockism always brings its own punishment. The fop ruins himself by his vanity, and ends a sloven, like Goodman, first a well-dressed stu- dent of Cambridge, then an actor, then a highwayman^ who was at last reduced to share a shirt with a fellow- fool, and had to keep his room on the days when the cthei wore it. But we must not suppose that this vanity lies in the following more than in the outraging of fashion ; and if NEW AKD OLD FASHIONS. 14i there were no such thing as a universal rule cf dress, we may be confident that there would be just as much, if not more foppery, where each could dress as he liked. When it could not glory in the roll of a coat-collar or the turr of a hat-biiin, it would show itself in richness of stiiffa ^nd splendors of ornaments ; and while fashion has to be blamed for many extravagances, the gold chains of one age^ the huge wigs of another, and the crinoline of a third, we must rejoice that it holds so severe a sway over men’s minds, when we find that at another period ic decrees sim- plicity, and legislates to put down superfluous Ornament. The wise man, therefore, wdio frets at its follies, will at- tempt not to subvert, but rather to reform it ; not to tear from his throne a monarch elected by universal suffrage, who will instantly be reinstated, but to lead him by his own example, and, if possible, by his voice, to make simple and sensible enactments. Better a wise despot than a silly republic. When kings were the ministers of fashion, dress was generally costly and showy ; when philosophers were its counsellors, it became slovenly and untidy ; and when, as in the present day, it is led by private gentlemen and pri- vate ladies, it is often absurd a in bad taste, but gener- ally tends towards simplicity . ^t is certainly amusing, when looking -back at the history of dress, io see how often the story of the blue jackal may be cited. Wigs were in- flicted on our forefatiiers by a bald monarch, and we were tortured by stiff cravats and high shirt-collars, because mother had tlie king’s evil in his neek. Long skirts pro- bably came in to hide a pair of ungainly feet, and hoops were innoduced to make a queenly waist look smaller than it was. 142 DRESS. Theie is, however, a difference between the f reiogati?^ of fashion and that of other despots. While we are bounJ to yield a general obedience to his laws, we nave the light without a loss of caste, to disregard any which are mani festly absurd and nconvenient. If, for example, a fashion i.ble of the present day, to whom nature had given an uglj foot, were to folbw the example of Fulk, Duke of Anjou and introduce such long peaks to our boots that we could not walk in them, we may be certain that their use would not survive a season, and would be confined to a class who have little to do but look ornamental. It is certainly a consolation to find that in the present day the fashions of male attire are restricted, not as they once were, by royal edicts, but by the common sense of men who know that dress ought to be convenient as well as elegant. With ladies it is otherwise. Woman is still too generally be- lieved to have no higher mission than that of pleasing the senses rather than the judgment of men, and so many women of all classes are idle, that a fashion, liowever pre- posterous, is more readily accepted and more universally adopted by them than by the stronger sex. And this ia the case even when the reform proposed is obviously most advantageous. How difficult, for instance, has it been to abolish the stiff black hat and the throat-cutting collar, though the wide-awake and the turned-dowm collar were at once more graceful and more comfortable. How complete- ly has the attempt to establish the peg-top” been a fail- are, though every man of sense who values his health must feel that a loose covering is both more ^umiortable and more healthy than a tight sheathing of cloth. The fact is, that there is a conservatism in fashion which hag the ap- pearance of being respectable, but is really slavish and appropriateness. 148 silly ; and the weekly satirists who undertake to laugh down its extravagances have not always the sense to ap predate its wisdom. Those in fact who are most eager ic the blind attack on fashion, are often really its more ah joct and least sensible servants. To condemn a new fash- ion only because it is new, is contemptibly short-sighted and the old wise gentlemen who sneer at new-fangled fan- cies” should first ascertain whether the innovation is for the better or the Avorse. But, after aril, the changes of fashion are not sufficiently rapid or violent in respect of men’s dress, to make even our grandfathers uncomfortable on account of their pecu- liarity. If the hat-brim and coat-collar have lost what was once considered a graceful curl, if huge shirt-collars and stiff cravats have given way to a freer arrangement for the neck, if blue swallow-tailed coats and brass buttons have been succeeded by blue frocks without them, and buff waistcoats with painfully tight appendices, by white Amist- coats and the liberty of the leg, the change is not great enough to require a new race of tailors, or make old men ridiculous even in our streets. But while an old man in an old fashion not only passes muster, but seems to acquire additional respectability from the antiquity of his style, 9i young man can scarcely adopt his grandfather’s AvaYclrolif without risking a smile. I remember once taking a friend of mine — a country squire of one-and-twenty — to dine with some extremely fashionable but not very well-bred bachelors. The appearance of my companion wao decid- edly antique ; for, conservative to the back ard its cover^ ing, he prided himself on maintaining the style of his wortliy progenitor. I saw that the eye-glasses were turned on him with a look of mingled pity and contempt, and in 144 DRESS. the course of dinner heard the following remarks bet\^een the host and a guest : — Pray. G — asked a lisping be whiskered exquisite of the former, ‘‘ who is your fine old English gertleman ? What style do you call it? Kather George the Fcurih -^h Yes, rather,’’ replied the host ; ‘‘but,” he added in a whisper, “ he has just come in to £12,000 a year and B— Hall.” “ Oh !— aw, indeed ! Then of course he can afford to be eccentric.” This brings me to speak of certain necessities of dress : the first of which I shall take is appropriateness. The age of the individual is an important consideration in this respect ; and a man of sixty is as absurd in the style of nineteen as my young friend in the high cravat of Brum- mell’s day. I know a gallant colonel who is master of the ceremonies in a gay Tvatering-place, and who, afraid of the prim old-fashioned tourniire of his confreres in simi- lar localities, is to be seen, though his hair is grey and his age not under five-and-sixty, in a light cut-away, the “ peg-top” continuations, and a turned-down collar. It may be what younger blades will wear when they reach his age, but in the present day the effect is ridiculous. Wc may, therefore, give as a general rule, that after the turning-point of life a man should eschew the changes of fashion in his own attire, while he avoids complaining of it in the young. In the latter, on the other hand, the ob- gervance of these changes must depend partly on his taste md partly on his position. If wise, he will adopt with alacrity any new fashions which improve the grace the ease, the healthfulness, and the convenience of his gar* APPROPKIATENESS. 145 ments. lie will be glad of greater freedom in the cut o1 his cloth clothes, of boots with elastic sides instead oi troublesome buttons or laces, of the privilege tc turn down his collar, and so forth, while he will avoid as extrava- gant . elaborate shirt-fronts, gold bindings on the waist- coat, and expensive buttons. On the other hand, what- ever his age, he will have some respect to his profession and position in society. He will remember how much the appearance of the man aids a judgment of his char- acter, and this test, which has often been cried down, ia in reality no bad one ; for a man who does not dress ap- propriately evinces a want of ^vhat is most necessary to professional men — tact and discretion. I could not, for instance, feel confidence in a young physician dressed as I am accustomed to see a guardsman ; while, if my law- yer were a dandy in his office, I should be inclined to think he knew more of gay society than of Coke upon Lyttleton. The dress of the clergy is not an arbitrary matter, yet I have seen ecclesiastics, who, abandoning the white choker, lounge in an easy costume, little different from that of their undergraduate days, and though it is certainly hard to condemn a man for life to the miseries of black cloth, we have a right to expect that he should be proud rather than ashamed of the badge of his high calling. Position in society demands a like appropriatenesB Well knowing the worldly value of a good coat, I would yet never recommend a man of limited means to aspire t(- a fashionable appearance. In the first place, he beconics thoreby a walking falsehood ; in the second, he cannot, without running into debt, which is another term for dis- honesty, maintain the style he has adopted. As he cm £46 DRESS. not afford to change his suits as rapidly as fashian alters he must avoid following it in varying details He wil rush into wide sleeves one month, in the hope of being fashionable, and before his coat is worn out, the next month will bring in a narrow sleeve. We cannot, unfci- tunately, like Samuel Pepys, take a long cloak now-a-days to the tailor’s, to be cut into a short one, long cloaks being now quite out,” as he tells us. Even when there is no poverty in the case, our position must not be for- gotten. The tradesman will win neither customers nor friends by adorning himself in the mode of the club- lounger, and the clerk, or commercial traveller, who dresses fashionably, lays himself open to inquiries as to his ante- cedents, which he may not care to have investigated. In general, it may be said that there is vulgarity in dressing like those of a class above us, since it must be taken as a proof of pretension. I remember going to church m a remote little village on the borders of Wales, and being surprised to see enterj among the clodhoppers and simple folk of tlje place, 9 couple of young men dressed in the height of fashion, and wearing yellow kid gloves and patent leather boots. On inquiry I found them to be the sons of a rich manufactur- er, who had himself been once a working man, and v ag residing in the neighborhood. I was not surprised, vulgar pretension was here carried out to the worst ex- treme. Better-bred men would have known that, what ever their London costume a difference must be made m the country. The rule may be laid down that whereve? we are we should assimilate, as far as convenient, to the customs and costumes of the place. While I had lio wish to see the sons of the parmnu appear in smock-frocks TOWN AND COUNTRY. m and high-lows. I was reasonable in thinking that a rough er style of dress would have been better, and this may be said for the country generally. As it is bad taste to flaunt the airs of the town among provincials, who know nothing ^f them, it is worse taste to display the dress of a city in he quiet haunts of the rustics. The law which we hav€ enunciated, that all attempts at distinction by means of dress is vulgar and pretentious, would be sufficient argu« ment against wearing London fashions in the country ; but if this is not sufficient, we may picture the inconvenience of such a measure under certain circumstances. Had a shower of rain descended at the conclusion of rtie ser- vice, our two young sprigs of gentility would ha^*e looked superbly ridiculous in their thin boots and ligat gloves, and no London hansom to take refuge in, to ss^y nothing of spoiling one’s boots and catching cold. While in most cases a rougher and easier mode of dress is both admissible and desirable in the country, there are many occcasions of country visiting where a town man finds it difficult to decide. It is almost peculiar to the country to unite the amusements of the daytime with those of the evening ; of the open air with those of the drawing-room. Thus, in the summer, when the days are long, you will be asked to a pic-nic or an archery party, which will wind up with dancing in-doors, and may even assume the character of a ball. If you are aware of this befi rehand, it will always be safe to send your evening Iress to your host’s house, and you will learn from th^ servants whether others have done the same, and whether therefore, you will not be singular in asking leave to uiidiigt; yuur costume. But if you are ignorant how ttiz day is to end. you must be guided partly by the hour of 148 DRESS. invitation, and partly by the extent of your intimacy 'wito the family. I have actually known gentlemen arrive a$ a large pic-nic at mid-day in complete evening dress, and pitied them with all my heart, compelled as they were to suffer, in tight black clothes, under a hot sun for eiglii hours, and dance after all in the same dress. On the other hand, if you are asked to come an hour or two before sun- set, after six in summer, in the autumn after five, you cannot err by appearing in evening dress. It is always taken as a compliment to do so, and if your acquaintance with your hostess is slight, it would be almost a familiari- ty to do otherwise. In any case you desire to avoid sin- gularity, so that if you can discover what others who are invited intend to wear, you can always decide on your own attire. On the Continent there is a convenient ruh for these matters ; never appear after four in the after- noon in morning dress ; but then grey trousers are there allowed instead of black, and white waistcoats are still worn in the evening. At any rate, it is possible to effect a compromise between the two styles of costume, and if you are likely to be called upon to dance in the evening, it will be well to wear thin boots, a black frock-coat, and a small black neck-tie, and to put a pair of clean white gloves into your pocket. You will thus be at least less conspicuous in the dancing-room than in a light tweed suit Englishm.en are undeniably the most conservative mci, k the world, and in nothing do they show it more univer sully than in maintaining their usual habits in any country ^’iuiate, »^r reason. Anglais en voyaye has been tiunful subject of ridicule both to our own and foreign writers^ and I shall therefore content myself with saying tivsLt, while I would not have an Englishman adopt every TRAVELLING. 14 ^ Iroal habit or every fantastic costume cf those among v hon: he finds himself, I would fain see him avoid that distiRC ti\ene3S in both which is set down by our neighbors t^ pride and obstinacy. Excellent, for instance, is the cus- tom of shaking hands, but it has on the Continent gene rally a much more friendly and particular signification, an is permitted between the sexes only after a long intimacy In feet, a French jeime jille never takes a gentleman*? hand unless he is quite an emi de la maison^ so that for an Englishman at a first visit to shake hands all round amounts to a familiarity. I shall never forget the deep crimson on the cheeks of a charming girl to v/hom I once introduced an English friend, and who was too well-bred not to touch his proffered hand, but did so with an air of un- mistakable surprise. Qu’est-ce quo e’est que votre ami,’^ she asked me afterwards ; ‘‘<3st-ce qu’il vent done mVm- brasser?” To impose the manners of one’s country on the people of another, is as bad as to revive those of a past century. In the middle of the last century it was the custom for a gentleman on entering a room, to kiss the ladies all round on the cheek. Had not my French friend as much rignt 0 blush, as any English young lady would if I were to subject her to the practice of the charming but obsolete custom ? Can anything be more painfully ridiculous than an Ei^g* lishman wearing a black silk hat and frock-coat of eletb under the sun of the equator ? Yet such is our want rf sense, or our love of national costumes, however hideous that it is the etiquette in our colonies, whether in tlm tro- pics or the arctic regions, to w^ear precisely the same stifi hoi court dress as at St. James’. However this might 150 DHESS. excused on tlie plea of uniformity in official dress, it is m excuse for the fashion which imposes the coat, &c. of I^alj Mall on the gentleman of Calcutta or Colombo ; and th# game may be said of our own fashion of wearing clolb ch)thes throughout the year. There is many a summer' Jay in England as hot as any in Italy, and in general the difference between our summer and that of France and America is, that there the heat is glaring and clear, with us, if less powerful, close and oppressive. Why then should my lirrd Fashion permit the Frenchman and Yan- kee to wear whole suits of white linen, and condemn us to black cloth ? Nothing can be neater or prettier, as mod- ern dress goes, than the white coat, waistcoat, et cetera with a straw hat and a bright blue tie; but it is some- thing to say against it, that London smoke would necessi- tate a clean suit per diem, which would materially aug- ment the washing expenditure of our metropolitan Beaux Tibbses. The nearest approach we are allowed to make to a sensible costume, on days when we should like to fol- low Sidney Smith’s advice, by the removal of our flesh and sitting in our skeletons, is that of light thin tweedvS, but even these are not countenanced in St. James’ and the Park, and we must be content to take refuge in a white waistcoat and the thinnest possible material for our frock- coat. On the other hand, as our winters are never verv severe, we have only to choose thicker tweeds of a darkei color for that season, and the wrapper or great coat Ihcs becomes not nearly so important an article as the indii! pensable umbrella. In this country, therefore, as presei). fashions require, appropriateness to the season will bd easily acquired by a change of material and c^do^ aatlie: than of form, in our apparel. APPROPRIATENESS TO OCCASIONS. 151 Not £0 the distinction to be made according to Size. Aa a rule, tall men require long clothes — some few perhaps even in the nurse’s sense of those words — ana short men short clothes. On the other hand, Falstaflf should be wr, re r:f Jenny Wren coats and alfect ample wrappers, ^hiie lYter Schemihl, and the whole race of thin men, must eschew looseness as much in their garments as their morals Lastly we come to what is appropriate to different occa< sions, and as this is an important subject, I shall treat of it separately. For the present it is sufficient to point out chat while every man should avoid not only extravagance, but even brilliance of dress on ordinary occasions, there dre some on which he may and ought to pay more atten- cion to his toilet, and attempt to look gay. Of course, the evenings are not here meant. For evening dress there is d fixed rule, from which we can depart only to be foppish or vulgar ; but in morning dress there is greater liberty, and when we undertake to mingle with those who are as- sembled avowedly for gaiety, we should not make ourselves remarkable by the dinginess of our dress. Such occasions are open air entertainments, ^5, flower-shows, archery- meetings, matimes^ and id genus omne. where much of the pleasure to be derived depends on the general effect on the enjoyers, and where, if we cannot pump up a look of mirth, we should at least, if we go at all, wear the sem- blance of it in oui dress. I have a worthy little friend, who, I believe, is as well-disposed to his kind as Lord Shaftesbury himself, but who, for some reason, perliaps a twinge of philosophy about him, frequa’^ts the gaj meet- ings to which he is asked in an old coat and a wide-awake. Some people take him for a wit, but he soon shows thaJ he d^;es not aspire to that character ; others for a philoso- l52 DRESS. pher, but he is too gcod-iuaimcred for that ; otliers pool man ! pronounce him a cvnic, and all are agreed that whatever he may be. he looks out of place and spoik general effect. I believe in my lieart that he is the mild er.l of men, but will not take the trouble to dress more than once a day. At any rate, he has a character for ec centrieity, which, I am sure, is precisely what he would wish to avoid. That character is a most delightful one foi a bachelor and it is generally Coelebs who holds it, for it has been proved by statistics that there are four single to one married man among the inhabitants of our mad-houses ; but eccentricity yields a reputation which requires some- thing to uphold it, and even in Diogenes of the Tub it was extremely bad taste to force himself into Plato's evening party without sandals, and nothing but a dirty tunic on him. Another requisite in dress is its simplicity, with which I may couple harmony of color. This simplicity is the only distinction which a man of taste should aspire to in the matter of dress, but a simplicity in appearance must proceed from a nicety in reality. One should not be simply ill-dressed, but simply-well dressed. Lord Castle- reagh would never have been pronounced the most distin- guished man in the gay court of Vienna, because he wore no orders or ribbons among hundreds decorated with a pro- fusion of those vanities, but because besides this he wa? iressed with taste. The charm of Brummell’s dress wm rts simplicity; yet it cost him as much thought, time,- and 2are, as the portfolio of a minister. The rules of sim- plicity, therefore, are the rules of taste All extravagance, all splendor, and all profusion, must be avoided. The colors In the first place, must harmonize both with our complexior JEWELRY. m And with one another ; perhaps most of all with the coloi of cur hair. All bright colors should be avoided, such as red, yellow, sky-blue, and bright green. Perhaps orly a successful Australian gold digger would think of choosing such colors for his coat, waistcoat, or trousers ; but there arc hundreds of young men who might select them foi their gloves and neck-ties. The deeper colors are, some how or other, more manly, and are certainly less striking Tlie same simplicity should be studied in the avoidance of ornamentation. A few years ago it was the fashion tc trim the evening waistcoat with a border of gold lace This is an example of fashions always to be rebelled against. Then, too, extravagance in the form of our dress is a sin against taste. I remember that long ribbons took the place of neck-ties some years ago. At an Oxford com- memoration, two friends of mine determined to cut a figure in this matter, having little else to distinguish them. The one wore two yards of bright pink ; the other the same quantity of bright blue ribbon round their necks. I have reason to believe they think now that they both looked su- perbly ridiculous. In the same way, if the trousers are worn wide, we should not wear them as loose as a Turk’s; 5r if the sleeves are to be open, we should not rival tl'e (adies in this matter. And so on through a hundred de- tails, generally remembering that to exaggerate a fashion IS to assume a character, and therefore vulgar. The wear- ing of jewelry comes under this head. Jewels are an or- aarnent to women, but a blemish to men. They bespeah wtlier effeminacy oi a love of display. The hand of a man is honored in working, for labor is his mission; and the hand that wears its riches on its fingers, has rarely woiked honestly to win them. The best jewel a man can wear is 7 * 154 DRESS. his honor. Let that be bright and shining, well set in pru dence, and all others must darken before it. But as we are savages, and must have some silly trickery to hang about us, a little, but very little concession may be made to our taste in this respect. I am quite serious when I disadvise you from the use of nose-rings, gold anklets, and hat-bands studded with jewels ; for ,vhen I see an incred* ulous young man of the nineteenth century, dangling fi om his watch-chain a dozen silly “charms” (often the only ones he possesses), which have no other use than to give fair coquette a legitimate subject on which to approach to closer intimacy, and which are revived from the lowest 6uperstitions of dark ages, and sometimes darker races, 1 Aia quite justified in believing that some South African chieftain, sufficiently rich to cut a dash in Lond6n, might introduce with success the most peculiar fashions of his own country. However this may be, there are already sufficient extravagances prevalent among our young men to attack. The man of good taste will wear as little jewelry as:- possible. One handsome signet-ring on the little finger of the left hand, a scarf-pin which is neither large nor shoAvy nor too intricate in its design, and a light, rather thin watch-guard with a cross-bar, are all that he ought to wear. But if he aspires to more than this, he should ob- serve the following rules: — 1. Let everything be real and good. False jewelry is not only a practical lie, but an absolute vulgarity, since its use arises from an attempt to appear richer or grander than it's wearer is. 2. Let it be simple. Elaborate studs, waistcoat-buttona »nd wrist links, are all abominable. The last particularlj jewelry. 155 ^ should bo as plain as possible, consisting of plain gold ovals, with at most the crest engraved upon them. Dia- mmds and brilliants are quite unsuitable to men, whose jeweliy should never be conspicuous. If you happen tc possess a single diamond of great value you may weai ii )r great occasions as a ring, but no more than one ring ih juld ever be worn by a gentleman. 3. Let it be distinguished rather by its curiosity than 'ts brilliance. An antique or bit of old jewelry possesses DQore interest, particularly if you are able to tell its his- tory, than the most splendid production of the goldsmith’s jhop 4. Let it harmonize with the colors of your dress. 5. Let it have some use. Men should never, like women wear jewels for mere ornament, whatever may be the fashion of Hungarian noblemen, and deposed Indian rajahs with jackets covered with fubies. The precious stones are reserved for ladies, and even our scarf-pins are more suitable without them. English taste has also the superiority over that of the Continent in condemning the wearing of orders, clasps, and ribbons, except at court or on -official occasions. If these are really given for merit, they will add nothing to our fame ; if, as in nine cases out of ten, they are bestowed merely because the recipient has done his duty, they may impose on fools, but will, if anything, provoke only' awkward inquiries from icnsible men. If it be permitted to flaunt our bravery oi >ur learning on the coat-collar, as much as to cry, like little Jack Horner, See what a good boy am I !” I cannot for my part, discover why a curate should not carry his silver teapot about with him, or Mr. Morison enlarge his phylacteries with a selection from the one -million casef almost miraculous cures.” 156 DRESS. The dress that is both appropriate and simple can ne?ci offeud, nor render its wearer conspicuous, though it may distinguish him for his good taste. But it will net pleasing unless clean and fresh. We cannot quarrel with a poor gentleman’s thread-bare coat, if his linen be pure and we see that he has never attempted to dress beyond Lis means or unsuitably to his station. But the sight oi decayed gentility and dilapidated fashion may call forth our pity, and at the same time prompt a moral : You have evidently sunken,” we say to ourselves ; but whose fault Avas it ? Am I not led to suppose that the extrava- gance which you evidently once revelled in has brought you to what I now see you?” While freshness is essen- tial to being well-dressed, it Avill be a consolation to those who cannot afford a heavy tailor’s bill, to reflect that a visible newness in one’s clothes is as bad as patches and darns, and to remember that there have been celebrated dressers who Avould never put on a new coat till it had been worn two or three times by their valets. On the other hand, there is no excuse — except at Donnybrook — • for untidiness, holes in the boots, a broken hat, torn gloves, and so on. Indeed, it is better to wear no gloves at all than a pair full of holes. There is nothing to be ashamed of in bare hands if they are clean, and the poor can still afford to have their shirts and shoes mended, and their hats ironed. It is certainly better to show signs of neatness than the reverse, and you need sooner b€ s^hamed of a hole than a darn. Of personal cleanliness I have spoken at such lengtt that little need be said on that of the clothes. If you are economical with your tailor, you can be extravagant witL your laundress. The beaux of forty years back put or LINEN. 157 three sLirts a day, but except in hot weather one i& suffi- cient. Of course, if you change your dress *in the even- ing you must change your shirt too. There has been a great outcry against colored flannel shirts in the place ol linon, and the man who can wear one for three days ig ^0(,ked on as little better than St. Simeon Stylites. I should like to know how often the advocates of linen change their o^m under-flannel, and whether the same rule does not apply to what is seen as to what is con- cealed. But while the flannel is perhaps healthier as ab- sorbing the moisture more rapidly, the linen has the ad- vantage of looking cleaner, and may therefore be prefer- red. As to economy, if the flannel costs less to wash, ix also wears out sooner; but, be this as it may, a man’s wardrobe is not complete without half a dozen or so of these shirts, which he will find most useful, and ten times more comfortable than linen in long excursions, or when exertion will be required. Flannel, too, has the advan- tage of being warm in winter and cool in summer, for, being a non-conductor, but a retainer of heat, it protects the body from the sun, and, on the other hand, shields it from the cold. But the best shirt of all, particularly in winter, is that which wily monks and hermits pre- tended to wear for a penance, well knowing that they could have no garment cooler, more comfortable, or more healthy. I mean, of course, the rough hair-shirt. Like flannel, it is a non-conductor of heat ; but then, too, it lets the part of a sham-pooer, and with its perpetual fric- tion soothes the surface of the skin, and prevents the cir - culatiDn from being arrested at any one point of the body. Though I doubt if any of my readers will take a hini from the wisdom of the merry anchoritea, they will per 158 DRESS. haps alluw me to suggest that the next best thing to vyeai next the ':kiiT is flanrie_ and that too of the coaisest do* Bcription. Quantity is better than quality in linen. Neverthcleva it should be fine and tvell spun. The loose cuff, which W8 Ixirrowed from the French some four years ago, is a giea** improvement on the old tight wTist-band, and, indeed, it must be borne in mind that anything which binds any part of the body tightly impedes the circulation, and is there- fore unhealthy as well as ungraceful. Who more hideous and unnatural than an officer of the Russian or Austrian army — compelled to reduce his waist to a certain size — unless it be a dancing-master in stays ? At Munich, I re- member there was a somewhat corpulent major of the Guards who, it was said, took two men to buckle his belt in the morning, and was unable to speak for about an hour after the operation. His face, of course, was of a most unsightly crimson. The necessity for a large stock of linen depends on a rule far better than Brummell’s, of three shirts a day, »fiz. : — Change your linen whenever it is at all dirty. This is the best guide with regard to collars, socks, pocket-handkerchiefs, -and our under garments. No rule ran be laid down for the number we should wear per week^ (or everything depends on circumstances. Thus in the count! 3 " all our linen remains longer clean than in London ; n dirty, wet, or dusty weather, our socks get soon dir^j nd must be changed ; or, if we have a cold, to say nothing Df the possible but not probable case of tear-shedding on the departure of friends, or of sensitive young ladies ovei a Crimean engagement, we shall want more than one fiS’miATE OF A WAKDROBB. pooliet liaiidkercbief per diem. In fact, the last artfcle ol modern civilization is put to so many uses, is so much dis- played, and liable to be called into action on so many va^ cious engagements, that we should always have a clear me in our pockets. Who knows when it may not servf as in good stead ? Who can tell how often the corner af the delicate cambric will have to represent a tear which, iij^e diflScult passages in novels, is left to the imagina- tion.’^ Can a man of any fueling call on a disconsolate widovy^, for instance, and listen to her woes, without at least pulling out that expressive appendage ? Can any one believe in our sympathy if the article in question is a dirty Dne ? There are some people who, like the clouds, only exist to weep ; and King Solomon, though not one of them, has given them great encouragement in speaking of the house of mourning. We are bound to weep with them, and we are bound to weep elegantly. A man whose dress is neat, clean, simple, and appro- priate, will pass muster anywhere. But he cannot always wear the same clothes, like Werther. The late Mr. Fopn- tayn Wilson, notorious for his wealth and stinginess, thought otherwise. When Napoleon the First was threat- ening England, and there was the same mania for volunteer corps as now, he bought up an immense quantity of grey cloth, in the hope that the government would give a good price for it later. He was disappointed, and to make use rf his purchase, determined to wear nothing else himself for the rest of his life. Future biographers may perhaps invent a similar story, to account for Lord Brougham's partial ty to checked trousers. A well-dressed man does not require so much an exten- sive as a varied wardrobe He wants a diflFerent costume 160 DKESS. for ovcry seasoi and every occasion ; but if what he selecU is simple rather than striking, he may appear in the same clothes as often as he likes, as long as they are fresh and appropriate to the season and the object. There are foui kinds of coats which he must have : a morning-coat, a frock-coat, a dress-coat, and an over-coat. An economical man may do well with four of the first, and one of each of the others per annum. George the Fourth’s wardrobe sold for X15,000, and a single cloak brought no less than £800. But George was a king and a beau, and in debt ^0 his tailor. The dress of an English gentleman in the present day should not cost him more than the tenth part of his income on an average. But as fortunes vary more than position, if hi^ income is large it will take a much smaller proportion, if small a larger one. But generally speaking, a man with £300 a year should not devote more than £30 to his outw^ard man. The seven coats in ques- tion will cost about £18. Six pairs of morning, and one jf evening trousers, will cost £9. Four morning waist- coats, and one for evening, make another £4. T/loves, linen, hats, scarves and neck-ties, about £10, and the im- portant item of boots, at least £5 more. This, 1 take it, is a sufficient wardrobe for a w^ell-dressed man tvho ‘.mploji a moderate tailor, and the wffiole is under £50. F is quite possible tc dress decently for half that sum, and men of small means should be content to do so. If a m^n, how- ever, mixes in society, and I write for those who do so, there are some things which are indispensable to oven proper dressing, and every occasion will have its pioper attire. In his own house, then, and in the morning, there ig no rev\son why he should not wear out his old clothes, ST*iLE IN MORN NG DRESS, 161 Borne men take to the delightful ease of a Iresssing-gown and slippers; and if bachelors, they do well. If family ineu. it will probably depend on whether the lady or the gentlo man wears the pantaloons. The best walking- dress for a non-professional men is a suit of tweed of the same color ordinary boots, gloves not too dark for the coat, a scarf with a pin in winter, or a small tie of one color in sum- mer, a respectable black hat, and a cane. The last item is perhaps the most important, and though its use varies with fashion, I confess I am sorry when I see it go out. The Englishman does not gesticulate when talking, and in consequence has nothing to do with his hands. To put them in his pockets is the natural action, but this gives an appearance of lounging insouciance, or impudent de- termination, which becomes very few men, if any. The best substitute for a walking-stick is an umbrella, not a parasol unless it be given you by a lady to carry. The main point of the walking-dress is the harmony of colors but this should not be carried to the extent of M. de Malt zan, who some years ago made a bet to wear nothing but pink at Baden-Baden for a whole year, and had boots and gloves of the same lively hue. He won his wager, but also the soubriquet of “ Le Diable enflamme.^’ The walk- ing dress should vary according to the place and hour. In whe country or at the sea-side a straw hat or wide-awake may take the place of the bea\'er, and the nuisance of gloves be even dispensed with in the former. But in Lon- don, where a man is supposed to make visits as well as r this disgrace this ignominy I suffer, I have to thant 166 DRESS. the Celts with their braccce^ and tae bad taste of some calSess monarch or leader of fashion — probably a German for all (jrcrmans have bad taste and bad — who revived this odiouSj long ob5)lete instrument of personal torture It is nothing less, believe me. Independent of a loss of tersonal beauty, there is the unhealthiness of a tight gar nent clinging to the very portion which we exercise most^ and which most demands a free circulation. It is true, that the old-fashioned breeches, if too tightly fastened round the knee, produced the same effect, and Maria Macklin, a celebrated actress of male characters, almost lost her leg by vanity in the matter of Honi soit qui mal y pense;” but, after all, what is not a cool stocking to a hot bag of thick stuff round the leg ; how far prefe- rable the freedom of trunk-hose, to the hardly fought liberty of the ‘‘peg-top’’ trousers. But it is not all trousers that I rebel against. If I might wear linen ap- pendices in summer, and fur continuations in winter, I would not groan, but it is the evening dress that inflicts on the man who likes society the necessity of wearing the same trying cloth all the year round, so that under Boreas he catches colds, and under the dog-star he melts. They manage these things better abroad. In America a man may go to a ball in white ducks. In France he has the option of light grey. But in England we are doomed for ever to buckskin. This unmentionable, but most necessa- ry disguise of the human form divine,” is one that never varies in this country and therefore I must lay down the rule : — For all evening wear — black cloth trousers* But the tortures of evening dress do not end with oui lower limbs. Of all the iniquities perpetrated under the E V 1 N (t — D RESS. 16 -; R ^igii of Terror, none has lasted so long as that the Btiaight-jacket, which w^as palmed off on the people as 8 habit de compagnie.^’ If it. were necessary to sing & hymn of praise to Robespierre, Marat, and Co., I wwld rather take the guillotine as my subject to extol than the fewallow tail. And yet we endure the stiffness, unsightli- ness, uncomfortableness, and want of grace of the latter, with more resignation than that with which Charlotte Corday put her beautiful neck into the trou d’enfer” of the former. Fortunately modern republicanism has tri umphed 6ver ancient etiquette, and the tail-coat of to-day is looser and more easy than it was twenty years ago. I can only say, let us never strive to make it bearable, till we have abolished it. Let us abjure such vulgarities as silk collars, w^hite silk linings, and so forth, which at- tempt to beautify this monstrosity, as a hangman might wreathe his gallows with roses. The plainer the manner in which you wear your misery, the better. Then again the black w^aistcoat, stiff, tight, and com- ibrtless. Fancy Falstaff in a ball-dress such as w^e now wear. No amount of Embroidery, gold-trimmings, or jewel-buttons, will render such an infliction grateful to the mass. The best plan is to wear thorough mourning for your wretchedness. In France and America, the ( ooler white w’aistcoat is admitted. We have scouted it, and left it to aldermen and shopkeepers. Would I were an tlderman or a shopkeeper in the middle of July, when I am comfelled to dance in a full attire of black cloth, tiowevcr, as we have it, let us make the best of it, and not parade our misery by hideous ornamentation. The only evening waistcoat for all purposes for a man of taste is om of simple black cloth, with the simplest possible buttons 168 DRESS. These three items never vary for dinnei-paity, niufiiib worry, or ball. The only distinction allowed is in th^ nock-tie. For dinner, the opera, and balls, this must be white, and the smaller the better. It should be, too, of wasnable texture, nyt silk, nor netted, nor hanging down Jior of any foppish production, but a simple white tu without embroidery. The black tie is only admitted foi evening parties, and should be equally simple. The shirt- front which figures under the tie should be plain, with unpretending small plaits. All the elaborations which the French have introduced among us in this jlarticul^r, and the custom of wearing pink under the shirt, are an abomination to party-goers. The glove must be v h te, not yellow. Recently, indeed, a fashion has sprung up of wearing lavender gloves in the evening. They are economical, and as all economy is an abomination, must be avoided. Gloves should always be worn at a ball. At a dinner-party in town they should be worn on entering the room, and drawn off for dinner. While, on the one hand, we must avoid the awkwardness of a gallant sea- captain who, wearing no gloves at a dance, excused him- self to his partner by saying; Never mind, Miss. I can wash my hands when I’ve done dancing,” we have nc need in the present day to copy the Roman gentleman mentioned by Athenaeus, who wore gloves at dinner that he might pick his meat from the hot dishes more rapidly than tlie bare-handed guests As to gloves at tea-parties and so forth, we are generally safer with than without them. If it is quite a small party, we may leave them in our pocket, and in the country they are scarcely ex- pected to be worn ; but touch noi> a cat but with s glove you are always safer with them. UKE3T, UNDREST. AND MUCH EREST. 16? Svx 60 in the matter of the hat. In France and Ger rkstny the hat is brought into a ball-room and drawing room und-jr all circumstances, and great is the confusion arising therefrom, a man having every chance of finding iiis now hat exchanged for an old one under a seat, i cure Tvalked home from a German ball as bare-headed avS a friar, some well-dressed robber having not only ex- changed his hat with mine, but to prevent detection car- ried off his own too. I shall not easily forget the con- sternation in an English party to which I went soon after * fear of seeing anything with the naked eye. I am the soul of ^nupulosity. But I am wondering whether everybody arranges his wardrobe as our ungrammatical nurses used to do ours, under the heads of best, second-best, third- best,” and so on, and knows what things ought to be plaoed under each. To be undressed” is to be dressed 8 170 DRESS. for work and ordinary occupations, to wear a coat whicxi you do not fear to spoil, and a neck-tie which your ink- stand will not object to, but your acquaintance might Cc be ‘^dressed,” on the other hand, since by dress we d w our respect for society at large, or the persons with .1 uoni w e are to mingle, is to be clothed in the garments f iiich tlie said society pronounces as suitable to particu- lar occjisiuns ; ;so that evening dress in the morning, morning dress in the evening, and top boots and a red coat for walking, may all be called ‘^undress,’’ if not positively bad dress. But there are shades of being “ dressed and a man is called little dressed,’’ well dressed,” and ‘‘ much dressed,” not according to the quan- tity but the quality of his coverings. The diminutive jockey, w^hom I meet in my walks a month before the Derby, looking like a ball of clothes, and undergoing a most uncomfortable process of liquefaction which he de nominates ^ draining,” is by no means much dressed’ because he wxars tw^o great-coats, three thick waistcoats and the same number of comforters.” To be ‘‘ littB dressed” is to w’ear old things, of a make that is no Ion ger the fashion, halving no pretension to elegance, artistii beauty, or ornament. It is also to wear lounging clothes on occasions which demand some amount of precision. To be much dressed” is to be in the extreme of the fashion, with bran new clothes, jewelry, and ornaments, with a touch of extravagance and gaiety in your colors, riius to wear patent leather boots and yellow gloves in ^ jiiet morning stroll is to be much dressed, and certainly loes not differ immensely from being badly dressed. To be “ well dressed” is the happy medium between these two* which is not given to every one to hold, inasmuch oft DKEST, UNDREST, AND MUCH DREST. 171 good taste is rare, and is a sine qin non thereof. Tlim while you avoid ornament and all fastness, you must cul- tivate fashion, that is good fashion, in the make of your clothes A man must not be made by his tador, bu? -ihould make him, educate him, give him his own gooJ faste. To be well dressed is to be dressed precisely the occasion, place, weather, your height, figure, position age, and, remember it, your means require. It is to be clothed without peculiarity, pretension, or eccentricity; without violent colors, elaborate ornament, or senseless fashions, introduced often by tailors for their own profit. Good dressing is to wear as little jewelry as possible, to be scrupulously neat, clean, and fresh, and to carry your clothes as if you did not give them a thought. Then too there is a scale of honor among clothes, which must not be forgotten. Thus, a new coat is more hon- orable than an old one, a cut-away or shooting-coat than a dressing-gown, a frock-coat than a cut-away, a dark blue frock-coat than a black frock-coat, a tail-coat than a frock-coat. There is no honor at all in a blue tail-coat, however, except on a gentleman of eighty, accompanied with brass buttons and a buff waistcoat. There is more honor in an old hunting-coat than in a new one, in a uni- form with a bullet-hole in it than one without, in a fus- tian jacket and smock-frock than in a frock-coat, because they are types of labor, which is far more honorable than lounging. Again, light clothes are generally placed bove dark ones, because they cannot be so long worn, nd are therefore proerfs of expenditure, alias money ^ which in this world is a commodity more honored tlmn every other ; but on the other hand, tasteful dress is al- ways more honorable than that which has only cost much 172 DRESS. Li^it ^l<;ves are more esteemed than dark ones, and th€ prince of glove-colors is undeniably lavender. ' I should say Jones was a fast man/’ said a friend to me one day, for he wears a white hat.” If this idea of my companion’s be right, fastness may be said to consii « mainly in peculiarity. There is certainly only one st( p from tlie sublimity of fastness to the ridiculousness of snob- berry, and it is not always easy to say where the one ends and the other begins. A dandy, on the other hand, is the clothes on a man, not a man in clothes, a living lay figure who displaj^s much dress, and is quite satisfied if you praise it without taking heed of him. A bear is in the opposite extreme ; never dressed enough, and always very roughly ; but he is almost as bad as the other, for he sacrifices everything to his ease and comfort. The off-hand style of dress only suits an off-hand character. It was at one time the fashion to affect a certain negligence, wliich was called poetic, and suppc sed to be the result of genius. An ill- tied, if not positively untied cravat was a sure sign of an unbridled imao-ination ; and a waistcoat was held together by one button only, as if the swelling soul in the wearer’s bosom had burst all the rest. If in addition to this the hair was unbrushed and curly, you were certain of passing for a man of soul.” I should not recommend any young gentleman to adopt this style, unless indeed he can mouth a great deal, and has a good stock of quotations from the poets. It t of no use to show me the clouds, unless I ca;o {iCditively see you in them, and no amount of negligence ij.i your dress and person will convince me you are a ge aiuii, unless you produce an octavo volume of poems pub’ lished by yourself. I confess I am glad th t the 7iigltg^ ^tyle, so common in novels of ten years back^ has beei* STYLES OF DRESS. 17J succeeded by neatness. What we want is real ease ii the clothes, and for my part I should rejoice to see the Kniek erbocker style generally adopted. Besides the ordinary occasions treated of before, ther^ re several special occasions requiring a change of dress alost of our sports, together with marriage (which some people include in the sports), and going to court, come under this head. Now with the exception of the last, the less change we make the better in the present day, par- ticularly in sports, where, if we are dressed with scrupu* lous accuracy, we are liable to be subjected to a compari- son between our clothes and our skill. A man who wcarp a red coat to hunt in, should be able to hunt, and not sneak through gates or dodge over gaps. Of wedding- dress and court-dress we shall speak in separate chapters under the heads of “ Marriage” and ‘‘ The Court.” But a few remarks on dresses worn in different sports may be useful. Having laid down the rule that a strict accuracy of sporting costume is no longer in good taste, we can dis miss shooting and fishing at once, with the warning that we must not dress well for either. An old coat with large pockets, gaiters in one case, and, if necessary, large boott n the other, thick shoes at any rate, a wide-awake, and a well-filled bag or basket at the end of the day, make up a most respectable sportsman of the lesser kind. Then for cricket you want nothing more unusual than flannel trousers, which should be quite plain, unless your club haj \dopted some colored stripe thereon, a colored flannel shirt of no very violent hue, the same colored cap, shoes witl spikes in them, and a great coat. lor hunting, lastly, you have to make more change, if only to insure your own comfort and safety Thus cord 174 BBBSS. breeches and some kind of boots are indispensable, be are spurs, so a hunting-whip or crop ; so too, if you dc not wear a hat, is the strong round cap that is to savf your valuable skull from cracking if you are thrown ot your head. Again, I should pity the man who would at* tempt to hunt in a frock-coat or a dress-coat ; and a scarf with a pin in it is much more convenient than a tie. But beyond these you need nothing out of the common way, but a pocketful of money. The red coat, for instance, is ^nly worn by regular members of a hunt, and boys from Oxford who ride over the hounds and like to display their pinks.’’ In any case you are better with an ordinary riding-coat of dark color, though undoubtedly the red prettier in the field. If you ivill wear the latter, see that it is cut square, for the swallow-tail is obsolete, and worn only by the fine old boys who ^‘hunted, sir, fifty years ago, sir, when I was a boy of fifteen, sir. Those laere hunting days, sir ; such runs and such leaps.” Again, your “ cords” should be light in color and fine in quality your waistcoat, if with a red coat, quite light too ; your scarf of cashmere, of a bufi* color, and fastened with a small simple gold pin ; your hat should be old, and your cap of dark green or black velvet, plated inside, and with a small stiff peak, should be made to look old. Lastly, for a choice of boots. The Hessians are more easily clean- ed, and therefore less expensive to keep; the ‘‘tops” are more natty. Brummell, who cared more for the hunting dress than the hunting itself, introduced the fashion of pipe-claying the tops of the latter, but the old origiua/ ‘‘ mahoganies,’^ of which the upper leathers are simply polished, seem to be coming into fashion again. We shall now pass to a subject which, in every respect HUNTING- COSTUME. 175 is a much largei and more delicate one ; larger in space it covers in the surface of the globe ; larger in the number of items which go to make it up ; larger in the expenditure it demands ; and larger in the respect of the attention paid to it. If it takes nine tailors to make a man, it must surely require nine women to make a thorough milliner CHAPTER IV. ladt’s dress. Far fro’n being of the opinion expressed by Catharlc4 of Arragon, that “dressing time is murdered time/’ the woman, we are apt to think, who has not some natural taste in dress, some love of novelty, some delight in the combination of colors, is deficient in a sense of the beauti- fill. As a work of art, a well dressed woman is a study. That a love of dress is natural in woman, and that it has some great advantages, is so plain as to be scarcely worth recording. It does not follow that it should engross every other taste ; it is only the coquette’s heart, which, as Addison describes it, is stuffed with “ a flame-colored hood.” From the days of Anne Boleyn, who varied her dress every day, and who wore a small kerchief over her round neck to conceal a mark thereon, and a falling sleeve to hide her doubly-tipped little finger, dress has had its place in the heart of Englishwomen. And it is as well that it should do so ; for the dowdy, be she young or be she old, is sure to hear of her deficiencies from her hus- band, if she has not already done so from brothers and fancy cousins. Indifference and consequent inattention to dress often show pedantry, self-righteousness, or indolence ; and whilst extolled by the “ unco gude” as a virtue, may be noted as a defect. Every woman should, habitually, make the best of herself. We dress out our receiving rooms with natural flowers ; are their inmates to look in- ( 176 ) THE LOVE OF HUESS. 171 consistent with the drawing room over which thej^ preside I We make our tables gorgeous, or at all events seemly, with silver, glass and china; wherefore should our wive? be less attractive than all around them ? Amongst thi rich and great, the love of dress promotes some degree of exertion and display of taste in themselves, and fosters in genuity and industry in inferiors ; in the middle classes it engenders contrivance, diligence, neatness of hand ; among the humbler it has its good effects. But in thus giving a love of dress its due, the taste, the consistency, and the practicability of dress are kept in view ; the de- votion to dress which forms, in France, a ‘‘ Science apart/ ^ and which occupies, it must be allowed, many, too many an Englishwoman’s head, is not only selfish, but contemp- tible. So iong as dress merely interests, amuses, occupies only such time as we can reasonably allot to it, it is salu- tary. It prevents women from indulging in sentiment ; it is a remedy for maladies imaginaires ; it somewhat re- fines the tastes and the habits, and gives satisfaction and pleasure to others. Besides, an attention to dress is almost requisite in the present state of society ; a due influer.ee in which cannot be attained without it. It is useful, too, as retaining, even in the minds of sensible men, that pride in a wife’s appearance which is so agreeable to her, and which mate- rially fades during the gradual decay of personal attrac- ti<.ms. “ No one looked better than my wife did to-night ’’ is a sentence which one often rejoices to hear from th lips of an honest hearted English husband, after a party or a ball, how much soever we may doubt the soundness of his decision. But whilst the a Ivantages of a love of dress are ad 178 LADY'S DRESS. mitted, how mournfully we approach a consiJeraticn of its perils. A love of dress, uncontrolled, stimulated hj c^)quetry and personal vanity until it cancels every rigU' principle, becomes a temptation first and then a curse Not to expatiate upon the evils it produces in the way oi example, the envy an undue passion for and excess in di es excites, the extortionate class of persons in the shape ol milleners and dressmakers it unduly enriches, and the enormous expenses it is known to lead to when indulged criminally, that is, to the detriment of better employments, and beyond the compass of means, let us remember how it implies selfishness and vanity, and causes remonstrances and often reproaches from the person most likely to suffei from his wife’s indulgencies — her husband. Analyze the bill of a fashionable milliner when the dresses, of which it comprises a fabulous reckoning, are even only half worn out. What gauzes, and odds and ends of lace, and trimmings, useless after a night or two’s wear, and fiouncings and furbelow'^s and yards of tvlle lusion it enumerates ! Tulle indeed ! all is il- lusion ! and yet for this a husband’s income is charged, often at an inconvenience, or a wife’s allowance encum- bered, or angry words engendered, or the family credit impeached ; and, worse than all, charity and even justie.c must be suppressed, on account of this claim from a mil liner as remorseless as she is fashionable, for these tvvt. points are generally in the same ratio. Then there iE another evil ; it has been found that the indulgence ir pers»)nal luxury in women has an injurious efiect on the mcr Ba tone. It is in some natures the first symptom, if not the cause, of a relaxation in virtue ; at all events it h often mistaken for such. A woman of simple habits, ac LUXURY AND EXTRAVAGANCE. :x>upaiiied with nicety and good taste, rarely goes wrong at any rate is rarely supposed to do so. Luxury in dress at first an indulgent, becomes a necessity : discontent, 2 sense of humiliation, and a yearning for what cannot If Lad, are the effects of that withdrawal of the power of extravagance which so often happens in this changing and cjommercial country. We used to point to America as the country in which excessive dress was a reproach ; the rich silks, the foreign lace, the black satin shoes, and the decolUe evening dress of the fair inhabitants of New’ York, even in Broadway, are themes of comment to us all. We used to w'onder at the French dame du tnonde^ who gives six hundred pounds for her set of winter sables. Instances are not wanting, either, in \ iqnna and Bavaria, of ladies who spend seven or eight hundred a year on dress, independent of jewelry. It is remarked in Paris, that habits of luxe in every shape, but especially in dress, have come in with the present re- gime, The old Legitimist families, though habitually and innately studious in dress, prided themselves on their ele- gant simplicity, as distinguishing them from bourgeoisie The Court of Louis Philippe was remarkable for its home- liness ; and the Queen and the Duchess of Orleans se an example of a noble superiority to the vanities of life. Few carriages were kept, comparatively ; and where la- dies cannot have carriages, they must dress plainly in the atreets. But with the marriage of Louis Napoleon, th*s Empiuss has, probably without intending it, been the originator of extreme richness and variety in dress ; and the contamination has spread to England. Never did women require so much. Every lady, and even everj lady’s maid, must now have her petticoats edged with 180 LADY'S DRESS. work. The cost of pocket-handkerchiefs is son.3tlia^ marvellous ; the plain fine cambric, than which nothin4 is more appropriate or more agreeable, is only fit for ou! inferiors. Cufis, collars, jabots^ '^heinistttcs^ are a genm that half ruin a lady of moderate means. Until lately flounces went into such extremes that it required twentr or two-and-tw'enty yards to make a dress for the wife of 2 hard working physician or lawyer ; but, happily, the ex- cess has cured itself. France, in returning good sense, now decrees that everything shall be plain. Trimmings, that snare to the unwary, out of which dressmakers made fortunes, and husbands lost them, are put down. How long this salutary change may continue no one can tell ; but a woman of sense should be superior to all these va- riations. She should keep within the bounds of the fashion. Sho should not dress out that perishable piece of clay with money wrung from the hands of an anxious, laborious husband ; or taken, if her husband be a man of fortune, from his means of charity. The proportion of what amongst the great we call pin- money, and amongst their inferiors an allowance for dress, is a very diflBcult matter to decide. Consistency, in regard to station and fortune, is the first matter to be considered. A lady of rank, the mother of three beautiful, ill-fated daughters, is reported ‘Ho be able to do” with two thou- sand a year for dress ! A monstrous sum ; a monstrous? sin to spend it ! When we look into the details of a recent bankruptcy case, in which the items of the famous Miss Jane Clark’s bills for the dresses of two fashionalde, and we must add most blamable, women were exposed, the secret of these enormous sums for dress is revealed. Il Bonsists in reckless orders^ and their results, fabulom ALLOWANCE FOR DRESS. 181 prices. A lady once followed the late excellent Priiicesa Augusta into the rooms of a Court milliner. Having waited until that illustrious lady had retired, it was tim: for the humbler customer to make her selection. She asked the price of a dress, apologizing therefor, for she was much impressed by the r«yal and dignified aspect which had pre* ceded her. Don’t make any apology, ma’am,” was the Court milliner’s exclamation ; her Royal Highness never orders an article without asking the price ; and I always like to receive ladies who ask prices ; it shows that they intend to pay.” The cost therefore of dress depends so much on the pru dence as well as on the discrimination of a lady, for she should know how to choose her dress, that it is difficult tc lay down any rule of expenditure. For married womei of rank, five hundred a year ought to be the maximum ; a hundred a year the minimum (and there are many peers who cannot easily afford to give their wives even so much). The wives of ministers, and more especially of diplomatists, who require to appear frequently either in foreign courts, or in our own, may require five hundred, or even more, though I am persuaded very few of our ambassadorial ladies have so much to spend. With regard to unmarried women, what a revolt amongst them there would be if old Lord Eldon were now alive tc lay down, as he did, as a maxim, that forty pounds a yeai was enough for any girl not of age, even if she had largt expectations ; and that was all he allotted to a ward of Chancery who was heiress to five thousand a year. L was, perhaps, too little. In a trial, in which a celebrat(3d barrister, who had an extravagant wife, was sued for dress- makers’ bills for his reckless spe use, the judge stated that 182 LADY’S DRESS. sixty pounds a year was an ample allowance for the wift of a professional man, and beyond that bills could nv)t be recovered. That was essential : more was extravagance Certainly these legal authorities were moderate in tludi views ; especially as no women are so extravagant — none luxurious, generally, as the wives of successful barristers. The Tbnes^ whose range and power seem to resemble the elephant’s trunk that can pick up a pin or crush a man, in a late sensible and amusing ‘‘leader,” made a remark which will comfort struggling professional men, and, gen- erally, be thankfully received by all who need some au- thority to aid in keeping the milliner’s bill within lue bounds. It was simply to the effect that a tasteful, care- ful lady, with the start of a moderately good trousseau^ ought (and many do) to make twenty pounds a year suffice for the dress of herself and children during the first few years of married life, and this without any compromise of respectability. Much, however, depends on management , much on the care taken of dress. In these respects the French are in- finitely our superiors. Even the gramles dames of Paris are not intimidated by their maids into throwing away a half-worn dress ; on the contrary, everything is turned to account. On entering the apartment of a couturUre one day, a lady was struck by the elegance of ribbon trimming on a court- train. The coutiirure smiled, and pointed to an old dress from which the still unsoiled ribbon had been taken. This was to be the dress, and the lady saw it the next night at the Tuileries, and knew it at once ; in this the sister of a Due and Mar .'dial of France, herself a Countess, appeared. We should find it impossible to gel •any mantua- maker to perform such an act of virtuous econ ALiiOWANCE FOR DRESS 183 imy in favor of an English customer. Ti e due c«re of dress is also a great point towards a reasonable economy. In England, ladies think it becoming their dignity to be indiflferent to the preservation of their dresses when on. In France the reverse is carried to an excess. T ^nce followed,” said a lady, a French lady in her carriage, «l we both went to the same party. Her dress was composed of an exquisite tulle, with puffings of the same light ma- terial. She stood up in her carriage the whole way, for fear of crushing it.” Whatever may be thought of this over-care of the dress in the higher classes, the habit of conservativeness is of Vast importance to women in the middle class, and yet, Btrange to say, it is less common in them than among the great. Old families are mostly conservative of personali- ties ; it is a remarkable feature in them, and to it we owe those relics of limes long gone by, which, had they been new in the present day, would have been deemed scarcely worth the preservation. But whilst too much cannot be said against extravagance and destructiveness, it must also be stated, under the head of the minor virtues, the wonderful art some people have of making a good appearance on small means. “ A man’s appearance,” says the good, old-fashioned, sensible Spec- tator ^ ‘‘falls within the censure of everyone that sees him ; his parts and learning very few are judges of.” So in regard to women. No stranger knows the heart that beats beneath an ill-made gown, or the qualities of head that lie hidden beneath a peculiar old-fashioned, or hideous cap. A woman may be an angel of goodness, a Minerva in wisdom, a Diana in morals, a Sappho in sentiment, yet if she wears a sciled dress where all around are in now 184 LADY'S DRESS. Hnd fresh dresses, or has an ill arranged bonnet or head- dress, esteem, even affection, will not resist a smile or 2 sigh ; and the mere acquaintance will have every right tc jeer at what seems to imply an ignorance of the habits good society. Next in injury to her who practises extravagance of dress, is extravagance in fashion. From the middle ages the English ladies have been bad dressers. Witness Queen Mary when married to Philip ii. of Spain, spoiling the effect of a superb wedding-dress, in the French style, by wearing a black scarf and scarlet shoes, which, it has been sarcastically observed, was worse than burning Protestants. During the last century head-dresses rose to a stupendous height, each lady carrying on her head a tower composed of a cushion, on which the hair was drawn back, and clubbed or rolled on the top of the neck. On this fabric were arranged feathers, flowers, pearls dangling in loops, rib- bons, and old point lace. Sometimes a tiny mob-cap was stuck on one side ; the whole was so immense that even the huge family coaches were too small, and the ladies usually sat with their heads hanging out of the window of the car- riage. Powder was a main ingredient, and hair-dressing indeed a science. On great occasions the hair-dresser waited on our fair ancestresses betimes ; belabored thei? tresses with the powder-puff, and, with what looked like the end of a candle, a pomatum-stick, until no trace of ,nature could peep out to mar the belle. Then he placed the cushion, sticking it on with long pins of wire next he struck here and there the bows, or feathers, or flowers. After an hour’s torture, in which neither back must be bent, nor head moved, he left her, not to repose, but to sit as if in a Tice until the patches or moiiches were stuck 01 EXTRAVAGANCE IN FASHION. 185 skilfully ; the tight corsets drawn to an agony point ; th« pointed and heeled shoes put on over the well-pricked silt stocking; and the dress that could have stood alone, co:u« posed over a fortification of strong whale-bone that sprung? cut a great circumference, being a series of bands, regu* lated by a spring, aud constituting that great feature of full dress — the hoop. In Paris, there was a champion of low heads in the person of a Swiss, who, not being able to see over these turrets of heads at the grande opera, used to cut away, as one does at evergreens, right and left, in order to clear away the view. At last, the ladies, in dismay, and alarm- ed at his scissors, gave him up a front place ; but, even- tually, the ridicule thus cast on the mode banished it, or helped to do so, and a less absurd coiffure came into vogue The art of placing patches on the face and neck was of earlier origin, and came in during the reign of Charles ii. It was of French origin ; and Henrietta of Orleans, the sister of the King, was amongst the first to display mouches or patches at court. This time even Mrs. Pepys was pe?'* mitted by her husband to wear them ; and the vanity of the ci-devant tailor spoke forcibly in these words : — ‘‘ l.'he Princess Henrietta is very pretty ; but my wife, standing near her, with two or three black patches on, and well- dressed, still seems to me much handsomer than she.’^ Patches long held their reign ; and went out only with rouge, having even survived the reign of powder. At length a more natural taste dawned in England , bu it was reserved for Mrs. Siddons first to appear on tbe »tstge without powder, and her own rich dark hair arrang^l in massive tresses on her fine head. Towards the beginning of the present century came iw :86 liADI'S DRESS. she extremes of t:c;ht dresses and shor!; waists. The skirts of dresses were made as scanty as possible, and gored, that is, made much wider at the base than at the top. Tlicre was an inch of sleeve, and two inches of boddice*. It a? impossible not to be indelicate, unless you put on hat v ai called a ^^modesty-piece,’’ or tucker, formed of lace oi wwked muslin ; even then the requisite propriety was al- most unattainable. As to the hair, that was drawn up to the top of the head, and two or three curls worn in front, just above the eyebrows. Since hoops had been outra geous, and head-dresses had obstructed the view of Hei Majesty’s liege subjects, society thus revenged herself. Politics, too, at that time influenced fashion. Then came the Brutus crop, in w^hich style many of our fair ances- tresses are depicted ; this was in compliment to the Roman heroism of the First Consul, Bonaparte, and was caught up in England. Small Leghorn hats, like men’s hats, w^ere all the vogue, and were in their turn displaced for high- orowned bonnets with an inch or two of poke, which yield- ed, in due course, to the cottage-bonnet, or capite. The hair at this time was getting higher and higher, until, about twenty years ago, it reached the giraffe — a bow of hair, or two, or even three bows raised on trian- gular pins made on purpose, and fastened skillfully into the hair ; over this rose the bow called — in compliment to the first appearance of two giraffes in this country — the giraffe bows. Their reign was short, and the hair sank down to the very extreme, and ringlets, which reached the very waist, and plaits low down in the neck behind, suc- ceeded. There was a transient reign of the Oldenburg bonnet, introduced by the beautiful Duchess of Oldenburg when she visited this country in 1818 . This bonnet wa# CHANGES OF EASHlOxV. 187 nothing mere nor less than a coal-scuttle in straw ^ and turned up round the rim ; it was tremendously warm tc wear ; and caricatures were drawn at the time showing a gentleman’s diflGiculty in making love to his inamorata^ whose face was enclosed in the Oldenburg bonnet. The effect of a number of these bonnets collected in a small space was ludicrous. A very pretty simple cottage, aftci all the best style, succeeded the Oldenburg. About 1821 the gored skirts gave place to those slightly gathered, or plaited round the figure. There was a perfect revolt against this fashion ; many elegant women heading the malcontents. Happily they were obliged to yield, and the loose and full flowing dresses came into fashion, and kept their place, after a disgraceful interregnum of very short petticoats, only 7iot showing the knees; which extreme, it is believed, induced the auoption of full and long skirts. With occasional deviations, the form of the dress has not very greatly varied since the grand revolution which discarded gores, until that counter-agitation w^hich brought in crinolines. This innovation is well exemplified by merely recalling the degeneracy in costume of the Impe- rial arbitress of fashion who introduced it. At one of the Tuileries balls in 1852, a young Spanish lady was the theme of all tongues. She was dressed in white, with a beautiful circlet of black velvet on her head ; on this circlet were stars of diamonds. The hair, blond doree ; the brow, alabaster ; the somewhat melancholy eyes, with their long lashes, the regular but rather rigid pupil, were justly ad- mired. Mademoiselle de Montijo, as she then was, was sparkling with happiness ; the Emperor, that general who has since well-nigh dethroned Austria, yet, spared Venice, hal that night signified his intention of making Eugenif 188 LADY'S DRESS. de Montijo Empress of Fiance, by placing on her head a white flower ; she was radiant with excitement. Her figure, however, w^as the subject of all praise 1 1 was slight, and perfectly well dressed. The dress tight in the corsage, and full, moderately full, in the ski it. Since then, what a change ! That small, but matchless form, far more remarkable for grace than for dignity cornea forth encumbered, unnaturally enlarged, and indeed de- formed with an excess of fulness which can only be sup- ported by a device which in principle is the grandchild of the hoop. As she walks, the petticoats shake about, and 'the artifice underneath is revealed. The Empress is there , but the beautiful tourniire of Eugenie de Montijo is lost in the mass of bouffons and flounces over the invisible though protruding crinoline. The infatuation has spread from the palace to the private house ; thence even to the cottage. Your lady’s maid must now needs have her crin- oline, and it has even become an essential to factory girls. The smart young needlewoman has long thought that neither she, nor any one else, could appear without it. That there are some advantages in this modern fashion, cannot be denied. On State occasions it gives importance, shows oflF a dress, and preserves it from trailing on the floor. For walking, it has the recommendation of keeping the dresses out of the dirt; which may to some extent compensate for the very unpleasant and visible effect vi ‘‘carrying one’s tails behind one,” since the skirt often shakes about as if there was a balloon around the person Otherwise, the crinoline is unnatural — as some wear it, in- delicate — and cumbersome, and gives an appearance of width below that is pefectly frightful. Now, however, the excess, seems abating. As if to make the contrast greater CRINOLINE. m those who so expand below, do not hesitate, in many in stances, to ointract above, by tight lacing ; but this also is a custom that has very much decreased of late years. Formerly, instances were frequently known of young ladies^ nearly perishing under the self-imposed torture of what nay not be inaptly called the waist-screw. A physician at dinner one day with his family, was summoned by knocks and rings to a house in the same street, where theri had been a dinner party. The ladies had just retired to the drawing-room, when, suddenly, the youngest and fair- est of them fell fainting back into her chair. Restoratives were applied, but consciousness did not return. The phy sician came ; he was an aged and practical man, w’ell versed in every variety of female folly. He took out his penknife ; the company around thought he was going to bleed the still unconscious patient. ‘‘Ha, this is tight lacing!” he suddenly said ; and adding, “ no time to be lost,” he cut open the boddice of the dress ; it opened, and, with a gush, gave the poor young lady breath ; the heart had been compressed by tight lacing, and had nearly ceas- ed to act. In another moment it would have been too late ; the action of the heart would have ceased altogether. It has been found, also, that the liver, the lungs, the powers of the stomach, have been brought into a diseased state by this most pernicious habit. Loss of bloom, fixed redness in the nose, eruptions on the skin, are among it? 3ad effects. If prolonged, there is no knowing to what malady tight lacing may not tc ^d ; its most apparent effect is an injured digestion, and consequent loss of ap petite. Of this, however, it is often difficult to convince the practised tight-lacer ; for vanity is generally obstinate. Nc girl should wear bones or steels until she has dem 190 LADY'S DRESS. growkig. Until then a boddice, close-fitting, hut no! tight, or even a mere flannel waistcoat, is all that shculd be allowed, if a mother wishes to avoid seeing her child with a curved spine. During the reig-n of tight lacing and of stays so stiff*, that when spread out they resemble^ a board in texture, seven women in ten were crooked Whole families leaned on one side or the other. “ You are no worse than your neighbors,’’ was the common ex- pression of any surgeon called in to attend in a case of curvature of the spine. That is not the case now, to nearly such an extent. But looking at tight lacing without consideration of its effect on health, and merely as its tendency to improve or to injure the appearance, nothing can be more absurd than to believe that it is advantageous to the figure. A very small waist is rather a deformity than a beauty. To sec the shoulders cramped and squeezed together, is anythinq but agreeable ; the figure should be easy, well developed supple : if Nature has not made the waist small, compres sion cannot mend her work. Dress may do much to les- sen the awkward appearance of a thick waist by clever adaptations ; by the use of stays both easy and well fit- ting ; by a little extra trimming on the shoulders, which naturally makes the waist appear smaller. All this may be done without injury ; no stays can answer the purpose 80 well as those made by a good French stay-maker, wlic has the art of taking a sort of model of the figure by the extreme exactness of her measurements. The stays are made single, and therefore fit better than double ones : they give with every movement. Those lately introduced, which fasten at once, are not so advantageous to the fig- ure as the old fashioned plan of lacing beliind, but ar€ HOW IaR fashion MAY BE FOLLOWED 191 admirable in point of convenience and despatch. By their aid^ elderly ladies who have not dressed themselves, but have been dressed by a maid for years, have become inde- pendent; a great benefit to health and despatch. The slight exertion of dressing one’s-self, the gentle exercise it induces after repose, the excellent habit of order, and the necessity it imposes of throwing off the thoughts, that may perhaps too much have occupied the mind during the hours of a wakeful night, render the operation of dressing to those in fair health, a very salutary exertion. It is often disputed how far ladies are justified in fol- lowing the fashion of the day ; how far they could be praised or blamed for conforming or for resisting the influ- ences around them in that respect. To adopt the prevail- ing fashion, but not carry it to excess, seems the most ra- tional line of conduct ; none but a great beauty, or a per- son of any exalted rank, can deviate, and hope to escape ridicule, from what fashion has introduced. Even in the .^.v^knowledged beauty, there is a presumption in doing so. Yet there were during the last reign three lively sisters, all now ennobled by marriage, who, at Court, when all were crowned with plumes, then worn like a crest on the head, nine or twelve in number, went to the drawing-rooms with a small feather on either side, and without diamonds ; it was a courageous feat, but the effect was good, and pro- duced, some thought, the reduction of plumes at Court. A reasonable and tasteful acquiescence in the rapl] changes — if not too rapid — in the modes of dress, is sen- sible convenient. No single individual can success- fully oppose the stream of fashion. Everything that is j)6culiar in dress is, we are convinced, more or less objec- tionable. Dr. Johnson was nraising a ladv for being very 192 LADY ri DRESS. well dressed. “ I am sure she was well dressed, ^ ae re iterated, ‘‘for I cannot remember what sire had on ' Now, had not the lady’s dress been modern in the fashion he would have been struck with some anomaly, some pe euJiarity, in form or colors The general effect was ad mirable; what more could be wished? details arc imj)oi“ tant to the dress-maker and to the tailor : it is effect that tells on society. Too much importance cannot be assigned to the harmony of colors. No nation in this respect offends so greatly as the English : they mistake gaudiness for effect, or dowdiness for elegance. When full colors are in fash- ion, a lady, however well dressed, will look ill if she ad- heres to the delicate pinks and almost invisible blues which prevailed some years since, lovely as those pure and soft hades are. She will, however, require an artist’s eye to combine the more glowing shades skilfully, in order to es- cape being the parroquet of the company. A certain duchess, noted for the magnificence in which her stately person is arrayed — so stately is it, as to bear down even royalty itself in queenly dignity — is so aware of the im- portance of combining colors well, that one of her fem- mes de chambre is a combination maid,” selected on ac- count of her judgment in colors ; thus, every toilette for the day or night is submitted by her ; the shawl is affront- ed with the gown ; the bonnet is made to suit with both The wreath of flowers is to be in keeping with the rich boddice, the boddice with the sweeping train; the rich jewelry, taken from a casket almost unparalleled uinong the subjects of any country, must not eclipse, but heighten the tints of the dress : the whole is placed for inspection; as an artist dresses up a lay figure ; and the repute of the oombinaticn- maid is staked on the result. White was that MORNING DRKS3 gorgeous lady’s favorite attire ; white, scarce purer the face, 0 call it pale, not fair white, which com- bines” with every hue, ornament, or flowers : but tlte loveliness may now have fled before the approach of time and rich colors have been selected as the appropriate for that middle age which is so beautiful in English women and in English women alone. After these general remarks, let us come to particulars, ad consider what, in modern days, are the different dresses appropriate to every different occasion in the higher and middle classes of life. It is true that the distinction be- tween these is, in many respects, nullified ; that the wife cf the merchant dresses much in the same way on ordinary occasions as the peeress : still there are nevertheless dis- tinctions. The peeress, or the baronet’s lady, or the wife of a minister, or of an opulent M. P., of a very wealthy com- moner, should, when she appears dressed for the morning, be richly dressed. Silk, or, if in winter, some materia] trimmed with silk or velvet, should compose her dress. All that family of half- worsted and half-silk dresses, con- venient for ladies who walk much, are unsuitable to mat- rons of rank and fortune. Let them leave them to their housekeepers (if their housekeepers will wear them). Rich dark silks, perfectly well fitting, ample in skirt and length, with a moderate bastion of crinoline underneath, suit the woman of rank. The basque, introduced by the Empress Eugenie, and now gone out of fashion, was pecu- liarly elegant in morning dress : is marked so completely the difference between the morning and evening costume ; it is becoming to most figures ; it is convenient for those who like to fasten their own dresses. It is, however, dis- 9 194 LADY'S DRESS. continued, and a far less elegant form of dress adopted The morning dress of the present day is worn close up to the throat and the sleeves are loose and large ; so that anderneath them, sleeves, richly w^orked, or trimmed with aiee. may be seen hanging down, or fiistened round the ^rist with a bracelet. The fashion of these morning iresses varies continually ; but, as a general principle, they should be, for a person moderately emhonj joint ^ made to fit and show oflf the figure perfectly. The accompani- ments of sleeves, collars, should be of the most delicate and richest work ; the lace choice ; the lady of rank must remember that imitations of lace are not suitable to those who can encourage art and industry ; a lady must also be bien chaussee. If stockings are visible, they should be of the finest silk or thread ; the shoe well made, slight, and somewhat trimmed ; the fashion of wearing gloves in- doors, or even mittens, has much died away lately. The hand, if exposed, should be habitually well taken care of Nothing is so unlady-like as a hand that is either rough, or has become sun-burnt, in which case gloves should be used. Too many rings are vulgar. Those tvorn in the morning should be of a solid kind, not pearls or diamonds which appertain to full dress ; but enamel, plain gold, opal perhaps sapphire, carbuncle, may not be inconsistent witli morning dress, and the same observation may be applied to the brooch. There is another style of morning dress which is elo- gaui, that of the 'peignoir^ a loose robe, which admits of great richness of texture ; it may be of Cashmere or of fine Merino ; it may be made out of a shawl ; of anything but silk, which is more appropriate to gowns ; but this dress is sc^ircely suitable to any but the early morning MORNING DRESS. ltd hours, and ceases to be consistent in the gay nfternocns of a London life, when the drawing-room is filled with callers The morning coifiure, be it a cap, or be it the dressing of the hair, should be simple, compact, neat. The bajr. when dressed, should be becomingly but somewhat mas sively disposed. When it is rich and full, a very slight head-dress of Mechlin or Lisle lace, for married women, at the back of the head, is becoming ; when thin and w’eak, a cap should be worn with ribbon coming down in front Nothing looks so bad as thin hair, underneath which the head is discernible in the day-time. Every ornament on the head is in bad taste in the morning ; one views with horror huge gold pins, or would-be gold, corresponding to ear-rings of the same false description. The peril of being induced to wear ornaments so meretricious, is, however, more to be dreaded in that class of society below the peeress’s rank, with which it is particularly inconsistent. The French ladies are models of dress w^hen they hold their morning receptions. Everything they wear is the best of its kind. The few ornaments they permit themselves are more elaborate and valuable than dazzling, everything an- nouncing, as plainly as if it had been written on their doors, that they are in demie toilette. The perfect agree- ment of their dress with the hour and the occasion, is the secret of its almost invariable success. The same rules apply to walking dress, which should be juiet in color, simple, substantial, and, above all, founded on the science of combination. To see a bonnet adorned with crimson flowers, worn with a bright lilac dress ; green with scarlet, blue with plum, are sad departures from tlie rules of combination. In a town, even when, according to the time of the day, or time of the year, a walki}»g LADY'S DRESS. drea® be simple, there should still be some degree of rk li'^iess in the dress. The ^tyy dowdy and common-looking style of dres? should bv' avoided ; there should always be visible, through 3>ery chaxige, the lady. Some of our ladies of rank, il liust be allowed, though maintaining well the cliaracteris* dcs of grandK'^ dames in society, are negligent in theii walking dress, tind seem to consider that it is only neces- sary to put on th-OT dignity when they dress for dinner. For the countr'y, the attire should be tasteful and solid and strong. The b'^Anet may still, though plain, and per- haps of straw or wHlebone, be becoming. The hat, now so prevalently used, admits of some decoration, that gives both character and elegance. Worn almost universally on the Continent in summer, and now in England, it is the most sensible as well as the most picturesque covering for the head ; long feathers, even in the most tranquil scenes, are not inappropriate. Cloaks, of a light material for sum- mer, and stout in the winter, are more elegant and suita- Dle than shawls, which belong rather to the carriage or visiting dress. One point of dress has been much amend- ed lately, owing to the good sense of our Queen. It was formerly thought ungenteel to wear anything but thin Morocco shoes, or very slight boots in walking Clogs and goloshes were necessarily resorted to. The genteel disease,” as Mackenzie calls it, has, however, yielded fo the remedies of example. Victoria has assumed the Bal moral petticoat, than which, for health, comfort, warmth and effect, no invention was ever better. She has coura- geously accompanied it with the Balmoral boot, and even with the mohair and colored stocking. With these, and the warm cloak, the looped dresses, the shady hat, and, to FULL DINNEK DREyb. cojiplete a country walking dress, soft gloves ol tlie kind termed ganls de si cle^ the high born hidy may enjoy the privileges which her inferiors possess — she may take a good walk with pleasure and safety, and not shiver at the a^.*pect of a muddy lane. Next, in the description of a lady’s dress, comes th carriage, or visiting divss. This should be exceedingly handsome ; gayer in color, richer in texture than tlie morning dress at home. The bonnet may either be as simple as possible, or as rich ; but it must not encroach upon that to be worn at a fete, a flower-show, or a morn- ing concert. It must still be what the French call “ un f^Mapeaii de fatigue,^ ^ A really good shawl, or a mantle Vfimraed wdth lace, are the concomitants of the carriage, or a visiting dress in wdnter. In summer all should be light, :ool, agreeable to think of, pleasant to look at. Nothing can be in worse taste than to keep on, till it makes one feverish to look at it, the w^arm clothing of winter after winter and even spring have passed away. Then light scarfs, of which those worn in muslin are very elegant, delicate muslins, slight silks, and grenadines, are infinite- ly more suitable, although they are less expensive, to sum- mer and its bright hours than the heavy artillery of cashmeres and velvets, be they ever so handsome. The ordinary evening costume at home admits of great taste an 1 becomingness. In some great houses it diffbrn little fiom that assumed at large dinner-parties, except that ornaments are less worn. In France, the high ilrosF is still wmrn at dinners, even those of full dress. In Eng land, that custom, often introduced, never becomes gene ral; there is no doubt but that a low dress is by far xnv most becoramg, according to age,* complexion, and the stgh 198 lady’s dress. of the house — a point always to be taken into CuOisiJeia ticn. Yet 1 should restrict this to dinners by candle-] ight In summer a thin high dress, at any rate, is more con- venient and more modest. Since there is something in exposing the bare shoulders and arms to the glare of day. that startles an observer, the demie toilette of the French may here be well applied. The hair should now be fully dressed, and with care ; flowers may be worn by the young ; caps with flolvers by the elder ; ornaments, espe- cially bracelets, are not inconsistent ; the dress should be of a texture that can beai inspection, not flimsy and inex- pensive, but good, though not heavy. The same rules may be applied to the ordinary costume in an evening at home, except that the texture may be lighter. For all these occasions a lady of rank and fortune should have her separate dresses. She should not wear out her old ball or dinner dresses by her fireside and in intimate cir- cles. They always have a tawdry, miserable look. She should furnish herself with a good provision for the demie toilette. Nothing is so vulgar as finery out of place. The full dinner-dress, in England, admits, and indeed, in the present days of luxury, demands great splendor. The dress may be blue, silver-grey, crimson, maize, lav- ender, or (but rare) very pale green; pink is suitable alone to balls ; it may be of any thick texture of silk in vogue ; but in the fashion it must be. The dinner dresses that last for ever are detestable. Trimmings of Srussek lace, or of Mechlin, or of Maltese, are preferable to blonde or tulle, which are for balls and soirees. The dress should be made in the newest fashion ; therefore no rule can be set down, except that for sta^e dinners it should be long, j^nd fresh, and sweeping. At large dinners, diainondsf FULL DINNER DRESS. 198 may be worn, but only in a brooch, or pendail A*om the throat ; a full suite of diamonds is suitable to V'ery full dress alone. The same rule applies to emeraldSj but not to jearls. Rows of pearls, confined by a diamond snap, ire beautiful in every dress. They suit either the d(/mu Ivihtte^ or the stately solemn dinner. If flowers be worn they should be of the very choicest ; ladies have so much 'me to examine and to criticise after dinner, that too much care of minutise cannot be taken ; if but a rose, it should be from the very first hand. The fan, to be con- sistent, should also be first-rate ; it may be old, and paint- ed after the manner of the exquisite fans in France, for which one pays as high as twenty pounds ; or it may be a mere invention of the day ; but it must be perfect in its way. Nothing is so inimical to appearance as an ill- made or soiled glove. There is such a wonderful mixture of economy and prodigality in the highest classes of En- glish society, that it is not uncommon to see ladies, re- splendent in jewelry, with dirty gloves : in France, to which we have, in all ages, looked as to a model, such a barbarism could never occur. Every trifle in a lady’s costume is perfect. She would rather go out in a shabby gown than in a collar of false lace, or with dirty gloves, or begrimed white satin shoes. It is not so in England ; ladies who spend pounds upon a cap or a scarf, will hesi- tate before they put on a clean pair of gloves. Dinner parties are so often the prelude only, in London, to thd festivities of the evening, that no strict rules as to dress can be set down. Generally speaking, there is a great difference between the dinner-dress and that of the balk A concert, on the other hand, or the opera, requires only the head to be somewhat more adorned than at a dinner 200 LADY S DRESS. and yet there was a fashion, several years since, of ap* pearing even at the Italian opera in the simple toilette of a small dinner partje The sortie du bul^ or short i-vo ning cloak, is one of the best modern suggestions for tlji; health, and even appearance; of those who attend public places or enter into gay society. It should be of wdiite merino, not of scarlet, which spoils the effect of the WTeath of flowers. All complicated trimmings are inconsistent ; but the same rule of perfect freshness and cleanliness in respect to gloves is applicable to the sortie du baL I am sorry to say it is violated every night : rows of ladies are to be seen wdth resplendent gems in their hair, waiting for their carriages, in sorties du bal that are almost gray from the effects of London smoke. The striking relief and the contrast produced by one or two clean and fresh cloaks of this description is quite singular, and proves the truth of che above recommendation. And here let us marvel against the wonderful misplaced economy that will not permit an English lady to indulge in a new soj'tie du bal “ this season,” whilst she is, at the same time, lavishing Bufias upon all the endless et ceteras which Englishwomen of the nineteenth century cannot do without. At one of the most brilliant balls at the Hotel de Ville in Paris, an order was given for the company, who were to be numbered on that occasion by thousands, to wait in relays on the grand staircase leading to the recepti( ii corns, until a certain hour of the night or rather mom mg. This order was to prevent a rush to the carriages and the danger incident to such a concourse wdshing ti leave at the same time. The ladies sat for an hour ci more on that ample and matchless staircase, to the right ^f which was the artificial pool of water, surr(»unded bj BALL DRESSING 20 plants, anl lighted by lamps, amid Tvhich the spray of a fountain cast up crystal drops, which fell dimpling ink the w^atei again. The light played upon the white cup of a large water-lily in the miniature pool, and the scene was at once remarkable and brilliant. As 1 looked around fr(-m the bottom of the stairs, and about, I could see many pale and weary faces, but not one dirty sortie du hal . all here as fresh, as clear, as snowy white as if new only that day ; some lined with cherry color ; others with blue ; a few with amber ; most with white. Even after all the festivities were over, a Frenchwoman, if she could not look well, w^as resolved to look clean. Ball-dressing requires less art than the nice gradations of costume in the dinner costume, and small evening party dress. For a ball, everything even in married women may be light, somewhat fanciful and airy. What arc called good dresses seldom look well. The heavy, richly- trimmed silk, is only appropriate to those who do not dance ; even for such, as much effect should be given to those dresses as can be devised. Taste, ingenuity, style^ are here most requisite. Since the fa’shions continually al- ter, there is no possibility of laying down specific rules ; the dress, however, for the married, and for the unmar- ried lady of rank or of fortune, should be distinctly mark- ed. For the married lady moiri dresses, either trimmed with lace, or tulle and flo vers, or white silk — no othei color in plain silk looks well — or thin dresses over white satin, an article which is happily coming into fashioi 3gain, are most suitable. Diamonds on the head neck arms, she may wear ; but the decoration of the dress with them slmuld be reserved for court-balls, and for court Formerly, when diamonds were worn, flowers were eithe/ 9 * 202 lady’s dress. considered unnecessary, or even inconsistent; no’w tUej are frequently intermingled. Small feathers are eves worn at balls; and, for the married, produce peihapi more effect than any other coiffure ; but they are wholiv 0ut of fashion on a young lady’s head. The unmarried, indeed, so long as they continue young, will best consul their own good looks by as much simplicity as is consist ent with fashion. In Paris no ornaments, Avith the ex- ception, perhaps, of a single bracelet, are allowed to the ieum fille ; her dress must be white ; the flowers in her Uair Avhite also. To these general rules there are excep- tions, but the appearance of a French ball is that of spot- less white ; far different to the full colors often worn in England. White tulle over white silk (or white lace), and bou qaets of floAvers, corresponding to the guirlaude or chepenie on the head, are the favorite dress of the young lady. A parure of floAvers, consisting of tAvo flowers mingled, is elegant ; for instance, the rose and heliotrope, the parure forming the Avreath Avhich extends down the skirt ; or, of* Avhite flotvers, the acacia, — of blue, the my- osotis, — of green, the maidenhair fern ; these are all ex- quisite ornaments. Even the large white lily forms a beautiful parure. The French ahvays make use of the floAv^ers in season, but Ave English are less scrupulous. A young lady vail Avear a wreath of lilies of the val’ey mixed with roses, in the depth of the winter; holly and berries in June; scarlet geraniums in spring. Large daisies are ai3o liable to suggest ludicrous ideas. That lady’s dress wants mowing,” said a A\*ag, looking at a beiutiful cdlU dress, covered Avith white daisies with flaring yellow cea* tres. THE HEAD-DBESS. 2oa Nothing, however, forms a more beautifui Lead-dress tlian natural flowers, carefully mounted. The French fiaye a great art of mounting flowers on wire, and many of their ladies’ -maids learn it ; some of the ladies excel in it themselves. For country balls and fetes^ the effect m lovely • and the perpetual variety obtained a source of that surprise and novelty which add so much to the effect pro- duced by dress. The flowers should be neatly and firmly stuck upon wires. Variegated geraniums, and all the white varieties only, answer well ; white camellias (the red are too heavy), parti-colored carnations, the rose Devoniensis, large white lilies, are all suitable to hairs of various shades. A. pariire of ivy is elegant — but it has become common ; in spring, the scarlet ranunculus has a rich effect ; in win- ter, the hellebore or Christmas rose is very appropriate. There is one of the carnival balls at Munich, in which the custom of 'wearing natural flow^ers is almost des rigueiirs ; it is on Shrove-Tuesday. Since in that severe climate it is difficult to obtain natural flow^ers in perfection, the wreaths are ordered in Paris, and are articles of great ex- pense. On seeing them beside even the moat exquisite ar- tificial wreaths, the effect is striking ; every tint in the latter has a want of that transparency which, in the nat- ural flowers, is O'wing to the minute and almost invisible globules of water in the petals beneath the cuticle. The richest hues pall before the inimitable coloring of nature Amongst the garnitures on one occasion, that of the Queen of Bavaria was pre-eminently beautiful. She woie on her head a wreatn of natural roses; in the centr: of each rose hung a diamond dew-drop. Her dress was white, trimmed down on either side with single roses, encircled with 9 single row of diamonds each, as if the dew hung round 204 lady’s dress. the pe tals ; in the centre was the diamond-dew drop. This beloved and beautiful princess, now, by marriage, the first cousin of the Princess Royal of England, always super- intends the arrangements of her own ball dresses, hei histo is exquisite, and the ingenuity with which she ^ariei* her costumes is remarkable. As ladies advance in life, the ball-room seems scarcely to be their province ; but since many of them are obliged to be chaperons, the style of dress most becoming person- ally and also most consistent with that character, should be considered. Many persons think that it little matters what a middle-aged lady w^ears, so long as she looks neat and respectable, and displays a sufficient amount of expen- sive lace, diamonds, and so many ells of unexceptionable silk or satin. I am not of that opinion ; as long as a face is a face fit to present itself to society, so long should good taste carefully preserve the fast-fading attractions, not, by art and cosmetics, or false curls, or roses round a sallow brow, or the lilies of the field, which are appropri- ate to youth alone, but by an arrangement of cap or head- dress that is becoming to the poor old ruins ; just as we like to see the mantling ivy clustering, and say how greatly d adds to the beauty of the old devastated fort or chapel. Under the head of festive occasions^ the court dress must not bo admitted. This costume consists, first, of an entire dress, gener- ally made of some plain but costly silk. ^ The dress, therefore, ‘forms one component part; next comes die petticoat, usually of some lighter material ; and ifvstly, the train. The dress is made, even for elderly ladies, low ; and the boddice is trimmed in accordance with the petticoat and the train. COURT-DRESS. 205 The petticoat is now usually formed of rich Brussels lace, or of Honiton lace, or tulle; and often looped uj with flowers. Ibe train is of the* richest material of the whole dress F ormerly it was often of satin ; now it is of moire or glact ilk, though satin is again beginning to be worn. It fastens half round the waist, and is about seven yards in length, and wide in proportion. It is trimmed all round with lace, in festoons, or on the edge, with bunches of flowers at intervals, and is lined usually with white silk. The petticoat is ornamented with the same lace as the train, sometimes in flounces, sometimes in puffings oi botiffons of tulle, sometimes en tahlier. that is, down either side. The boddice and sleeves are all made in strict unifor- mity with the train and petticoat. The head-dress consists of feathers, and comprises a* lappet of lace, hanging from either side of the head down nearly to the tip of the boddice. Diamonds or pearls, or any other je^velry sufficiently handsome, may be worn in the hair, but the two former are most frequently adopted. The same ornaments should be worn on the boddice around the neck and arms. The shoes should be of white satin, and trimmed ac- cording to fashion. The fan should be strictly a dresa fan ; those spangled are the most suitable for a costume which requires everything to be as consistent as possible with the occasion. Having thus treated of the drosses suited to the house and to all festive occasions, icmAiUn: <^Iy the rMing dreap to cientioh. *:06 LADY S DUESS. In this particular several changes have been made during the last two or three years. The round hat, of masculine appearance, is almost always exchanged for a slouched hat, eometimes of a round form, and turned up round the brim — sometimes turned up on either side, and coming with s point low down upon the forehead — and sometimes three* cornered : all these different forms have their votaries ; but it must be acknowledged that the more simple and modest the shape, the more becoming. Formerly, the neat round hat, masculine in its form, was unembellished by even a bow ; but now, a long, sweep- ing feather on one, and sometimes on both sides, sets off the riding-hat. The color of the feather is varied, but is usually black or brown, like the hat. The feather, it may here be remarked, should be full, well-curled, long and firm, not thin and weak, as if taken from an ostrich in a moulting condition. In winter, the hat should be of felt of a soft kind, pliable and durable ; in summer, of a fine straw. It is not wise to get a hat made by an inferior hand. The style constitutes the grace, and renders it either a most becoming or a most tawdry feature in the riding-dress. And here let us remark on the great benefit of these slouching hats to the complexions which have so materially suffered of late years from small bonnets and round hats. Health, with delicacy^ is the true charm of kminmo physique, and, as far as a riding costume is con-* corned, nothing secures the freshness of the face better Ijan the slouched hat. It is cool, and permits the free circulation of air around the face, while it protects tne eyes, the forehead, and almost the chin, from scorching lioat or withering blasts. ^iual ly. as far as regards hats, let a hint be thrown out RIDING-DRESS. 207 repressing the eccentricities of a fantastic taste : The art of riding is in itself conspicuous enough, A ladj decked out in that position approaches the mountebank ridei from Astley’s or Franconi’s. Her costume may be elegant on ill occasions without being outre,. The moment her taste Jegenerates so as to produce a striking effect, she may b sine she is making a mistake, and nowhere so fatally as on horseback. We must acknowledge that the change in riding-hats has another good effect. The lady equestrian cannot now be called masculine. Bist ein Mann oder eine Mad- Bchen ?” cried out a number of little Rhenish boys as a young lady galloped through a village near Diisseldorf. The Spectator has a sharp article on the ambiguous ap- pearances of these Amazons, as he styles them ; and in fact in the last century, when scarlet riding-habits were often worn, it must have been difScult on the riding-field to have distinguished a lady from a gentleman ; but now there is something picturesque, stylish, and inconsistent in the modern slouching hat, the sweeping feather, and be- neath them the rich clusters of hair bagged, and so con- fined in a net of black chenille. The habit has sustained some changes, and, as far as ap- pearance is concerned, not for the becter. It used to be invariably tight, well-shaped, with close sleeves. It is now often made loose, with deep cuffs, or, if worn tight, a loose jacket, or casaque^ can be put over it — an advantage in cold weather, but certainly not to the figure, which is never seen to more advantage, be it bad or good, than iii a tight body, such as the old riding-habit. A plain wliite collar of fine lawn should be worn with the habit, deep lawn cuffs underneath the sleeves, while gauntlet gloves of thick 208 lady's dress. leather, and no ornaments, save perhaps a delicately-twined whip, need be displayed. Compactness and utility are the requisites for the riding-dress ; and, whilst touching on this point, let us impress strongly the danger arising from 00 long a skirt in the riding-habit : it is apt not cnly to alarm horses, but tor entangle, in case of accidents, theil fair riders. There, as in other cases, the principle of all that relates • to dress should be consistency and suitableness. If these are once lost sight of — if fifty apes fifteen — if the countess t^resses worse than her own housekeeper, or the maid vies ffith her mistress — if modest middle rank puts on the garb of fashion — if good tasie and good sense cease to be the foundation of the importani whole, then all special di- rections will be unavailing. CHAPTER V ACCOMPLISHMEIsTS Lord Byron in one of his letters tells us that be Liigil have been a beau, if he had chosen to drink deep and gamble fast enough. In Ben Johnson’s time the main points of a compleat gentleman” were to swear a new oath in every sentence, ‘‘ By the foot of Pharaoh,” As I am a gentleman and a soldier,” and so forth; to take tobacco, and swear over its virtues ; to be able to run friend or foe through the heart with a bodkin ; and to write a copy of silly verses to a by no means inaccessible mistress. Beau Brummell had only three pet points : the way he toot BnuflF, opening the box with one hand, the ease with which he cut an old acquaintance, and the grace with which he bowed to a new one. Lord Chesterfield seems to think that if a man can ride, fence, and dance well, he is skilled enough for good society. The three requirements are worth noticing. The first was es">ential, if you would have male friends, in days when knighthood was not quite a shadow ; the second allowed you to make good enemies, and kill or keep them ; the third fitted you for the society of women. The accomplishments of to-day, though they differ it many respects, have the same general bearing. In a mai they are the arts required to keep a friend, to make ax enemy, and to charm a woman ; in a woman, to surpass a rival and to captivate a man of more taste than heart For botl,, however, they have a far higher object, that ( 209 ^ no ACCOMPLISHMEN IS. namely, of giving pleasure to our-fellow creatures in seme form or other, and of increasing the general harmony of society. They are in fact those corollaries to the probleir of education, by which a person is fitted not only to pass/ out tc take honors’’ in the social examination. While it is impossible to deny that a man may be a perfect gen* tinman, a woman a well-bred lady, and both of them agreeable in society, without a single accomplishment, we all of us feel that such a person must either possess nc usual wit, like Dr. Johnson, who had not one accomplish- ment to add to his sound sense ,and learning, or be one who, content to fill a quiet corner in life, does not care tc emerge from it even for the benefit of others. Accomplishments have a heavy run against them in the present day, and are decidedly at a discount. Give me,’’ cries Paterfamilias, bringing his fist with a heavy thump lown on the table, give me good sterling practical know- ledge, and none of your pishty-wishty humbugging accom- plishments.” Paterfamilias, you err, like many a British father, and in your love of the practical, you are blind to the immense advantage of cultivating the beautiful in every young soul. Paterfamilias, to take the most serious ground with you, it is the practical which shall lead you to money bags and account books, but the beautiful which shall guide you towards heaven. These same accomplish- ments at which you sneer have a much deeper meaning and value for your children than merely to shine in society They constitute the whole amateurship of art, and in the present day to be thoroughly accomplished is to be half an artist ; yet the better half. You may not be able tc give a concert in Hanover Square Booms, but you have cultivated the music that lies within your soul. And tl: ere THEIR REAL VALUE. 211 is music in every soul, and music is the most bcautifxil ex- pression of peace and harmony ; and harmony is the most beautiful law of nature, of creation, the first rule of God You may not be able to exhibit a picture in th# R'^yal Academy, but you have learned to copy God^ work, and learning to copy you have learned to observe and to know ; and to know God’s work, is to know God in His work. Believe me, Paterfamilias, the study of art rightly undertaken is the study of God, and it is by cul- tivating the beautiful that you approach heaven. I do not say that every man can be a Crichton, but I do say that every man should aim at that character in some way, both for his own sake and that of those around him. How much more so a woman, whose very mission is to make life less burdensome to man, to soothe and comfort him, to raise him from his petty cares to happier thoughts, CO purer imaginings, towards heaven itself. At first sight accomplishments seem to belong/, to women more than to men, but if w'e look more close// into the subject we shall find that a man has a doul;/.e necessity upon him ; he must be fit, on the one hand, f ^r the society of men, on the other for that of women, and this involves a double list of acquirements; while tho«/^ of women, which make then: charming to men, fit tt .'-m also for the company of their own sex. Thus we must refuse in this case the pln^ce aux dames^ and take the men first. To mix com/ortably with th society of his own sex must be the object to a man, properly so called, and to do this he requires to know a certain number of arts which are common among hvr ^wn 212 ACCOMPLISHMENTS. Foremost of these is the art of self defence, whicn ii one which society constantly calls irxto requisition. For tunately the duel is gone out of fashion, and a man nee j not now, as in the days of good Queen Bess, come to tcwn to learn how to pick and take a quarrel, and how to get well out of it when made. Fencing in England is lu w nothing more than an exercise, no longer qualifying a man to take his place as a gentleman among his betters ; but that which has succeeded to it is not without its importance and the ‘‘compleat gentleman’’ should be able to use hia lists. Low as this art is, and contemptible as are those who make a profession of it, it is nevertheless of impor- tance to a man of every class, for a good blow often solves a difiSculty as readily as Alexander’s sword cut the Gor- dian knot. There are men whom nothing but a physical punishment will bring to reason, and with these we shall have to deal at some time of our lives. A lady is insulted or annoyed by an unwieldly bargee, or an importunate and dishonest cabman. One well-dealt blow settles the whole matter. It is true that it is brutal, and certainly should be a last resource ; but to last resources we are often driven, and a show of determination brings impudence to an ar- mistice. 1 would say, then, know how to use your fists, but never use them as long as any other argument will prevail, but^ when all others fail, have recourse to that natural and certainly most convincing logic. A man, therefore, whether he aspires to be a gentleman or not; should learn to box. It is a knowledge easily gained Then are but few rules for it, and those are suggested bj eommon sense. Strike out, strike straight, strike sud- denly ; keep one arm to guard, and punish wUh tlie other BOXING. 21h Two gentlemen ne /ei fight ; the art of boxing is onlj brought into use in punishing a stronger and more impu dent man of a class beneath your own. There is good in everything, and there is a view to t-i'jkc of the pugilistic art which compensates in some mea- sure for its brutal character in this country. The fist has expelled the sword and pistol. The former indeed went out about the beginning of last century, and Beau Nash, though by no means a coward, did his best to put down the wearing of a weapon which was a perpetual temptation to commit polite murder and disturb the harmony essen- tial to good society. There could be no comfort and no freedom in conversation when, instead of politely differing with you, a man’s hand moved to his sword-hilt. It is no argument against me that the rapier is still worn at court, tor I feel convinced that nine-tenths of those ornamental but utterly useless appendages would never be induced to t^uit their scabbards, and, even if drawn, would be of n.: more value than a stick in the hands of at least nine-tenths of their courtly owners. But it was another kind of biped who put down duelling, and a cock-pheasant of Wimbledon-Common, jealous, no doubt, at seeing the powder which ought to have been used for him, thrown away upon a human being, or per- haps anxious to try whether a bullet tasted better than shot who had the honor of making these encounters so superbly ridiculous, that to call a man out in the present day is equivalent to calling him a fool and confessing your- self idiotic. There are those, however, who re^cret the palmy days of twelve paces and coffee for four, and tell us that the fear of a hole in the waistcoat kept many an impudent man in his place and restrained unwarrantable 214 ACCOMPLISHMENTS, familiarity. With all submission I would suggest that the fear of being knocked down on the spot, and having his beauty spoiled, is likely to be much more persuasive to a man who can offend in this manner. But will you kindly look across the water either w^ay, and tell me if the siilj custom, kept up both in Europe and America, has there the effect of awing men into even decent politeness ? In the latter country, especially, w^here a ‘^difficulty” almost always ends fatally, it is by no means uncommon for a complete stranger to put his hands into his pockets, cock his eye at you, and inform you by way of introduction, “Wall, I guess you’re a tarnation loggerhead, yeeou aire,” proceeding to pass comments on your nationality, your personal appearance, and your general mental ca- pacities, according to the “guess,” “reckoning,” or “<5al- cyoo-lation” of the speaker. If you w^ere to meet these with astonishment, indignation, anger, or, in short, in any way but by the retort personal and direct of the tu quoque description, you would be looked on as a disagreeable, testy, and pugnacious Britisher, and the rest of the com pany would probably request you to “ shut up.” In fad so universal is insolence in America, that even in what is where called good society — the “ up town” sets— -you are liable to be assailed with the grossest epithets, and it is only after being bespattered with essence of Billingsgate that you would be allowed to remark, “ Wall, that’s some, tjiat is ; I reckon my dander’s ris a bit after that.” Of course these remarks do not apply to New York, which m civilisation, is as far in advance of the States generally as London is of the Hebrides. It is no longer necessary, therefore, to give the etiouetti of duelling, which may be gathered, as a curiosity, fix)xi FIELD SPORTS. 21 £ ftimost. every novel written twenty years a^o. It would be as sensible to give the etiquette of murder. As to ita immorality^ it has been discussed again and again, and the custom has been finally condemned on that score. Of course to knock a man down is never good manLoriSj bu t there is a way of doing it gracefully, and one ruk should be observed, viz., whether you can command your temper or not, never show it, except by the blow. Never assail an offender with words, nor when you strike him, use such expressions as, ‘^Take that,” &c. There are cases in society when it is quite incumbent on you to knock an offender dowm, if you whether you feel an- gry or not, so that, if to do so is not precisely good man uers, to omit it is sometimes very bad manners ; and to box, and that well, is therefore an important accomplish- ment, particularly for little men. It is decidedly a relief to quit that subject, and I am not ambitious of emulating those gentlemen of the sword of Queen Elizabeth’s day, w^ho, for a small gratuity, would decide for you whether your honor was hurt or not — a question they usually contrived to answer in the negative to the great relief and satisfaction of the applicant. Our field sports have been so often and justly laudea that I shall not now speak of them in a constitutional point of view, but their effect on society is a matter of no small interest, and it is extremely agreeable to Englishmen to be reminded of points of their superiority over their neigh bors. I am inclined to think that our love of sports, if it spoils the London season, and makes dancing a tormont, does none the less assist our women to be virtuous, and our men to be noble. The effect of a want of good, healthy out-door amusements is to make of a man either a carpet 216 ACCOMPLISHMENTS. knii^bt, or a hanger about cafes. The life of cities tends to demoralize, and anything which takes a man away from a town for a time has its value. Thus hunting shooting, riding, driving, cricket, and sc forth, are as im {A^rtint elements of social life as dancing and music, aivj to be ignorant of their art will not only exclude one from much charming society we might sometimes enjoy, but will often cause us to put others to great inconvenience, if it does not equally annoy ourselves. Often in the country there is no other conveyance but a horse and sad- dle to be had. What are we to do if we cannot ride Still oftener the whole arrangement of some party of pleasure depends on our being able to leave the coachmrm behind, and it is to us, the only gentleman perhaps, that the ladies apply to take his place. How, then, if we cannot handle a whip ? Then, too, in the country, riding and driving are such common accomplishments, that besides the inconvenience, our ignorance of them subjects us even to ridicule. What more laughable than a man jolted up and down on his horse, till his hat slips to the back of his head, his hair flies about, his trousers creep up co his knees, and his face expresses either pitiable misery^ or lu- dicrous discomfort ? On the other hand, to hunt, shoot, handle a bat, or a billiard-cue, thougli by no mes-ns ex- pected of every man, are often the only amusemerts ic the country, and we may, if ignorant of them, not only be shut out from them ourselves, but even oblige our nos to give them up on our account. In fact the more of Kuch accomplishments you know, the less tedious will yaui life be to yuurself and your company to others, and though wit and conversation are worth all the amusements wfiich a toy-maker could dream of, yea must not forget iha* RIDINii. 2i? world is mainly peopled with fools, and that to appreciate your sallies, and join in your mirth, requires an amoun’i of sense which is not to be found in every country bump kin, Should the weird sisters, in a fit of bad tempci. Bend you by express to sojourn for a month with a gen tleman faimer or small hunting squire, what can you dc but shoot, ride, or drive with him? Will your heavy- headed host, who dreams of patridges, and vacillates be- tween long-horns and turnips in his waking thoughts, care for your choice club-gossip, understand your fine-edged wit, or thank you for your political news and Parliamen- tary prospects ? No, no ; you must relate, slowly and surely, how on such a day in such a year you “ met” at such a village, di-^w ^ such a cover, threw off in such a direction, cast* at such a spot, ran for so many min- utes, and made so many wonderful, probably also apocry- phal, leaps during that period. Relate how many birds you bagged, what score you made at any insignificant cricket-match, and how you swam from Barnes to Brent- ford against tide and stream. Then, indeed, is your man your friend, and he will privately impart to his wife that evening that he thinks you ‘‘ an amazingly fine fellow,” which would have sounded very like horrid bore,” if you had not been able to come out on these subjects. 1 have no intention to trespass on Mr. Rarey’s prov- mce, and I am further of opinion that equitation cannot, like grammar, be learned from a book, but there are a few useful hints about the etiquette of riding, which may well be introduced here. The first thing, then, is to dress suitably. Boots and cords were once the sine qua non of a horseman, but tnough they are very comforta- ble, and may still be worn in the country, when you aw 10 218 ACCOMPLISHMENTS. not going to ride with ladies, they nave been intci dieted in town, and would mark you out as a riding-master. On the other hand, you must avoid too fine a dress^ such as patent leather boots, and should wear a cut-away in pre feience to a frock-coat. Above all, let the stick or whii be simple, with no gold head, no flummery about it. f oi the country, you may have what is commonly called a “crop,’’ with a bone handle at the end; for town you may take either an ordinary walking-stick, or a gentle- man’s riding-whip, mounted simply with silver. In all other respects, your dress should be that in which you walk. The lady’s dress has been described in the last chapter A man who rides without ladies requires no groom to follow him, and a young man particularly should never take one, even though he intends to make calls. A lady, on the other band, should never ride alone, except in quiet parts of the country. In London she would be taken for a demoiselle dii cirque^ and in the country she would be liable to accidents, with no one to assist her. A young lady should not ride out without a gentleman, ai well as a groom, and, under most circumstances, mamma would decidedly object to that gentleman being young and single, unless he were a very intimate friend. Having thus arranged your dress and your party, you go down and mount — no, you do not mount yourself, but m&mt the ladies. There never was so lame a legend as that of a certain lady of Coventry, whom Tennyson and Thomas the Inquisitive have rendered celebrated. 01 course it is very pretty, and we who honor women as we should (though we burnt la Piicelle d' Or'U arts'), and have had a range of noble ones from Boadicea to Florence MOUNTING AND THE SEAT. 219 Nightingale, can well believe that Godiva was as modest as she was merciful ; but have we ever asked — who as- sisted her ? Perhaps you will tell me that till a very recent period, no stable-yard was without a flight cf three Etorie-steps standing by themselves, and that women al ^ays mounted from these. I know it, and have seer hundreds of them in the western counties ; but before 1 admit your argument, you must show me that these steps existed in the days of the fair equestrian who wore no garb but modesty ; you must prove that those people are ivrong who describe the ladies of the olden time as mount- ing from the shoulder of a serving-man or a gallant. However this may be, neither steps nor shoulders are «o good as a steady hand, which is the means patronized by modern horsewomen. The lady having gathered up her skirt, and holding it in her left hand, must place her- self as close as possible to the horse, with her face towards the animaks head, and her right hand on the pummel. The gentleman, whose part and privilege it is to assist her, having first obtained her consent to do so, then places himself at the horse's shoulder with his face towards the lady, and, stooping a little, places his right hand horizon- tally at a convenient elevation from the ground. On iLo palm of this hand the damsel sots her sv/eet little bft foot, and it is then the gentleman’s duty to lift it with a gentle motion as she herself springs upwards. But be- ware that you do not jerk it up too suddenly, lest i he lose her balance and be thrown back over the saddle. I have seen a lady nearly killed by awkward mounting. A man should be able to mount on either side of ihe horse, and ladies who ride much and wish*to keep their figures straight, change the side from time to time. Whei^ 220 ACCOMPLISHMENTS. the lady is in the saddle you should offer to put her foot in the stirrup and to pull down the skirt, and you theu gi ve her the reins, and proceed to mount yourself. Mr. Rarey teaches us to do so without stirrups, and a man who would be graceful should practise this on either sid*'. A. horse, like most other animals, has two sides. The oi-e which is to our left when we are in the saddle is called the ?iear, the other the off side, and it is on the formei that we generally mount. We place our left foot in the stirrup, our left hand on the saddle, and swing ourselves up, throwing the right leg over the creature’s back. Noth- ing is more graceless than to see a man climb with both hands into his seat. The seat itself is one of those things which must bo learned by practice. Tli^ chief rules are : sit upright, but not stiffly, and well back in the saddle ; stick the knees into the sides thereof, and keep the feet parallel to the horse’s body, the toes turned in rather than out. The foot should be about half-way in the stirrup, which in rough-riding may be allowed to slip down to the hollow of the foot. The greatest obstacle to good riding is want of confidence, and this car scarcely be acquired, except by beginning at an early age. If you cannot ride de- cently, you had better not attempt it in company, if you would not risk the fate of Geordie Campbell, — “ Saddled, and bridled, and booted rode he, Hame cam his gude steed, but never earn he ” rhe rule of the road need not be observed in riding as in Jriving, but you should always ride to the right of the lady who is with you, lest you risk crushing her feet Vour own, of course, you must not care about. When you meet people whom you know on horseback, you have HUNTING. 221 HD right to turn ^and join them, unless invited to do bo I f you overtake them, on the other hand, you have a right to ride with them ; but if you are not wanted, you will be careful about exercising the privilege. About hunting I shall say little, because I know little fvhich is a confession you will find it the wdsest plan t make in the country. I shall only advise you not to hunt unless jou have a good seat and a good horse, and never accept the loan of a friend’s horse, and still less an enemy’s, unless you can ride very Tvell. A man may forgive you for breaking his daughter’s heart, but never for breaking his hunter’s neck. Another point is always to be quiet at a meet, and never join a small meet unless you know some one in the field. The first essential for hunting is pluck ; the second, skill ; the third, a good horse. Avoid talking of 3"Our achievements, enthusiastic shouting when you break cover, and riding over the hounds. Whatever you do, do not injure one of those precious animals. There is a grace in riding which no jockey, no profes- sional huntsman ever acquires. When once you have confidence, ease may soon follow ; but without much prac- tice, you will always be more or less stiff* in your seat. A lady should be careful to sit straight in the middle of the saddle, with her faCe full towards the horse’s head. Whatever the motion of the animal, you should attempt wO cling as closely as possible to the saddle. The Aus* hrian officers pride themselves on being able to trot for 2 mile mth a glass of wine in one hand, and not spill a drop of it. In England we rise in trotting, as a .relief to ourselves and the horse, but this is never done in anj othei country. The first rule is to rise, not from th^ 222 ACCOMPLISHjMENTS. stiriLp, but from the knees; the secona, to rise as litth 'dB possible The man who •• shows daylignt’’ between himself ani his saddle is a bad rider. A lady sliould rise even less than a man, and neither of them should lean aver the horse’s neck, nor hold the reins in both hands • But I am not a riding-master, and J am trespassing OB his ground. Driving, again, is an accomplishment of butcher’s boys and hansom cabmen as much as of gentlemen,” but there is a vast difference in the stj^le. One rule may be given at once, and we may unhesitatingly affirm that Jehu the son of Nimshi was no gentleman,” when we remind you that to drive furiously, as well as to ride furiously, is not only forbidden by law, but a low, cruel, ungentleman- like habit. “ The beggar mounted rides his horse to death.” If you drive too fast, I am tempted to ask whether the an imal is your own, and whether you know its value. I may aiid, that if wise you will never drive other people’s horses unless asked to do so. The rule of the road in England is a curious instance of our national distinctiveness. In every other country that I know, the law is simple enough : always keep to the right side of the road. In this land, on the contrary, you must take the left when you meet, and the right when you pass. The custom, I believe orig inated in that of shaking hands with every one you met which reminds me of a pretty one they once had, and evci now retain in some parts of France, that a man arifl lady riding hand in hand tog’Other. I have even ridden arm in arm with a fair-haired b'.ue-eyed Norman girl, and if I did not snatch a kiss there and then it was not fo) Dix. VING. fear of losing my balance. Well, our grandmothers used to ride on one horse with our grandflithers, tucking their finger:- into the belts which the latter wore, and seated on the pillion much more comfortably than their grand daughters on the pummel ; but what horses they mu^it i .11 3 had in those days ! But to return to driving. It is a simple art, requiring care rather than aught else, unless it be a knowledge of the dispositions of the horse or horses you undertake to drii e. One horse or a pair can give but little embarrass- ment, and you will seldom be called upon to drive tandem, unicorn, or four in hand. But, perhaps, more accidents occur in turning corners than in anything else, and I should not do my duty, if I did not advise you, when the corner is on your right hand, to give it a wide berth ; when on your left, to turn it gently and as slowly as possible. The exercises which come rather under the head of games, such as cricket, rackets, tennis, bowls, skittles, and a dozen others, are by no means compulsory on any man to knovf, and I shall therefore leave their description to the many and various guide-books destined to introduce the young athlete to British Olympics. But I may r<^- mark that, while these games are purely republican in spirit, and my lord, if clumsy, ranks lower for the time than the skilful villager, it is no way diflBcult to distinguish the well-bred man, whether a good player or not. Fur while he yields entirely to the excitement of the game, he will refuse to join in the silly familiarities to which it ^metimes leads. You will never hear him banter anothei jii his bad play, nor. as too common in some games, will hf? vent oaths and strong epithets on some one who baa made a gross error. When he does so himself, he will 224 ACCOMPLISHMENTS. confess himself wrong, and not clamorously defend him’ self; and, if he has to ask another player for anything he will call to him in an affable not an impatient com mantling tone, and use some such phrase as : may I trouble you for that ball, sir?’’ not ‘‘Ball, you there,” as one sometimes hears it. In short, he will retain, under the excitement of the game^ the same good bearing which ho displays in society. Similar observations apply to all kinds of out-dooi amusements, such as shooting, boating, and so forth, A gentleman will never attempt to monopolize the sport, and however superior in skill to his companions, will not parade bis superiority, still less boast of it, but rather, that the others may not feel their inferiority, he will keep considera- bly within his powers. If a guest or a stranger be of the party, the best place and the best sport must be offered to him, even though he may be a poor shot, a bad oar, and so on ; but, at the same time, if a guest knows his inferiority in this respect, he will, for more reasons than one, prefer in inferior position. So, too, when a certain amount of exertion is required, as in boating, a well-bred man will offer to take the greater share, and will never shirk his work. In short, the v»^hole rule of good manners on such occasions is not to be selfish, and the most amiable man will therefore be the best bred. Talking of boating reminds one of old college days, and the healthy happiness that exercise used to bring one. It is certainly desirable that a “ compleat gentleman*’ sho’ild be able to handle an oar as well as a gun, both that when he has the opportunity he may get health, and that he may be able to take j'art in the charming excursions which are made by water. In fact a man ought to be able to turn SPORTS. 221 hia hand to almost everything, and, what ]S m /re, should do himself whatever he can. It is a false and vulgar prida which prevents a man from stoopin*g to cord his own 1)05\ carrying his own bag, weeding his own g.arden, cuttii^g hh own hedges (for he must take care not to cut anjbodv 3lse\s), shutting his own shutters, putting coal on his owij fire, or what not. To ring up a servant for these things, shows either laziness or a vulgar attempt at gi^mdeur. Indeed, for my part, nothing seems to me so comfortless as the constant entrance of servants ; it interrupts conver- sation, and destroys the feeling of ease and privacy. I once met, at the house of a lady friend, the son of a man who had begun life as a grocer, made his fortune by a sue cessful speculation, and settled down in the full conviction that he was therefore a “gentleman.’’ My friend had requested the young man to put some coal on the fire, and as he was rather clumsy about it, he excused himself in the following speech : “ You see, aw — Mrs. B — , that I am — aw — really not accustomed to do this kind of thing, don’t you see? Now at home, you see, the governor, when he wants coals, rings the bell, and the butler cornea in; ‘Coal,’ says the old gentleman, and the butler dis- appears to tell — aw — the upper-footman, who thinks, it be- neath his dignity, and therefore tells — aw — the under footman, who comes up and puts it on.” I thought of the Anglo-Indians, who, in this country, have often had no more servants than a cook a maid, and a “buttons,’ and bad to do everything for themselves, but wdio once m India, find it impossible to tie their own shoe-strings, and are obliged to keep a twenty-oneth or even liirty -onetl] servant for equally trivial offices. But if a certain amount of skill in out-door amusements 10 * 226 ACOOMPr.ISIIMENTS. IS essential to a man who wishes to be agreeable, how uuch more so in those in-door amusements, which are the very objects for which people commonly assemble, and are there- fore the continual accompaniments of society ? The ail of talking is, of course, the first of such accomplishments and as it is a subject of the highest importance and verj large range, it has been taken up in the preliminary chap- ter But besides conversation, and sometimes as an aid to it, parties and balls are given for the purposes of dancing, music, games (especially cards), and eating and drinking. Of the etiquette of these parties I shall speak elsewhere I now content myself with a few hints on the accomplivsh- ments themselves which are displayed in them. Thank you — aw — I do not dance,’’ is now a very common reply from a well-dressed handsome man, who i^ leaning against the side of the door, to the anxious, heated hostess, who feels it incumbent on her to find a partner for poor Miss Wallflower. I say the reply is not only common, but even regarded as rather a fine one to make. In short, men of the present day don’t, won’t, or can’t dance ; and you can’t make them do it, except by threat- ening to give them no supper. I really cannot discover the reason for this aversion to an innocent amusement, for the apparent purpose of enjoying wdiich tliey have spent an hour and a half on their toilet, and half a-crown on a hansom cabman. There is something, indeed, in the heat of a London ball-room in the middle of July, there is a grout deal in the ridiculous smallness of the closets into f\hich the ball-giver crowds two hundred people with cruel indifference only equalled by that of the black-hole of Calcutta, expecting them to enjoy themselves, wher the hulies’ dresses are crushed and torn, and the gentle^ 1 DON'T DANOE.’^ 21^7 meii. under tlie despotism of theirs, are melting awaj at most as rapidly as the ices with which an occasional waiter has the heartlessness to insult them. Then, again, it is i 2reat nuisance to be introduced to a succession of plain, iiiiite resting young women, of whose tastes, mode of life, io. you have not the slightest conception : who may look gay yet have never a thought beyond the curate and the parish, or appear to be serious, while they understand nothing but the opera and Lady So-and-so’s ball — in fact, to be in perpetual risk of either shocking their prejudices, 01 plaguing them with subjects in which they can have no possible interest ; to take your chance whether they can dance at all, and to know that when you have lighted on a real charmer, perhaps the beauty of the room, she is only lent to you for that one dance, and when that is ovt;r, and you have salaamed away again, you and she must re- main to one another as if you bad never met ; to feel, in short, that you must destroy either your present comfort or future happiness, is certainly sufficiently trying to keep a man close to the side-posts of the doorway. But these are reasons which might keep him altogether from a ball- room, and if he has these and other objections to dancing, be certainly cannot be justified in coming to a place set apart tor that sole purpose. But I suspect that there are other reasons, and that in most cases the individual can dance and does dance at times, but has now a vulgar desire to be distinguished from the rest of his sex present, and to appear indifferent to the pleasures of the evening. If this be his laudable desire, however, he might at least be consistent, and con- tinue to cling to his door-post, like St. Sebastian to hif tree, and reply thi'oughout the evening : Thank you, 228 ACCOM PLISHMENTS. don’t take refreshments Thank you. I can’t eat sup* per Thank you, I don’t talk Thank you, I don’t drink champagne;” — for if a London ball-room be purga^ tory, what a demoniacal conflict does a London supper room present ; if young ladies be bad for the heart, chartj pagne is worse for the head. No, it is the will, not the power to dance which is want* ing, and to refuse to do so, unless for a really good reason, is not the part of a well-bred man. To mar the pleasure of others is obviously bad manners, and though at the door-post you may not be in the way, you may be certain that there are some young ladies longing to dance, and expecting to be asked, and that the hostess is vexed and annoyed by seeing them fixed, like pictures, to the wall. It is therefore the duty of every man who has no scruples about dancing, and purposes to appear at balls, to learn how to dance. In the present day the art is much simplified, and if you can walk through a quadrille, and perform a polka, waltz, or galop, you may often dance a whole evening through. Of course, if you can add to these the Lancers, Schottische, and Polka-Mazurka, you will have more va- riety, and can be more generally agreeable. But if your master or mistress (a man learns better from the former) has stuffed into your head some of the three hundred lances which he tells you exist, the best thing you can lo is tc forget them again Whether right or wrong the number of usual dances is limited, and unusual ones should be very sparingly introduced into a ball, for as few people know them, tlieir dancing, on the one hand, becomes a mere display, and, on the other, interrupts the enjoy ment of the majority. THE QUAEKILLE. 22 ? The quadrille is proncainced to be essentially a aor.v'er saticna] dance, but inasmuch as the figures are perpetuallj calling you away from your partner, the first necessity for dancing a quadrille is to be supplied with a fund of small talk, in which you can go from subject to subject like a bee from flow m to flower. The next point is to carry yourself uprightly. Time was when — as in the days of the mcimet de la coiir — the carriage constituted the dance. This is still the case with the quadrille, in which even if ignorant of the figures, you may acquit yourself well by a calm graceful carriage. After all, the most important figure is the smile^ and the feet may be left to their fate, if we know what to do with our hands * of which I may observe that they should never be pocketed The smile is essential. A dance is supposed to amuse, and nothing is more out of place in it than a gloomy scowl, unless it be an ill-tempered frown. The gaiety of a dance is more essential than the accuracy of its figures, and if you feel none yourself, you may at least look pleased by that of those around you. A defiant manner is equally obnoxious. An acquaintance of mine always gives me the impression, when* he advances in l^ete, that he is about to box the lady who comes to meet him. But the most objectionable of all is the supercilious manner. Dear me, if you really think you do your partner an hon- in dancing with her, you should at least remember that your condescension is annulled by the manner in whief you treat her. A lady — beautiful word ! -is a delicate creature, one who should be reverenced and delicately treated. It is therefore unpardonable to rush about in a quadrille, tc catch hold of the lady’s hand as if it were a door-handle, 230 ACCOMPLISHMENTS. or to drag her furiously across the room, as if you 'i^eris Bluebeard and she Fatima, with the mysteiious closet op- posite to you. This brusque violent style of dancing m unfortunately common, but immediately stamps a man Though I would not have you wear a perpetual simpeu you should certainly smile when you take a lady’s hand and the old custom of bowing in doing so, is one that wc may regret ; for does she not confer an honor on us by t^ e action ? To squeeze it, on the other hand, is a gross familiarity, for which you would deserve to be kicked out of the room. Steps/* as the chasser of the quadrille is called, be- long to a past age, and even ladies are now content to walk through a quadrille. To be graceful, however, a lady should hold her skirt out a little. In France this is done with one hand, which I am inclined to think is more graceful than holding it with both. It is, however, neces- sary to keep time with the music, the great object being the general harmony. To preserve this, it is also advisa- ble, where the quadrille, as is now generally the case, is danced by two long lines of couples down the room, that in Vete^ and other figures, in which a gentleman and lady advance alone to meet one another, none but gentlemen should a Vance from the one side, and therefore none but ladies fron the other. Dancing masters find it convenient to introduce new figures, and the fashion of La Trenise and the Grand Roude is repeatedly changing. It is wise to know tha last mode, but not to insist on dancing it. A quad rills cannot go on evenly if any confusion arises from the igniv- tance, obstinacy, or inattention of any one of the lancers it is therefore useful to know every way in which a figuri THE VALUE OF QUADRILLES. may be danced, and to take your cue from the othirs. It s amusing, however, to find how even such a trille as a choice of figures in a quadrille can help to mark castO;, and give a handle for supercilious sneers. Jones, ths other day, was protesting that the Browns were vulgar. ‘‘Why so? they are w^ell bred.’’ ‘‘Yes, so they areJ' ‘‘They are well-informed.” “Certainly.” “They ait polite, speak good English, dress quietly and well, are graceful and even elegant.” “ I grant you all that.’ “ Then what fault can you find with them.” “ My deal fellow, they are people who gallop round in the last figun of a quadrille,” he replied triumphantly. But to a cer- tain extent Jones is right. Where a choice is given, the man of taste will always select for a quadrille (as it is a conversational dance) the quieter mode of performing a figure, and so the Browns, if perfect in other respects, at least were wanting in taste. There is one alteration latelj^ introduced from France, which I sincerely trust will be universally accepted. The farce of that degrading little performance called “ setting” — where you dance be- fore your partner somewhat like Man Friday before Robinson Crusoe, and then as if your feelings were over- come, seize her hands and whirl her round — has been finally abolished by a decree of Fashion, and thus more opportunity is given for conversation, and in a crowded room you have no occasion to crush yourself and partner between the couples on each side of you. I dc not attempt to deny that the quadrille, as noi? walked^ is ridiculous; the figures, which might be giacc- fill if performed in a lively manner, have entirely lost their spirit, and are become a burlesque of dancing ; but, at the same time, it is a most valuable dance. Old and 282 ACCOMPLISHMEN It youligj stout and thin, good dancers and bad, lazy a no active, stupid and clever, married and single, can all join in it, and have not only an excuse and oppoitunity for iHc-u-tHe conversation, Avhich is decidedly the easiest, **ut find encouragement in the music, and in some cases >:nT3nient breaks in the necessity of dancing. A per i»jii of few ideas has time to collect them Avhile the part ner is performing, and one of many can bring them cut with double effect. Lastly, if you wish to be polite oi friendly to an acquaintance Avho dances atrociously, you can select a quadrille for him or her, as the case may bo Intense patriotism still induces some people to afiirm that the English country-dance is far preferable to this impor- tation from France. These good creatures should inquire a little further. I think they Avould find that the country- dance {contre-danse) came from the same source ai a somewhat earlier date. But, however this may be, a dance which tears me so completely aAvay from the part- ner I have selected, ought in nine cases out of ten to bo hateful to me. Very different in object and principle are the so-called round dances, and there are great limitations as to tliose who should join in them. Here the intention is to enjoy a peculiar physical movement under peculiar conditions, and the conversation during the intervals of rest is only u secondary object. These dances demand activity and lightness^ and should therefore be, as a rule, confined to the young. An cld man sacrifices all his dignity in a polka, and an old Avoman :s ridiculous in a waltz. Cor- pulency too, is generally a great impediment, though some stout people prove to be the lightest dancers. The morality of round dances scarcely comes within THE WALTZ. 28 a province They certainly can be made verj^ indelicate, so can any dance, and the French cancan proves that the (|[uadrille is no safer in this respect than the waltz. But it is a gross insult to our daughters and sisters to suppose iJiem capabh) of any but the most innocent and purest eiV' ^oyment in the dance, while of our young men I will say that to the pure all things are pure. Those who see harm in it are those in whose mind evil thoughts must have arisen. Honi soit qni mal y pense. Those who rail against dancing are perhaps not aware that tliey do but follow in the steps of the Romish Church. In many parts of the Continent, bishops who have never danced in their lives, and perhaps never even seen a dance, have laid a ban of excommunication on waltzing. A story was me told in Normandy of the worthy Bishop of Bayeux, one of this number. A priest of his diocese petitioned him to put down round dances. I know nothing about them,’’ replied the prelate, I hav^e never even seen a waltz.” Upon this the younger ecclesiastic attempted to explain what it was and wherein the danger lay, but the Bishop could not see it. Will IVIonseigneur permit me to show him ?” asked the priest. Certainly. My chap- lain here appears to understand the subject ; let me see you two waltz.” How the reverend gentleman came to know so much about it does not appear, but they certainly danced a polka, a gallop, and a troistemps waltz. All these seem harmless enough.” Oh ! but Monseigneur has not seen the worst ;” and thereupon the two gentle- men proceeded to flounder through a valse d deux-tempa. They must have murdered it terribly, for they were not half round the room when his Lordship cried out. Enough, enough, that is atrocious, and deserves excam J8i A CCOM PLIS II M E .-N TS. rniuiiei.tioii.’' Accordingly this waltz was forbilJen while the other dances were allowed. I was at a public ball at. Caen soon after this occurrence, and was amused to find tlie ois-teinps danced with a peculiar shuffle, by way cf c nnpromise between conscience and pleasure. There are people in this country whose logic is as goal .12 that of the Bishop of Bayeux, but I confess my ina- bility to understand it. If there is impropriety in round dances, there is the same in all. But to the waltz, which poets have praised and preachers denounced. The French, with all their love of dancing, waltz atrociously, the Eng- lish but little better ; the Germans and llussians alone understand it. I could rave through three pages about the innocent enjoyment of a good waltz, its grace and beauty, but I will be practical instead, and giv<^ you a few hints on the subject. The position is the most important point The lady %nd gentleman before starting should stand exactly oppo- site to one another, quite upright, and hot, as is so com- mon in England, painfully close to one another. If the man’s hand be placed wfflere 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 towards her left shoulder, and her partner’s somewhat less towards liis right, in order to preserve the proper balance. Noth- ^ 5 ng can be more atrocious than to see a lady lay her head Dfi her partner’s shoulder ; but, on the other hand, she wiL not dance well, if she turns it in the opposite direc- tion. The lady again should throw her head and shouB iera a little back, and the man lean a very little forward The position having been gained, the stef is the next THE WALTZ. 23 /^ Question. In Germany the rapidity of the waltz is verj great, but it is rendered elegant by slackening the pace every now and then, and thus giving a crescendo and decre. traction to be introduced in social gatherings. Perhaps the most useful accomplishment to one’s self is a knowledge of languages. Independent of the great 6uperiority it gives you in travel, and the wide field of literature to which it introduces you, you are liable in 246 ACCOMPLISHMENTS. really gocd society, especially in high London circles, u meet with foreigners having a very slight acquaintance with English. From them you may derive a vast amount Df information, turn the slow current of your associations ^and even be amused more than by any conversation wi-i your own countrymen. The most patriotic John Bui now admits that foreigners understand better than our- selves the art of conversation, and though we may accuse them of frivolity among themselves, we must remembei that in English society their first desire is to make them- selves really appreciated. As a rule, too, they are more interested than we are in current history, and whatever their prejudices or their ignorance, you will rarely meet with a Frenchman, Italian, or German, from whom you may not gather much curious information which will serve you elsewhere. An untravelled man is always at som^, disadvantage in good English society, where almost every one but himself will have crossed the channel, but if he has a good knowledge of continental language and litera- ture, this disadvantage is materially diminished. An accomplishment much overlooked as an accomplish- ment, but one indispensable to good society, is to be able to talk on current literature and passing affairs. Every gentleman in the present day should subscribe to a circu- lating library, and take in a London newspaper. Besides taking in the latter, he should read it with judgment. He should be able to form and give an opinion independent of party prejudice on any question of common interest Whatever his views, he should be able as a man of sense and in order to be agreeable, to look on them independent- ly, to support them reasonably, or abanion them grace* fully. Politics, and even religion, can, I rejoice to CARVING. 247 be discussed in the present day without inflammatiDri and acerbity, and, though the latter subject is better avoided in mixed circles, a thorough gentleman will be able to bow to another’s opinion, and to put forward his own delicately mid sensibly. There is one more accomplishment which is, fortunately, 6ist falling into disuse The days are done when an awkward servant could anoint your head and best coat with h whole dishful of gravy, or an unskilled gentleman might be forced to bow to the lady on his right, with : ‘‘Madam, ril trouble you for that goose in your lap.” Bad carv- ing used to spoil three good things on the part of the carver, good joints, good temper, and a good digestion. Even good carving marred conversation, and to short men it was a positive infliction, for I need scarcely say, that under no circumstances whatever could a man be permitted to stand up to carve* But because the carving of joints game, &c., at a side table, is a foreign custom lately intro- duced into this country, there are people still found patri otic enough to prefer carving at the dinner- table. “ I lik< the good old English custom,” says one; “I like to sei a host dispensing his hospitality himself;” and in. the country, where some hosts prefer meat to manners, it is still retained. But I may ask whether hospitality con- sists more in severing the wings from a chicken’s body, than in setting all your guests at their ease, and at once leading ofi* the conversation. Does it demand a distribu lion of good morsels rather than of good will ? The ad rocates of the “ good old custom”' may be reminded again, that in former days it was the hostess.^ not the host, who dispensed the viands, her husband being occupied with a distribution of the wine, which is the reason why the ladj 248 ACC‘>MP]ilSHMENTS. Bat at the head of the table ; but what is the v Jue of an old custom universally disregarded, since no longer the hostess, but the guest who has the misfortune to take he? in to dinner, is called upon to play the part of butcher ? Can it be any more satisfactory to me to have my mutton sliced by a guest than by the butler in my host’s service? Another argument maliciously advanced, is contained in the sneer : No, no, thank you, I like to see my din- ner, and know what I am eating.” But what a slur upon the hospitality of your host, to suppose he would give you « cat for a hare, or a puppy for a rabbit ! We might as well insist that he should sup our port before we drink it^ test there should be poison in the cup — a custom, by the way^ still retained in Bavaria where the kellnerinn^ or waitress, who brings you your quart of beer, invariably puts it to her mouth before she hands it to you. But there , is a reason for that, since many a soldier in the Thirty fears’ War was poisoned at a beer-garden. Carving is, however, still common at small parties and family dinners, and it will be a happy time when it is abandoned even there. I have seen many an unfortunate young man put to confusion when deputed to carve, by the anxious looks of the host or hostess, and have even heard such atrociously rude remarks as, ‘‘Thomas, bring that fowl to me; Mr. Jones seems not to understand it;” nay, I have seen people lose their temper so completely at having their pet dishes hacked by the unskilful, as to pro iuce an awkward silence through the whole company Then too, in family circles, more quarrels are to be traced to a blunt knife or a diflScult dish, than even to milliners’ bills, and I stayed for a short time in one house, whose master at last got into a habit of losing his temper ovei HINTS ON CARVING. 24t^ tiie joint, which he carved very ill at all times, and whero^ in consequence, dinner was more dreaded than the pillory. Indeed, a.s great results may often be traced to the mogt trifling causes, I am convinced that half the domestic tyranny of the British paterfamilias, and much of tbs bickering and irritation which deprive home of its charms, may be traced to no greater cause than the cutting up of a joint. The larger the family the greater the misery of the carver, who has scarcely helped them all round, before the first receiver has done and is ready for a second help- ing. When at last the hungry father or elder brother can secure a mouthful, he must hurry over it, at the risk of lyspepsia, in order not to keep the others waiting. But we are a nation of conservatives, and a custom which lescended from the days when a knight would stick hia dagger into a leg of mutton, which he held by the knuckle- bone (hence the frill of white paper still stuck round it. to slop in the gravy and look disgusting before the joint ii removed), and carve him a good thick slice Avithout more ceremony, will not soon be got rid of, however great a nuisance. It is therefore necessary, if you would avoid irritation, black looks, and even rude speeches, to know h m to carve at a friend’s table, whatever you may do at y.ur own. When thus situated, the following hints will be found risefuL HINTS ON CARVING AND HELPING. 1 . Sfoup is helped with a ladle. Take care that lervant holds the plate close to the tureen, and distribute &ne ladleful to each person. 2. Pis/i is cut with a large flat silver kni^e or fish^ iliee, never with a common one. Of small fish, you send *11 260 ACCOMPLISHMENTS. one to each person. All the larger flat fish, such as tur* hot, John Dorey, brills, &c., must be first cut from head to tail down the middle, and then in portions from thiscu’ to the fin, which being considered the best part, is helped with the rest. Fried soles, on the other hand, are iim} i cut across, dividing the bone. The shoulder is the boa parv, and should be first helped. Salmon, being laid on the side, is cut down the middle of the upper side, and then across from the back to the belly. A boiled mackerel serves for four people. The fish-knife is passed from tail to head under the upper side, which is then divided into two Cod is always crossways, and a small piece of the sound sent with each helping. 3. Joints are helped with a steel fork, of which, if you value your fingers, you will take care that the guard is raised, and a carving knife, which for the sake of your neighbor’s teeth, if you do not care for your own, you will never yourself sharpen. Let us premise that the butcher and cook must assist the carver, and that an ill- cut or ill-jointed joint augments terribly the torture of the dispenser. It must also be premised that there ar« more w^ays than one of cutting the same joint, that some- times one, sometimes another is preferred, and that one way will often be the more economical, another the more elegant. Happy age when the butler shall have the re- sponsibility of pleasing both the master and mistress of the house, who invariably differ when there is an alter- native ! The roast heef of Old England, on which our glory is said to fatten and our pluck to thrive, appears on well • kept tables in two forms only. The sirloin has an upper and under cut, about which tastes differ. It is therefore HINTS ON CARVING. 251 ftsuai to begin with the upper or thicker side. The joint muttt lie with its chine bone towards the left, and its flaj tc the right of the carver. It must be held steady hi inserting the fork near the flat-bone. (It may here be re marked, that in all carving the fork should never be left Sticking in the meat, but withdrawn with the knife ; not should it evei be stuck in perpendicularly and grasped with the whole hand.) One long deep cut must then be made across the joint close to the chine-bone. The out- side is next sliced off from the chine-bone to the flap, and you then proceed to cut the meat in very thin slices in the same direction. A slice of the fat on the flap must be given with each helping. If the under cut is asked for^ you must carefully turn the joint so as not to splash the gravy — another of the fearful responsibilities of carv- ing — and then cut the meat across in thick slices. A round of beef is easily carved till you come to the skew- ers, and then agony commences ; and what with the im- possibility of drawing them out with the hand, the diffi- culty of doing so with the fork, and the quivering looseness of the joint when the arrow is at last extracted from its wretched flesh, a round with a round of beef is a more trying combat, than successive rounds with the cook whd skewered, the butler who served, and the host who com- pelled you to carve it. However let us hope for the best; there is good in all, even skewers ; and let us, inserting 0ur fork firmly into the enemy’s side, cut his brown top iff with a horizontal slice of our long sharp steel the linger and sharper the better for this joint, and proceed to torture him by making a succession of very thin slices, of which one is enough for any guest, except an alderman Boiled be°.f is more favored at dining-houses in the 252 ACCOMPLISHME^S lb. City than at company dinners at the West En l. Th« side is cut in very thin slices, which should be as broad and as long as the joint itself, if you can cut them so. Mutton appears generally in three forms. The saddh^ is the best joint, and is best cut in very thin slices dost tc the back-bone ; or you may slice it horizontally froir the tail to the other end ; or again slanting from the back* bone towards the fat, so that each slice shall carry its own end of fat. A shoulder of mutton must lie with the knuckle towards your right, and the blade-bone towards your left. In the middle of the edge of the part farthesi from you place the fork, and there give one sharp dexte- rous cut from the edge to the bone. The meat then flies open, and you proceed to cut rather thick slices on each side of the opening till you can cut no more. You may then cut three or four slices from the centre-bone to the end, and if there are more mouths to be filled, of which your own, of course, will be one, you must turn the joint over and slice the under side. The same shoulder of mutton is a disgrace to a sheep, for do what you will, you can never get enough off it. Much more satisfactory is the animals leg. In the bosom of your own family, wh^jn funds are low and butcher’s bills high, the best plan is to begin at the knuckle, cutting across in thick slices, and 80 on to the top. But if your wife puts up with a knuckle slice, your guests will not, and in company you must therefore begin in the middle The knuckle should point towards your left. You then cut from the side farther from you towards yourself, thus opening the joint in the middle, and proceed to take thin slices on the right, which Bome people prefer, and thick slices towards the knuckle The little tuft of fat near the thick end is a delicacy, an< must be distributed as such. HINTS ON CAKVING, 25S The lamb, disti^irbed in its gambols, furnishes our ruth' less appetites with two quarters (a fore and a hind) , a saddle, which is carved like a saddle of its elder relative, mutton, and a loin which must be divided into chops. The fore quarter consists of a shoulder, a breast, and tl € ribs which are served without separation, and the carver has therefore the pleasure of turning butcher for the time. This he does by placing the knife under the shoulder, drawing it horizontally, and so removing the shoulder al- together. This limb is generally placed on a separate dish, and carved like a shoulder of mutton. You have then to cut off the breast, and finally separate the ribs. The hind quarter consists of a leg and a loin, the former being cut across, the latter lengthways. Veal gives us a head, breast, and fillet. If the first of these appears in its normal form, not having been boned and rolled, you must cut it down the centre in rather thin slices on each side. The meat round the eye, a deli- cacy, may be scooped out. A small piece of the palate and the accompanying sweetbread must be sent on each plate. A fillet of veal is simply cut in slices, which musi^ not be too thin ; and the stuffing in the centre should be helped with a spoon. In a breast of veal the ri1)s should bo first separated from the brisket, after which either or both may be sent round. Roast pork is not often seen on good tables When il appears it is as easy to carve as a leg of mutton, but the slices should be thicker and not so large. Two very suiall slices are enough for an epicure ; let those who like it eat more. The best part of roast pork is the crackling, if it has been roasted with buttered paper over it. Boiled pork like boiled mutton, is only to be toleratea for the 254 accomplishments. Bake of its proper accompaniments, but the taste for pease- pudding, unlike that for caper sauce, can only be acquired by a long residence in this country. Both these joijits are carved like a roasted leg of mutton. The waiter a: a hotels who, when a Hebrew gentleman ordered pork chops,’’ considerately and delicately returned with poach ed eggs, was a man of taste as well as of breeding, and knew that it takes much to make pork palatable. Not so, however, with ham and hacon^ which are meats to warm the cockles of the heart, even of a Pharisee of the Phari- sees, and while to enjoy the former one would always be rich, one could be content to be poor for the sake of the latter. Alas ! because bacon is a poor man’s luxury, the rich, or their vulgar cooks, will never admit it, or very rarely. It must be cut as thin as a lady’s vail, and in delicate long strips rather than slices. A ham may be cut in thred ways, by beginning either at the knuckle, which must be turned towards your left, and slicing in a slanting direction ; or at the thick end, which is then turned to your left ; or, in the commonest manner, like a leg of mutton, across the centre. In any case it must be cut in very thin, delicate slices, such as the waiters of now dafunct Vauxhall won their fame for, and such as, to this day, few people but the owner of a London cook- shop can achieve. One small slice is enough as an ac- companiment to a helping of fowl or veal. Last of the joints comes their best, the haunch of Fewi- To carve this the knuckle should be turned towards your right hand, and above it a rapid cross cut made. A cut lengthways from the other end to the cross cut, should divide the meat about the middle, and slices of moderate thickness aie then to be taken or. each side of the long HINTS ON CARVING. 255 cut ; those on the left are the best, having the most fat about them. You are now wishing that edible animals grew like pil lows, to be sliced up like roly-poly puddings, and would dispense for ever with the inconvenience of limbs, legs, rboulders, saddles, haunches, loins, sirloins, breasts, ribs, fore-quarters and hind-quarters. But you cannot have everything. If meat grew on trees it would not be worth eating ; it is the exercise of the animal which makes it tender and savory ; while, on the other hand, the best meat is generally t’" nearest to the bone. The only riddle which Sir Edward Lytton was ever guilty of per- petrating was this : Why is a cat’s taste better than a dog’s ? Because the dog’s is hon (bone), but the cat’s is mieux (mew).” With all deference to Sir Edward, 1 must give my opinion that the dog has the best taste of aill animals, which he displays in his preference for bones, well knowing that the meat nearest to them is always the most savory. However this may be, you have not done yet ; indeed, you have the worst to come, and there is fresh torture for the carver in — 4. Animals served whole. You may perhaps mastei a Rabbity because he may be treated like Damien, who was broken on the wheel, by removing the legs and shoul- ders with a sharp-pointed knife, and then breaking his back in three or four pieces by pressing the knife acroaa it and pushing the body up against it with the fork but when you come to that long, thin, dark, and scraggy ani- mal, which with its crisp delicate ears sticking up, and the large sockets where its eyes once were, looks lik« roasted bottle-imp, rather than roasted Hare, what art 266 ACCOMPLISHMENTS. you to do, unless the cook has been skiltul enough U bone it foi you ? You must first take care that youi knife has a sharp strong point to it. and therewith, hav- ing the head of the hare towards your left you will cut off the legs, — to wit, the hind legs, for carving and nut Ural history differ in this matter, the latter asserting that the hare is a quadruped, the former that it has only two legs, and two wings.'’ You will then cut two long thin slices off each side of the back ; then take off the wings” or shoulders; then break the back into four pieces with the aid of the fork ; then cut off the ears, and lastly, turning the head towards you with the under side uppermost^ insert the point of the knife exactly in the centre of the palate, and drawing it to the nose, thus di- vide it into two parts. If you do all this without splash- ing the gravy, you may take your degree in carving. But to help a hare is more diplomatic still than to carve it. The difficulty is to find enough for everybody who wants it. The best parts are the slices from the back, the head and ears. Never, however, send head or ears to a lady. There is a good reason for this, which 1 won’t tell you But if there is a minister in office at table, and you want to ask him for a place, or there is a father whose daughter’s hand you aspire to, or an uncle who may pos- sibly leave you a legacy, it is for him that you reserve half the face, and one if not both ears. If he be at all a curmet^ you will get his ear by sending him puss’s, and the delicate brain of the animal will fully compensate for a wank of it in your own head. A fowl, if not in its premi re jeunesse, is more irri- tating still than a hare, because you feel that when you have done your best, the flesh is not worth eating, except HINTS ON CARVIN3. 251 at supper There are two ways of beginning Eithen take the leg, wing, and part of breast off with one cut after having laid the bird on its side : or, allowing it t,‘dj should be avoided : well-bred people play without tlit3m, and they are unpleasant to those sitting behind. Be ready also to quit the instrument after finishing : in some cases, when once seated, ladies seem to be glued to the piano, and however fascinating may be their efforts, it is bad policy to wear your audience out. Then another hint to the amateur musician : be lenient, at all events, and en couraging, if you can, to others. There is no need to flatter ; but great reason, especially to those who play well, to be amiable on this, as on other points. A little kindli- ness, a polite attention to the feelings of ^others, wdns many a friend ; for we are governed by the trifles of life. Almost every well-educated lady can play a little ; but that is not the case in respect to vocal music. Whether it be owing to English climate or English constitution, there is no saying ; but there is nothing more rare than a good voice. It may, however, provided the ear be good, be almost acquired ; but then the best instruction must be obtained ; a dozen good lessons, taken not too soon, but whenever the voice is formed, and the young lady play& well are far more beneficial than a long course of inferioi teaching. It is important that a young lady should not begin to sing in society too soon ; it is objectionable tc hear a learner, whose performance speaks of the school room • it is far worse, however, to be condemned to listen to a voice that is passed of which the best notes are SINGINK. 2G.'< cracked or feeble ; and there is sometning absurd in hearing a stoui matron — “ A mother with her daughters or her nieces, Looking like a guinea, with her seven shilling pieces.’^ u Byron impertinently has it — singing with bygone em phasis about love ; or a thin spinster, of forty or mor^ , holding forth in such songs as I’ll watch for thee,” O’^', ‘‘ Don’t forget me.” Instrumental music is appropriata to any age, but after forty the voice loses the delicious freshness of youth, the style is no longer that of the day, ind even the finest amateur vocal performers have lost something, we scarcely know what, but something we miss painfully. When asked to sing, if you do not intend to do ao, re- fuse so decidedly that you cannot be compelled ; but the more decided the refusal, the gentler should the manner be. There is a style of saying No,” that never offends. You are asked as a compliment ; as a compliment receive the entreaty. If you intend to sing, accept at once ; do not hurry up to the piano, as if glad of an opportunity of showing off, but go gently; if by request you havt brought your music, and it should never be brought to those who know that you sing without request, leave it down stairs ; it can be sent for ; but, since all pauses in society are to be avoided, if you can sing without notes it is as well ; at the same time, never attempt to do so unless #ure of yourself. A half-forgotten or imperfect song is irritating. Something light and brilliant is best for a commencement, or a little air not too well known — Ger- man, perhaps. For the sake of all the Muses, do not attempt a long Italian bravura of Verdi or Donizetti, that 12 266 FEMININE ACCOMPLtbilMENTS. perhaps, .alf ihe company have heard Garcia or Piccolo- mini sing the week before, you must murder it to ears so artistic as theirs. Or if you are singing to a homely au^ lienee, the simplest song will please them better. The lijfference between a professional and an amateur singe? i^hould always be kept in view. The one is constrained hy interest to astonish ; the other has no other inducement than to charm. The one is purchased, the other is a vol- untary effort to pass away time, and to do justice to the composition of some of the popular masters of the day. The form and movements of the body must be habitually controlled in singing. In nine cases out of ten they spoil the effect of the voice. Some ladies bend from side to side, cast up their eyes, or fix them, with a rapt expression, on the wax lights above them. Others make alarming faces, protrude the under jaw, or what is worse assume an affected smile. A good master suffers none of these de- fects to creep in. He regulates the mouth, which shoulo be as little drawn as possible ; open it must be, but should appear to have an inclination to smile, without the abso lute smile. A great deal depends on the right mode of bringing out the voice. I confess it is a great sacrifice to Bee one’s friends look frightful, even when giving out the 1- ost delicious sounds ; nor is it essential. In the choice of 3ongs, variety is to be adopted. German music pleasea^ generally ; but, let no one not conversant with the riglit pronunciation of any foreign language, sing in it ; ther is nothing so unpleasant as to hear broad French, mincing German, or lisping Italian. Even in English, a good ac* cent is the most essential thing possible ; and, also, a good articulation. A simple song, sung without grea powers of voice, but well articulated, delights, because it RINGING. 267 touches the understanding to which it appeals, and grati- fies the ear which approves the modest and careful cffori of art. Witness the extreme pleasure, amounting to en* inusiasm, aflbrded by the singing of the poet Moore, lie no compass of voice ; what he had was musical, eminently so; but his singing captivated from th? dearness with which every word was uttered ; the way in which every word told; the easy, natural manner of the poet at the piano. On one occasion, Mrs. Billington being in one room, and Moore in another, of some great Lon- don house, crowds flocked around the poet, whose touching tones even drew them from the florid singing of the night- ingale of her day. The same efiect was produced by the singing of the late Mrs. Lockhart, the daughter of Sii Walter Scott, to the harp. She generally sang her fath- er’s poetry, set to music. Her taste, her feeling, and truth of expression, riveted the attention, though hej voice had little power. The French excel in this species of intellectual singing, if one may use such a word, but theirs is chiefly professional. Who can ever forget Ma- dame Jenny Denner’s Ma Tante,” or Levassor’s Vic de campagne” ? Yet neither had the average amount oi vocal powers of a village chorister. After finishing one song, a lady should rise from the piano, even if she be brought back again and again. Some ladies are so aware what great injustice they do them- selves by being induced to sing too much, that they make a rale of only singing two songs at a party ; but all set rulci in society are bad. Nothing, however, can be worse than to go on from song to song, till admiration, and even pa- tience are exhausted, and politeness is driven to her wit’s end to be civil. Of course, it is almost needless to aay 26^ FEMININE ACCOMPLISHMENIS. ihat sacred songs should be avoided in partiea. I doubt whether any of the deeper feelings should bo paraded or light occasions, and if songs truly mournful are not bet' ter reserved for small reunions of the real Jcvers cf deej; fKithos in music. All accomplishments have the one great merit of giv iiig a lady something to do ; something to preserve her from ennui ; to console her in seclusion ; to arouse her \n grief ; to compose her to occupation in joy. And none answers this purpose much better than fancy work, or even plain work. The former can often be brought ad- vantageously into the rear of other pursuits — as a reserve. The latter cannot well be carried into society, except as a charity. The Germans do this gracefully. At some of their courts the great set the example. During Lent, at Munich, they have working parties. The queen made a baby’s shirt, one evening, when one of these reunions was held in the apartments of her grande rn.a tresse. The king, meantime, was pulling lint for the hospitals. Every lady of the court had some useful article before her; warm shawls made with the crotchet-needle ; stockings knitted; dresses, chiefly for children, from their being small. Such are the labors that employ on certain eve- nings the court and nobility of a nation whose aristocracy is among the most ancient and still the lichest in Europe- And conversation went round cheerfully. Little tables were set about, and the assemblage was broken up into parties, each table holding a lady or two, with a gentleman near her. A terrible waste of time in small parties would mdeed, be avoided, if some sort of work could be intro- duced ; and, if young ladies were not condemned to be idle for several hours, they would look better, and be WORKING. 261 ^ happier more amiable, and less fatigued than they ofters are at what is facetiously termed a ‘‘ friendly party ^ Not that it is recommended to take into a party you! husband’s stockings to mend, or dear Charles’s shirts, over which he was naturally so irritable at the absence of but tons, or Louisa’s pinafores to run strings into ; let the work have the characteristics of recreation combined with utility, and the most scrupulous cannot be oifended. Such is indeed the spirit of the day ; for we are a more sensi hie people than our grandsires were. Sketching and archery stand first among out-doo} amusements. They are healthy, elegant, and appropri- ate to the feminine character ; while — first thought of mmmas ! — they assemble rather than exclude the young tr members of the other sex. CHAPTER VU MANNER. CARRIAGE, AND HABITS. True politeness comes from the heart, and this good, the rest will soon follow. But, as Chesterfield says, ‘ good sense and good nature suggest civility in general ; but in good breeding there are a thousand little delica- cies, which are established only by custom.’’ That which militates most against good breeding is an indifference to or want of consideration for the feelings of others ; and what does this amount to but a bad heart ? A courtier may hate me with civility, and a brigand rob me politely. Is there not some good in the heart of both these men ? Have they not a great consideration for my feelings ? They cannot, they would tell me, help what they do; I stand in this one's way, and he must and does hate me; I have a purse and the other is a robber, he must and will take it ; but both of them, compelled to treat me so ill, do it wdth a grace that removes half the annoyance of it. The courtier conceals his hatred, and what therefore do I care for it? I do not even Anow of its existence, and a passion which we never discover can- not affect us. Then, too, if the highwayman politely and delicately ‘‘invites” me to give up those few paltry bank-notes, assuring me it is his “ profession,” that hfi laments the necessity and that if I show no fight, no vio> ( 270 ) MANNER AND THE HEART. 271 icnce will be used; I have at least the comfort of being saved from a fright, of being allowed free speech, of be- ing given the option to fight or yield, so that when I come t ; think how much an agreeable manner may do to console and conciliate, I don’t know whether I could ac- mb.) my worst enemy of a want cf heart, if he behaved like a gentleman to me. However, 1 am convinced that it a man had not a good only, but a perfect heart, if all his attention were directed to the comfort of others, and he was willing perpetually to make the sacrifice necessary to insure it, he would need little or no instruction in man- ners more than a little experience. He would soon dis- cover how this act or that gave offence or caused embar- rassment to his neighbor; and while he saw nothing wrong in it himself, would, for his neighbor’s sake, avoid it for the future. He himself might see no harm in using a tooth-pick at dinner, but he w^ould soon see the obnoxiousness of it reflected in opposite faces, and down would go the tooth-pick. Give such a man, ill-bred, even unbred naturally, the time and the opportunity, and he would turn out a gentleman. But first, where do you find this perfect consideration for others, this brotherly love, for it is nothing else, which descends to the minutest details, and feels within itself the vibration of every shord too rudely struck in other hearts ? Alas, where ? Or, given the heart, how are you to insure the experi- cr.ee ? Meanwhile, in waiting for hearts and experiences Booiety grows depraved. It is for this reason that we set up laws of etiquette, as it is called — but laws of Chris tian action we might call them — to insist upon the show of that wdiich ought to come spontaneously from the Heart. In doing so, we merely copy lawgivers of another MANNER, CARRIAGE, AND HABITS. kind. Honesty is not honesty, for instance, if it come not from within. The most respectable man might he dishonest if he had the chance, and no fear of the law. Nevertheless the law undertakes to make men appear honest, because it knows that it is in vain to wait fo. honesty in heart. The law tells the young thief he must rob no more, and it may cure him of thieving and make tiim turn out a respectable man — in appearance ; but it cannot be sure, because he does not thieve, that he has no internal desire to do so, and would not do so if the fear of tile law were gone. So too, in just the same way, the .^Rws of society give rules by which a man may be amia- ble and well-bred — to all appearance; but it cannot a whit the more insure the good feeling which ought to sug- gest the good acts. I say, then, that because Etiquette lays down rules by which you are to appear to have a heart, she does noth- ing worse than the laws of the realm, which show how you may appear honest, and leave your heart alone. This preface is necessary, because when I say a man is to i^mile at such a time, and show dignity at such another, ♦^^he world might tell me I was teaching hypocrisy. I am doing nothing of the kind. I am merely providing for nets which are necessary to the wellbeing of society, be- cause I know that if every one acted according to hia heart, the world would soon be turned upside-down. So then I can manfully say that a good manner is » good gift. We know all about oily serpents, we h.rvc read enough of them in romantic novels, but I am bound to say I prefer an oily serpent, by w^ay of society, to an unlicked bear. The serpent may not choose me to bite I mav enjoy his society, I may never discover that he if MANNER AND THE HEART. 273 anything worse than a harmless blind-worm with no sting in him ; but I cannot have been a minute with the bear, before I am torn to pieces. When I hear of the serpeut’s biting anybody, I can avoid him for the future, but in the meantime he is an agreeable companion, and I have no right to judge my neighbor. I say then that a man should curb his heart first, but if he cannot do or has not done this, he has no right to come bellowing with irrita- tion into the society of quiet people, merely because he will not take the trouble to be mannerly. Manner, then, I am bound to confess, is the cloak of character, but it to bare the character be indecent, it is better it should wear a cloak than go about naked. Un- til we are all perfect, until there is a millennium on earth, it will always be indecent to wear our feelings in Adamite costume, and so long will a garment, like that of Manner, be necessary. A good carriage involves two things, a respect for one’s self and a respect for others. It is very diflScult to draw the- line between the two, and to show w^here the one should yield to the other ; but as the world goes, the man who lespects himself is generally respected, and for a very good reason, since without a due recognition of the Divine spark within him, a recognition owed to his Maker, no man can be really good. On the other side, comes the Christian precept which bids us love our neighbor as ourself, and at once defines where self-respect must end Wherever our dignity, our prejudices, our opinions begin to annoy our neighbors, to cause them pain, embarrass- ment, or confusion, they must give way. How often dc we hear, ‘‘ I think Mr. is a very excellent man, bul he has a most disagreeable manner;’* the fact being that 12 * 274 MANNER, CARRIAGE, AND HABITS. Mr , meaning very well, has not sufficient CDnsiJar- ation for others’ feelings to temper his enthusiasm. And then such a man wins his reward. His zeal devour? him, and he annihilates by want of consideration al! the good he might have done. We see this very often in ex- cellent well-meaning maiden ladies, who undertake the supervision of their poorer neighbors. Wherever tliey see a fault, they attack it harshly, unflinchingly, unpity- ingly. The result is, that the poor they visit begin tc loathe them and their visits, and instead of improving, despise the improver. Then send to them some mild un- taught girl, all love, all heart, all warmth, and bid hex win them back. She begins instinctively by attaching them to herself, she is all interest, all kindness to them, and when she has made their hearts her own, the least expression of a wish will make them give up their dearest vices. How well has it been put, Smoothe the way to the head through the heart,” and we may be sure that what is good here in morals is good in manners. Rude- ness will never win the day; an amiable, kind manner rides over the course. The first rule, then, for Manner, is self-respect. With- out this, a man is not only weak and bad, but unfit for society. The want of it shows itself in two most disagree- able forms, adulation and awkwardness. I believe both to have no evil intent in themselves. Hundreds and thou- sands of flatterers and hangers-on • have never hoped to gain a single benefit from their adulation. It is simple weakness ; simple absence of self-respect. But the woild vfill not always see it in so charitable a point of view^ mi the flatterer is denounced as interested In any case, ad- ala Hon IS bad, for it is dangerous not only to the servile. SELF-REStECT AND SELF-ESTEEM. 27 ^ but to those to whom it is addressed. Awkwardness maj ^ften arise from shyness^ but more often is the fruit of a wf.nt of self-respect. Both are to be sedulously avoided On the other hand^ self-respect is liable to err on the 3;Je of dignity, and self-respect is only one step remo/ed from self-esteem. The one is a vice; the other a viitue. Self-respect is the acknowledgment of manhood, of the good soul God has given you to take care of, of the part He has given you to play in life. Self-esteem is an arro- gance of superiority in these points. In the young it takes the form of conceit : in the older, of stateliness ; in the woman, of vanity. We pardon it most readily in middle-aged men, and yet I think that the oppressive, damping dignity of some of these is destructive of all ease in society. When Paterfamilias asserts his rights, stand- ing with his coat-tails spread before the fire, which he hides from everybody else, we cannot, dare not object openly, but we certainly feel chilled, inwardly by his sol- emn dignity, and outwardly by the deprivation of caloric. Scarcely less chilling is tlie arrogance of the younger man, who can scarcely condescend to converse with us ; who brings his superior information down upon our humble opinions, like an avalanche on an Alpine village ; who contradicts us flatly, and sneers us into insignificance. Conversation becomes impossible, and society is deavlened under such influences. More innocent, but not less contemptible, is the affecta- tion which arises from incipient, often from full-grown, vanity. In men it is simply contemptible, because effemi- nate ; and the youth who purposely lisps or minces his words, or the silky young curate who has, by dint of prac- tice, forced down his natural voice into a low, but as Anna 276 MANNER, CARRIAGE, AND HABITS, Maria asserts, most thrilling, whisper ; or the dilettante ic music, whose hair hangs in profuse curls, and who. as hi runs fat white, beringed fingers over the notes, sways hif bydj to and fro, and casts his glances to either side in a kind of rapture ; nay. even the unnaturally solemn man who looks you through as if he were casting up youi little account of sin for you, together with a thousand other kinds of men, are all too obviously affected to retain long the respect of sensible people. We know that nature has its many faults to be curbed, but we know that where nature is not at fixult, it is most truthful to let her have her run. By the side of the afiected man, even the bluntest looks noble, and for the very reason that affecta- tion arises from a want of self-respect or excess of self- esteem, extremes which resemble one another. But I would almost dare to say that there never was a woman who had not more or less affectation in speaking to men. I am not a St. Anthony, but I believe it to be natural to woman to alter their manner towards the other so that I involve myself in a paradox; it is natural tor them to be unnatural under these circumstances. I am not going into the logic of it, but really this is only an apparent paradox, and I may say with perfect truth that it is natural for women to be sometimes unnatural. If you doubt me, watch how Clara, the simplest, sweetest, least sophisticated cf her sex, talks to you, a man. Then rut on the invisible cap and follow her to the drawing- nxm, where she and her sisters will sit alone and talkc If you see no marked change of manner in Clara, I will admit that I am wrong. But then there are grades in woman’s affectation, and labile Clara seems to be all nature,” as they say ii EXAMPLE OF BAD VNNER. 277 modern novels, we can exclaim at first sight that Belinda is a mass of tarlatane and affectation.’’ My dear Be- iinda, take in good part the warning of an old oachelor. Believe me that men who are worth your arrows will net be smitten with tinsel shafts ; believe me that the better they are, the more they love nature in women, artlessness, frankness, modesty. But then there is even an affectation of naturalness, and you, Clarissa, who are past five-and- twenty — 0 yes, I know it, for your little brother lef it out ! — feel that you never can be really natural again in society, and so you affect to be so, by becoming brusque and somewhat pert. Men, Clarissa, are not such fools as you imagine ; they will see through this even more easily, and there is no hope for you, but to be with them whal yo.u are before your own looking-glass. But I am tres- passing on the province of my coheague, and I must re- turn, very loath, to the men. Let me give a few samples of manner to be avoided: First there is Tibbs, short enough and clever enough to be a great man and such, I dare say, he will be one of these days. But Tibbs feels within him the spirit of gov- ernance, and has reverence for neither old nor young. He walks with a short, sharp step, his little nose rather elevat- ed, his eyes glaring to detect some weakness on which to pounae. You put forward an opinion, the meekest you can give : “ It will turn out fine.” Beg your pardon,” answered Tibbs, with that sharp snap, which makes the wonls sound like Don’t be a fool !” it will not be a Sue day, 1 have good reason to know it, there.” What 3an you do with Tibbs, but collapse ? He treats his father ind grandfather, and mother and sister, all in the same way, and they are cowed before him. Tibbs is nevei 278 MANJ^ER. CARRIAGE AND HABtTS. dowiiiiglitly rude. You cannot catch him up and cal! him a bear ; but his manner of speaking continually con- veys the impression that Tibbs believes in his own acute- ness only, and in nobody else’s. He is the kind of mai‘ who can open Shakspere, read a passage, and exclaim. ‘‘Did you ever hear such nonsense?’’ giving you good reasons forsooth^ if poets and philosophers could be mea- sured by the lowest standard of the dryest common sense. Tibbs is all common sense, but by no means a pleasant companion. Very different is old Mr. Dawdles. He seems to be in a state of chronic plethora. Say what you will on his dearest themes, he has no reply for you but a yes or nc snivelled out. When he speaks himself, he appears to be grumbling at you, however kind his words. You knew he is good and means very well, and he w^ould give you half his fortune out of sheer kindness, but with a gesture and tone of voice which would seem to say, There, take it, and don’t make a fuss.” He does hate a fuss, more than all other abominations. There is Slouch, again, whom I believe to be an incar- • nation of honor and uprightness, but who gives you the idea of a sneak and a villain. He never looks you full in the face. His shaggy brows hang over his lurking eyes, and his words come cautiously and suspiciously wriggling up to you. But Pompous has the best of hearts. He has been known to go out of his way for miles to leave a little some- thing with a poor widow. And hcrw the man wrongs him^ self ! He is very tall, and has a fine figure. He draws himself up to the greatest height, and looks down on you da if you were a Lilliput, and all the while be loves you EXAMPLES OF BAD MANNER. 279 bw adhamed to show it. He orders his wife and ser* FaLta about with a calm imperiousness which makes them dre^ him, and yet they all acknowledge they never knew a kinder man, though I never yet saw a smile of p.ty or sympathy on his face. Far less admirable is that weak young Fitzwhiskers, who holds his head so very high, and walks down the room with a curled lip, w^hich seems to say, ‘^What scum you all are !” Then there is Commodus, an agreeable man, if you can keep him within bounds. He sits down quietly enough and you are pleased, but in two minutes he is making the fre<.st possible remarks, w^ith no harm, no intentional of- fence in them, but yet so intolerably familiar for a man yon have known but five minutes, that they quite upset jon. Only the other day I rashly introduced him to a young lady, and she afterwards told me how he had be- gun : — ‘‘Were you at the opera last night?” this was politely and quietly asked. “No.” “ How very fortu- nate for those who w^ere there ! Those eyes wwld have singed a dozen hearts,” But Vivax is one of the worst. He talks atrociously loud ; hails you from the other end of the table. “ Will trouble you for that, ha, ha ! and for this, ho, ho !” and “Have you been dancing, Miss Smith? ha, ha ! Then of course you have. Miss Jones? he, he! and what do you say to it, Mrs. Browm ?” and he is round the whole circle, from one to another, in two minutes, not waiting for answers. Then he bustles about; he must always have something on hand. He drags you here one minute, and rushes away from you the next. He talks as rapidly fts an auctioneer, and rattles over a dozen subjects in as many minutes. He is quick and clever, but when he ha« 280 MANNER, ( ARRIAGE, AND HABITS. jorkei out his own thought, he clinches it with u ha, or a he, he ! and never waits for your answer. Glumrne is just the reverse. You must do all the talk - ing for him ; he will only drawl out a No-o-o,” or § ' Ye-e-es,’* and wears a perpetual scowl. Then there is Trippet, who seizes you by the button ‘.ole, ani grows hot over the merest trifle; Courte, who replies with a sharp sneer ; Sterne, who has for ever a look of reproof, though he does not mean h ; Fidgette, who can never be prevailed upon to be comfortable ; Bluff, who terrifies you with his curt blunt manner ; and Lack- adaye, who is so languid that he cannot take the trouble even to look at you. One genius whom I knew, never removed his eyes from the lamp on the table ; another rushed up to you, seized both your hands, and gazed with apparent affection into your eyes ; a third spoke deep truths in a low solemn tone, as he gazed at a spot on the carpet ; a fourth moved his head to and fro, as if to avoid your gaze : and a fifth, the greatest of all, never spoke at all. The manner, in short, which a man must aspire to, is one which will give ease, and not embarrassment, to oth- ers. He must preserve a certain dignity, but yet be pliant ; he must be open, frank ; look you honestly in the face, speak out confidently, yet calmly; modestly, yet firmly ; not be bluff* or blunt, but yet be free and simple. In fact, let a man be natural, let him be in society what he is anywhere ; but if he find his natural manner too rough, tDo loud, too curt, or too brutal, let him learn tc tame it and calm it down. But manner has various functions for various circum- itane?s. Towards our elders and superiors, we must show / THE PHYSICAL CARRIAGE 281 Ml honest, not servile deference ; towards men, 'gentle- ness ; towards juniors tenderness ; towards inferiors, a simple dignity, without condescension. Arist(tlf>. who perhaps a better philosopher than gentleman, recommends a haughtiness to superiors, and graceful freedom to in- feriors. The world is old enough to judge for itself. JJut when a man finds that his lively badinage suits a band of merry lissome girls, he must not be so wild as to rush at Papa with the same kind of banter. Paterfam. may give a smile to real wit and laugh at a good story, but the same trifling which makes his daughters laugh so ring- ingly, will only appear to him a familiarity when ad dressed to himself Then, again, the gravity into which you have fiillen when discussing great measures with a pliilanthropist, will afford no satisfaction to the airy mass of tarlatane with whom you dance soon after. Solomon has said it : there is a time to weep and a time to laugh. In other words, be you as merry a jester as ever sat at a king’s table, you must not obtrude your un weary mirth at a visit of condolence ; or be you the most bereave!” of widowers, you will not bring your tears and sighs to damp the merriment of social gatherings. What applies to manner may be transferred in most respects to that bearing which distinguishes a man in so- ciety. But the times change much in this respect, and the old courteous dignity with which the beaux of my younger days behaved, has given way to a greater ease, and sometimes^ I fear, to too great freedom. I do not know whether to regret or not, the strict ccurteousness of those times. It often amounted to affectation ; it was not natural to be ever bowing low, making set speeches, raising a lady’s hands to one’s lips, or pressing one’s own MANNER. CARRIAGE, AND HABITS. 2S2 upon the region of the heart, but ne of them bent a little, but not set wide apart I® CARRIAGE. 283 walking, they should be moved gently but firmly from the hips, so that the upper part of the body may remain in l! e same position. How often from my window have 1 been able to mark a man by his walk ! One comes strid irig 3 *"^utly like a captain on quarter-deck ; another sham hies his feet along the pavement; a third swings his arms violently ; a fourth carries them bowed out before him like a dancing-master of the old school ; a fifth turns out his huge feet at an angle of forty-five ; another jerks forward his pointed toes like a soldier at drill ; another sways his body from side to side ; another looks almost hump-back- ed, as he moves heavily on ; one more saunters listlessly with his hands in his pockets ; this one moves his arms back behind him, and that one carries them stiff and straight as iron bars, with his fists clenched like knobs at the ei-d thereof. The feet must be turned outwards very little i ndeed ; the arms should be carried easily and very slight! r bent at the sides, and in walking should be moved X litth», without swinging them ; and the shoulders should never be shrugged up. Avoid stiffness on the one hand, lounging on the other. Be natural and perfectly at your ease, whether in vralking or sitting, and aspire to calm confidence rather than loftiness. There is, however, one good habit v/hich must not be overlooked. You should never speak without a slight smile, or at least a beam of good will in your eyes, and tliat to all, whether your equals or inferiors. To the lattoi it is especially necessary, and often wins you UiOra love than the most liberal benevolence. But tnis smile should not settle into a simper, nor, when you are launch- ed in a conversation, should it interfere with the eamest*^ 2^4 JVIANNER, CARRIAGE, AND HARITS. ness of your manner. To a lady it should be more rnarLod than to a man. In listening, again, you should manifest * certain inte» rest in what a person is saying ; and however little wf your attention, you should not show that you think it 80 by the toss of your head or the wandering of you: eyes. In speaking to any one you should look them in the face, for the eyes always aid the tongue, but you should not carry this to the extent of wriggling yourself forward in order to catch their eyes, if there happen to be another person between you. It is painful to see the want of ease with which some men sit on the edge of a chair ; but at the same time the manner in which others throw themselves back and stretch forward their legs savors too much of familiarity. You may cross your legs if you like, but not hug your knees nor your toes. Straddling a chair, and tilting it up may be pardonable in a bachelor’s rooms, but not in a lady’s drawing-room. Then, if you carry a walking-stick or umbrella in the street, you should avoid swinging them dolently about^ or tucking them under the arm. Both are dangerous to your neighbors, for in the one case you may inadvertently strike a person and get into as great trouble as the individual who was brought up the other day for assaulting a woman with a cricket-bat, which he affirmed he was merely swinging about careles&ly ; in the other, the point of your stick may run into some uniortu uate creature’s eye. Foreigners talk with their arms and hands as auxilia rles to the voice. The custom is considered vulgar by us «alm Englishmen, and a Parisian, who laughs at oui HABITS. 285 ladies' dressing; will siill admit that our men are dis- tingue mais t 'es distbigu 5/’ If the face follows the words, and you allow, without grimacing, your eyes and smile to express what you are saying, you have no need to act :t with the hands, but, if you use them at all, it shoull be very slightly and gracefully, never bringing iowii a fist upon the table, nor slapping one hand upur another, nor pokii g your fingers at your interlocutor. Pointing, too, is a habit to be avoided, especially pointing with tlie thumb over the shoulder, which is an inelegant action. In short, while there is no occasion to be stolid or constrained, you should not be too lively in your ac- tions, and even if led away by the enthusiasm of an argu- ment, should never grow loud, rant, or declaim. No manner is more .disagreeable than that of vehement affir- mation or laying down. the law. With these remarks I may pass to consider certain habits which are more or less annoying to your neighbors. First, there is that odious habit of touching the nose and ears with the fingers, for which there is no excuse. Every part of the person should be properly tended in the dress- ing-room, never in the drawing-room, and for this reason picking the teeth, however fashionable it may once have been, scratching the head, the hands, or any part of the body, are to be avoided. Mr. Ourzon tells us that at Erzeroum it is quite the fashion to scratch the bites of a little insect as common there as in certain London hotels, and it is even considered a delicate attention to catch the li^^ely creatures as they perch on the dress or shoulders your partner. Fortunately we are not tempted to per- form such attentions in this country ; but if you have the misfortune to be bitten or stung by any insect, you must 288 MANNER, CARRIAGE, AND HABITS. endure the pain without scratching thte bite in company These same little insects being of very disagreeable origin are not even spoken of with us. Biting the nails, again js not only a dirty habit, but one which soon disfigures the fingers. So too in blowing your nose, you must no« aiake the noise of a trumpet, but do it gently and quiet- ly ; and, when you sneeze, use your handkerchief I do not go the length of saying that you must repress a sneeze entirely. There is a pleasant custom, still univer- sal in Germany and Italy, and retained among the peas antry in some parts of England, of blessing a person whc has sneezed, benedicite^ Gott segne sie, and bless you,’’ being the terms used, probably in the hope that the prayer may keep you from cold. Sneezing brings me to snuffing, which is ^n obsolete custom, retained only by a few old gentlemen, and as it is a had one, no young man should think of reviving it. But what shall I say of the fragrant weed which Raleigh taught our gallants to puff in capacious bowls ; which a royal pedant denounced in a famous ‘‘Counterblast;’ which his flattering laureate, Ben Jonson, ridiculed to please his master : which our wives and sisters protest gives rise to the dirtiest and most unsociable habit a man can indulge in ; of which some fair favorers declare that they love the smell, and others that they will never marry an indulger (which, by the way, they generally end in ioing); which has won a fame over more space and among better men than Noah’s grape has ever done ; which doc- tors still dispute about, and boys still get sick over ; bu FV'hich is the solace of the weary laborer ; the support of the ill fed ; the refresher of over- wrought brains ; the soother of angry fancies ; the boast of the exquisite ; th« THE EFFECTS OF SMOKING. 287 excuse of the idle ; the companion of the philosopher ; and the tenth muse of the poet. I will go neither intt? the medical nor the moral question about the dreamj^ calming cloud. I will content mjself so far with saying what may be said for everything that can bless and curs< nankind, that, in moderation, it is at least harmless ; bul what is moderate and what is not, must be determined in each individual case, according to the habits and constitu* tion of the subject. If it cures asthma, it may destroy digestion ; if it soothes the nerves, it may, in excess, pro- duce a chronic irritability. But I will regard it in a social point of view ; and, first as a narcotic, notice its effects on the individual character. I believe, then, that in moderation it diminishes the vi- olence of the passions, and particularly that of the tem- per. Interested in the subject, I have taken care to seek instances of members of the same famiJv having the same violent tempers by inheritance, ot wtiom the one has been calmed down by smoking, and the other gone on in his passionate course. I believe that it in- duces a habit of calm reflectiveness, which causes us to take less prejudiced, perhaps less zealous views of life, and to be therefore less irritable in our converse with our fel- low creatures. I am inclined to think that the clergy, the squirearchy, and the peasantry are the most prejudiced and most violent classes in this country ; there may be otluT reasons for this, but it is noteworthy that these are tlie classes which smoke least. On the other hand, I con fess that it induces a certain lassitude, and a lounging, easy mode of life, which are fatal both to the precision of man- ners and the vivacity of conversation. The mind of a imoker is contemplative rather than ar»tive ; and if the 288 MANNER. CARRIAGE, AND IIABITb. ^reed cures our irritability, it kills our wit. I believe tLut it is a fallacy to suppose that it encourages drinking There is more drinking and leas smoking in this than in sny other country of the civilized world. Tlere jQi>re drinking among the gentry of last century, v^hc never smoked at all. Smoke and wine do not go well together. ColFee or beer are its best accompaniments, and the one cannot intoxicate, the other must be largely im- bibed to do so. I have observed among young bachelors that very little wine is drunk in their chambers, and that beer is gradually taking its place The cigar, too, is an excuse for rising from the dinner-table where there are no ladies to go to. In another point of view, I am inclined to think that smoking has conduced to make the society of men when alone less riotous, less quarrelsome, and even less vicious than it was. Where young men now blow a common cloud, they were formerly driven to a fearful consumption of wine, and this in their heads, they were ready and roused to any iniquity. But the pipe is the bachelor’s wife. With it he can endure solitude longer, and is not forced into low society in order to shun it. With it too the idle can pass many an hour, which otherwise he would have given,, not to work, but to extravagant devilries With it he is no longer restless and impatient for excite- ment of any kind. We never hear now of young blades issuing in bands from their wine to beat the watch oi dirturb the slumbering citizens, as we did thirty or forty yegrs ago, when smoking was still a rarity : they are all puffing harmlessly in their chambers now. But, on the other hand, I foresee with dread a too tender allegiance to the pipe^ to the destruction of good society, and the aban- THE ETIQUETTE OF THE WEED. 289 donmeiit of the ladies. No wonder they hate it, dear creatures; the pipe is the worst rival a woman can have * and it is one whose eyes she cannot scratch out; who im proves with age, wdiile she herself declines ; who has an tirt which no woman possesses, that of never wearying her lie /otee ; who is silent, yet a companion ; costs little, yet gi ves much pleasure ; who, lastly, never upbraids, and always yields the same joy. Ah ! this is a powerful rival to wife or maid, and no wonder that at last the woman suc- cumbs, consents, and rather than lose her lord or master, even supplies the hated herb with her own fair hands. And this is what women have come to do on the Conti- nent ; but in America they have gone further, and ad- mitted the rival to their very drawdng-rooms, where the unmanly husband stretches his legs on the sofa, smokes, and spits on the carpet. Far be it from our English women to permit such habits ; and yet, as things are, a little concession is prudent. There was not so much drinking when withdrawing-rooms were the privilege of palaces, and matrons sat over the cups of their lords, and there will not be near so much smoking where ladies are present. I have no wish to see English girls light their own cigarettes or puff their own chibouks, like the houris 3)f Seville and Bagdad ; but I do think that, as smoking .8 now so much a habit of Englishmen, it would be wise if it were made possible, within certain well-guarded lim- itiitions, in the society of ladies. As it is, there are rules enough to limit this indulgence ( )no must never smoke, nor even ask to smoke, in the corn- I any of the fair. If they know that in a few minutes you will be running off to your cigar, the fair will do w^ell — say it is in a garden, or so — to allow you to bring it out and 13 290 manner, carriage, and habits. Bmoke it there. One must never smoke, again, in th streets ; that is, in daylight. The deadly crime mai be committed, like burglary, after dark, but not before One must never smoke in a room inhabited at times bj the ladies ; thus, a well-bred man who has a wife or sistei's will not offer to smoke in the dining-room after dinrer One must never smoke in a public place, where ladies are or might be, for instance, a flower-show or promenade. One may smoke in a railway-carriage in spite of by-laws, if one has first obtained the consent of every one present ; but if there be a lady there, though she give her consent, smoke not. In nine cases out of ten, she will give it from good-nature. One must never smoke in a close carriage ; one may ask and obtain leave to smoke when returning from a pic-nic or expedition in an open carriage. One must never smoke in a theatre, on a race-course, nor in ckurch. This last is not, perhaps a needless caution. In the Belgian churches you see a placard announcing, ‘‘ Ici on ne m"che pas du tabac.’’ One must never smoke when anybody shows an objection to it. One must never smoke a pipe in the streets ; one must never smoke at all in the coffee-room of a hotel. One must never smoke, without consent, in the presence of a clergyman, and one must never offer a cigar to any ecclesiastic over the rank of cuiate. But if you smoke, or if you are in the company of smokers, and are to wear your clothes in the presence ol ladi*r« afterwards, you must change them to smoke in. A host who asks you to smoke, will generally offer you a* did coat for the purpose. You must also, after smoking, rinse the mouth well out, and, if possible, brush the teeth. You should never smoke in another person's house ;^Jthoal HABITS AT TABLE. 293 fea^re, and you should not ask leave to do so, if there are ladies in tlie liouse. When you are going to smoke a cigar yourself, you should offer one at the same time to anybody present, if not a clergyman or a very old man. You loiild always smoke a cigai given to you, whether gixx} r bad, and never make any remarks on its quality. Smoking reminds me of spitting, but as this is at al^ times a disgusting habit, I need say nothing more than— * never indulge in it. Besides being coarse and atrocious it is very bad for the health. There are some other habits which are disagreeaole to your company. One is that of sniffling or breathing Lard through the nostrils, which is only excusable if you have a cold, and even then very disagreeable. Another is that 0 ^ shaking the table with your leg, a nervous habit, which you may not always be conscious of. Then again, however consoling to sing and hum to yourself, you must remember that it may annoy others, and though you may whistle when alone, for want of thought,’’ you will whistle in company only for want of consideration of oth- ers. Ladies particularly object to whistling, which is a mimical, but not very melodious habit. We now come to habits at table, which are very im- portant. However agreeable a man may be in society, if he offends or disgusts by his table traits, he will soon l>e scouted from it, and justly so. There are some broad ules for behavior at table. Whenever there is a servant to help you, never help yourself. Never put a knife iito your moutli, not even with cheese, which should le jaten with a fork. Never use a spoon for anything bm liquids. Never touch anything edible with your fin ;x‘r8 Forks were undoubtedly a later invention than fing is 292 MANNER, CARRIAGE. AND HABITS. but as we are not cannibals. I am inclined to think thej were a good one. There are some few things which you may take up with your fingers. Thus an epicure will eat even macaroni with his fingers ; and as sucking asparagu^j is more pleasant than chewing it, you may as an epicure take it up cm natiirH. But both these things are gener dly eaten with a fork. Bread is of course eaten with the fingers, and it would be absurd to carve it with your knife and fork. It must, on the contrary, always I)0 broken when not buttered, and you should never put a slice of dry bread to your mouth to bite a piece off. Most fresh fruit too is eaten with the natural prongs, but when you have peeled an orange or apple, you should cut it with the aid of the fork, unless you can succeed in break- mg it. Apropos of which I may hint that no epicure ever yet put knife to apple, and that an orange should be peeled with a spoon. But the art of peeling an orange so as to hold its own juice, and its own sugar too, is one that can scarcely be taught in a book. However, let us go to dinner, and T will soon tell you whether you are a well-bred man or not ; and here let me premise that what is good manners for a small dinner is good manners for a large one, and vice vei'sa. Now, the first thing you do is to sit dowm. . Stop, sir ! pray do not cram yourself into the table in that way ; no, nor sit a yard from it, like that. How graceless, inconvenient, ainl in the way of easy conversation ! Why, dear me, you vre positively putting your elbows on the table, and new you have got yc.ir hands fumbling about with the spools iiil forks, and now you are nearly knocking my new hoch glasses over. Can’t you take your hands down, sir? Didn’t you learn that in the nursery? Didn’t your HABITS AT TABLE. 293 mamma say to you, Never put your bauds abcve the table except to carve or eat P’ Oh . but come, no iion- gense, sit up if you please. I can’t have your fine head of hair forming a side dish on my table : you must not ury your face in the plate, you came to show it, and it ought to be alive. Well, but there is no occasion t throw your head back like that, you look like an aider- man, sir, after dinner. Pray, don’t lounge in that sleepy way. You are here to eat, drink, and be merry. You can sleep when you get home. Well, then, I suppose you can see your napkin. Got none, indeed ! Very likely, in my house. You may be sure that I never sit down to a meal without napkins. I don’t want to make my tablecloths unfit for use, and I don’t want to make my trousers unwearable. Well now, we are all seated, you can unfold it on your knees : no, no ; don’t tuck it into your waistcoat like an alderman ; and what ! what on earth do you mean by wiping your forehead with it ? Do you take it for a towel ? Well, never mind, I am consoled that you did not go farther, and use it as a pocket-handkerchief. So talk away to the lady on your right, and wait till soup is handed to you. By the way, that waiting is a most important part of table manners, and as much as possible you should avoid asking for any thing or helping yourself from the table. Your soup you eat with a spoon — I don’t know what else you cotild eat it with — ^but then it must be one of good size. Yes, that frill do, but I beg you will not make that odious noise in drinking your soup. It is louder than a dog lappin^ water, and a cat would be quite genteel to it. Then you need not scrape up the plate in that way, nor even tilt it to get the last drop. I shall be happy to send you som« MANNER, CARRIAGE AND HABITS. more ; but I must just remark, that it is not the custom to take two helpings of soup, and it is liable to keep other people waiting, which, once for all, is a selfish and intoler able habit. But don’t you hear the servant offering you sherry ? I wish you would attend, for my servants hav quite enough to do, and can’t wait all the evening whik you finish that very mild story to Miss Goggles. Come, leave that decanter alone. I had the wine put on the table to fill up ; the servant will hand it directly, or, as we are a small party, I will tell you to help yourself, but, pray, do not be so oflScious. (There, I have sent him some turbot to keep him quiet. I declare he cannot make up his mind.) You are keeping my servant again, sir. Will you, or will you not, do turbot ? Don’t examine it in that way ; it is quite fresh, I assure you, take or decline it Ah, you take it, but that is no reason why you should take up a knife too. Fish, I repeat, must never be touched with a knife. Take a fork in the right, and a small piece of bread in the left hand. Good, but— ? Oh ! that is atrocious ; of course you must not swallow the bones, but you should rather do so than spit them out in that way. Put up your napkin like this, and land the said bone on your plate. Don’t rub your bread in the sauce, my good man, nor go progging about after the shrimps or oysters therein. Oh ! how horrid ; I declare your mouth was wide open and full of fish. Small pieces, I beseech you and once for all, whatever you eat, keep your mouth shtii wid never attempt to talk with it full. So now you have got a pate. Surely you are not taking two on your plate. There is plenty of dinner to come, and one is quite enough. Oh ! dear me, you are incor- rigible. What ^ a knife to cut that light, brittle pastry 1 hab:ts at table. 29£ No, Qor fingers, never. Nor a spoon — almost as bad Take your fork, sir, your fork ; and now you have eaten, oblige me by wiping your mouth and moustache with youi napkin, for there is a bit Df the pastry hanging to the lat-^ ter, and looking very disagreeable. Well, you can refuse a dish if you like. There is no positive necessity for you to take venison if you donH want it. But, at any rate, do not be in that terrific hurry. You are not going ofi* by the next train. Wait for the sauce and wait for vegeta- bles ; but whether you eat them or not, do not begin befori ^jverybody else. Surely you must take my table for that of a railway refreshment-room, for you have finished be- fore the person I helped first. Fast eating is bad for the digestion, my good sir, and not very good manners either. What ! are you trying to eat meat with a fork alone ? Oh * it is sweetbread, I beg your pardon, you are quite right. Let me give you a rule, — Everything that can be cut with- out a knife, should be cut with a fork alone. Eat your veg-^ etables therefore with a fork. No, there is no necessity to take a spoon for peas ; a fork in the right hand will do. What ! did I really see you put your knife into your mouth ? Then I must give you up. Once for all, and ever, the knife is to cut, not to help with. Pray, do not munch in that noisy manner ; chew your food well, but softly. Eat slowly. Have you not heard that Napoleon lost the battle of Leipsic by eating too fast ? It is a fact though. His haste caused indigestion, which made him "ncapable of attending to the details of the battle. You ee you are the last person eating at table. Sir, I will floi allow you to speak to my servants in that way. If they are so remiss as to oblige you to ask for anything, do it gently, and in a low tone, and thank a servant just as 296 MANNER, CARRIAGE AND HABETS. much as you would his master. Ten to one he is as good a man : and because he is your inferior in position, is the very reason you should treat him courteously. Oh ! it is of no use tc ask me to take wine ; far from pacifying me, it will only make me more angry, for I tell you the custom fe quite gone out, except in a few country villages, and at B mess- table. Nor need you ask the lady to do so. How* ever, there is this consolation, if you should ask any one to take wine with you, he or she cannot refuse, so you have your own way. Perhaps next you will be asking me to hob and nob, or trinquer in the French fashion with s-rms encircled. Ah ! you don’t know, perhaps, that when a lady trinques in that way with you, you have a right tc finish off with a kiss. Very likely indeed, in England i But it is the custom in familiar circles in France, but then we are not Frenchmen. Will you attend to your lady, sir ? You did not come merely to eat, but to make your- self agreeable. Don’t sit as glum as the Memnon at Thebes ; . talk and be pleasant. Now, you have some pudding. No knife — no, no, A spoon if you like, but better still, a fork. Yes, ice requires a spoon ; there is a small one handed you, take that. Say “no.” That is the fourth time wine has been handed to you, and I am sui’e you have had enough. Decline this time if you please. Decline that dish too Are you going to eat of everything that is handed ? 1 pity you if you do. No, you must not ask for more cheese, and you must eat it with your fork. Break the rusk with your fingers. Good. You are drinking a glass of old port. Do not quafi* it down at a gulp in that way. Never drink a whok glassful of anything at once. Well, here is the wine and dessert. Take whichevev HABITS AT TABLE 297 wme you like, but remember you must keep to that, and not change about. Before you go up stairs I will allow you a glass of sherry after your claret, but otherwise drink >f one wine only. You don’t mean to say you are help^ bg yourself to wine before the ladies. At least offer it to the one next to you, and then pass it on, gently, nc4 with a push like that. Do not drink so fast ; you will hurry me in passing the decanters, if I see that your glass is empty. You need not eat dessert till the ladies are ^gone, but offer them whatever is nearest to you. And now they are gone, draw your chair near mine, and I will try and talk more pleasantly to you. You will come out admirably at your next dinner with all my teaching. What ! you are excited, you are talking loud to the col- onel. Nonsense. Come and talk easily to me or to your nearest neighbor. There, don’t drink any more wine, for I see you are getting romantic. You oblige me to make a move. You have had enough of those walnuts ; you are keeping me, my dear sir. So now to coffee (one cup) and tea, which I beg you will not pour into your saucer to cool. Well, the dinner has done you good, and me too Let us be amiable to the ladies, but not too much so. CHAPTER Vm. THE CARRIAGE OR LADIES. ' To be ciyil with ease,” it has been well remarked, dtitutes good breeding. The English, It is added, ha?€ not les manures prevenantes ; when they want to be Jvil, they are ashamed to get it out.” Since the man- ders are generally formed for good or for bad before jhirty — although they may improve or deteriorate after chat age — it is to the young that a few admonitions should ()e offered. Vo the young?” The young are perfect now-a-days ! Ours is the age of self-assertion. I shall be surprised lit any one who can point out a single defect in my daugh- ters,” says a well-satisfied mamma. Teach ns re- fund the young ladies in a chorus, what does the crea ture mean?” My dears,” murmurs a tremulous voice from the other end of the room, grandmamma’s corner, don’t say that ; in my younger days it was the fashion for young ladies, if they were not really humble and timid, to appear so. I never came into a room as you, Arabella, do, as if I could walk over every one, and didn't mind ; nor crept in, Helen, like you, as if you had bees loing something in the passage you were ashamed of ; nor plumped down into a chair like you, Sophia, nor .’* Here they all interrupt poor grandmamma with a loud_ limultaneous laugh, for she is certainly quite out of date knows nothing of the matter. ( 298 ) ON FIRST INTRODUCTION. 299 She might have laid down immutable rules for good breeding ; she might have said, wdth the great Lord Chat ham, who probably was the best-bred man of his time that politeness is benevolence in trifles;’* with Rocl.c Foucault ' that it is the mind that forms the manners but wLc vrould have listened to her ? Arabella would have called out, “Who cares for such old fogrums now and Helen have added, that she thought Lord Chester- field and “ all that humbug about manners quite a sell.” Yes, it is true ; nous avons change tout cela. Except in the very highest classes, where politeness and a good carriage are taught from infancy — the higher classes being more retentive of old forms than any others ; except there, where what is called the “ old school” has not died out, it IS now not only allowable, but even thought clever, to be loud, positive, and rapid ; to come into the room like a whirlwind, carrying all before you ; to look upon every one else as inferiors, with the idea that it enforces that conviction ; to have your own set of opinions and ideas, without the least reference to what others think ; and to express them in terms which would have been far better comprehended in the stable than by a company of ladie and gentlemen some twenty years ago. Even in the high est classes, these watering-place manners — so let us call them — are on the increase, but only amongst a certain pet, who give the tone to a set, emulating their merit below them. ' It is as well to suggest to the young, “ to be earlj what they will, in later life, wish they had always been.” Unhappily those who compose society are prone to bor- row their ideas from the class above them, and do nol think for themselves. Melissa, the attorney’s daughter 500 THE CARRIAGE OF LADIES. catches up a few words of slang from the county mem her ’s daughter at the last races, and tninks ^t pretty tc use those phrases vigorously. Philippa, the good old reo* tor's favorite child, hears Lady Elizabeth contradict hei faamma, and takes the same cue herself, as the certainty if doing the right thing. Modesty and simplicity, th« i rfispring of reverence, dare not show their faces, and are loted slow.’*’ Since language is the exponent of character, it is no cessary to refer to its abuse, as if it does not in all cases actually show a vulgar and pretentious mind, it is apt te render it so. An agreeable, modest, and dignified bearing is, in the younger period of a woman’s existence, almost like a por- tion to her. Whatever may be the transient tone and fashion of the day, that which is amiable, graceful, and true in taste, will always please the majority of the world. A young lady, properly so called, should not require to have allowances made for her. Well brought up, her ad- dress should be polite and gentle, and it will, soon after her introduction to society, become easy to be civil witL ease.” Let us repeat the golden rule, it should be the guidance to the minor’s morals of society. On first being introduced to any stranger, there is no insincerity in the display of a certain pleasure. We are advised by Wilber” force to give our good-will, at first, on leasehold. To the elder, a deferential bend or curtsey, though curtsies are now unfashionable, marks the well brought up girl. Sh« must not receive her new acquaintance with a hysteric laugh, such as I have seen whole families prone to ; nei- ther must she look heavy, draw down her mouth, and ap- pear as if she did not care for her new acquaintance ; no? ON FIKST INTRODUCTION. 801 must she look at once over the dress of Her victim (ir that case) as if taking an inventory of it ; nor appear hur- ried, as if glad to get away on the first break in the con- versation. She must give a due attention, or reasonably time to perfect the introduction, to a certain extent. Vcl* ability is to be avoided ; to overpower with a volley of words is more cruel than kind ; the words should be gent* ly spoken, not drawled, and the voice loud enough to be caught easily, but always in an undertone to the power of voice alloted by nature. Some persons appear to go to the very extent, and deafen you for all other sounds ; they may speak the words of wisdom, but you wish them dumb. Others mumble so that you are forced continually to express your total inability to follow the drift of their remarks ; others drawl so that you feel that life is not long enough for such acquaintance. All these are habits to be conquered in youth. Avoid, especially, affectation. It was once in fashion Some ladies put it on with their dresses ; others, by a long practice, were successful in making it habitual. It became what was called their manner. Sophia has a manner; it is not affectation, ‘^it is her manner, only manner.” Affectation has long ceased to be the fashion, and like many other bygone peculiarities, one sees it only in shops. There is a way also of looking that must be regulated m the young. The audacious stare is odious ; the %ly^ oblique, impenetrable look is unsatisfactory. Softly and kindly should the eyes be raised to those of the speaker and only withdrawn when the speech, whatever it may be^ is concluded. Immediate intimacy and a familiar man* ner are worse than the glum look with which some young 302 THE CARRIAGE CF LADIES. ladies have a habit of regarding their felk w- mortals There is also a certain dignity of manners necessary tc make oven the mosi superior persons respected. This dignity can hardly be assumed ; it cannot be taught ; h must be the result of intrinsic qualities, aided by a knoAtl* edge very much overlooked in modern education— •• the knowledge how to behave.” It is distinct from preten- sion, which is about the worst feature of bad manners, and creates nothing but disgust. A lady should be equal to every occasion. Her politeness, her equanimity, her pre- sence of mind, should attend her to the court and to the cottage. Neither should private vexations be allowed to act upon her manners, either in her own house or in those of others. If unfit for society, let her refrain from entering it. If she enters it, let her remember that every one is expected to add something to the general stock of plea sure or improvement. The slight self-command required by good society is often beneficial both to the temper and spirits. One great discredit to the present day is the ‘‘ fast young lady ” She is the hoyden of the old comedies, without the indelicacy of that character. An avowed flirt, she does not scruple to talk of her conquests, real or imaginary. You may know her by her phrases. She talks of ‘Hhe men,” of such and such ‘‘a charmer.” She does not mind, but rather prefers sitting with the men” when they are smoking ; she rides furiously, and plays b lliards. But it is in her marked antagonism to her own Sf I that the fast y ung lady is perceptible. Sho shuts t.p her moral perceptions, and sees neither beauty nor talent in her own sex. With all this she is often THE FAST YOUNG LADY. 808 dolently confident, and calls all idiots who differ from her in — I can scarcely say her opinions — ^but rather her pre* judices. By degrees, the assumption of assurance which has had its source in bad taste, becomes real : a hard blask look % ftee tongue ; and, above all, the latitude of manner shown to her by the other sex, and allowed by her. show that the inward characteristics have followed the outward, and that she is become insensible to all that she has lost of feminine charm, and gained in effrontery. For the in- stant a woman loses the true feminine type, she parts with half her influence. The ^‘fast girl’’ is flattered, admired openly, but secretly condemned. Many a plain woman has gained and kept a heart by being merely womanly and gentle. In one respect, however, the fast young lady may console herself ; her flirtations are as fearless as her expressions ; they do little harm to any but herself. Bro- ken hearts have not to turn reproachfully to loud, high- spirited, overbearing w'omen, “jolly girls,” as they are styled ; “ chaff” in which they delight as often offends as amuses. To gain an empire over the affections of others, there must be somewhat of sentiment or sympathy in the nature of woman. Your loud, boastful, positive young lady will never be remembered with a soft interest, unless there be, perchance, some soft touch in her that redeems her from hardness. With regard to flirtation, it is difficult to draw a limit where the predilection of the moment becomes the more tender and serious feeling, and flirtation sobers into a more honorable form of devoted attention. We all dread for our daughters imprudent and harass- ing attachments ; let it not, however, be supposed that S04 TJIE CARRIAGE OF LADIES long practised flirtations are without their evil effects CB the character and manners. They excite and amuse, but they also exhaust the spirit. They expose women to oeii- mre and to misconstruction ; that is their least evil ; (hej destroy the charm of her manners and the simplicity of *be,T lieart. Yet the fast young lady clings to flirtation the type of her class ; the privilege of that social free- masonry which enables one flirt to discover and unkennel another. She glories in number. Where a rival has Blain her thousands, she has overthrown her tens of thou- sands. She forgets that, with every successive flirtation, one charm after another disappears, like the petals from a fading rose, until all the deliciousness of a fresh and pure character is lost in the destructive sport. On all these points a woman should take a high tone in the beginning of her life. It is sure to be sufficiently lowered as time goes on. She loses, too, that sort of tact which prevents her from discerning when she has gone too far, and the “ fast young lady’’ becomes the hardened and practised flirt, against whom all men are on their guard. It is true that, in comparing the present day with for- mer times, we must take into account, when we praise the models of more chivalric days, that we know only the best specimens ; the interior life of the middle classes is veiled from us by the mist of ages. Yet it is to be de- duced from biography, as well as from the testimony of poets and dramatists, that there was, before the Restora- tion, a sort of halo around young women of delicacy and good breeding, owing, perhaps, in part, to the more retir- ed lives that they led, but more to the remnants of that fast-departing sentiment of chivalrous respect which youth and beauty inspired Then came the upsetting demoral i THE PRUDE AND THE BLUE-SI v^CE ING. 305 lation of the Restoration, when all prudent fathers kepi their daughters from court, and only the bold and fast’* remained to furnish chronicles for De Grammont : we are not, therefore, to judge of the young women of England iy his pictures The character of English ladies rose again to a height of moral elevation during the placid anJ well-conducted rule of Anne, and continued, as far as re- latedto single women, to be the pride and boast of the country. Even now, when the reckless flirtation, loud voices, unamusing jokes, which are comprised under the odious term chaff,” and the masculine tastes of the pre- sent day are deprecated, events bring forth from time to time such instances of devotion and virtue as must con- vince one that there is no degeneracy in our own country- women on solid points. Few, indeed, are these instances, among the class we have described. We must not look for Florence Nightingales and Miss Marshes among that company of the fast. Contrasted with the fast young lady, comes forth the prude, who sees harm in everything, and her friend the blue-stocking. You may know the prude by her stolid air of resistance to mankind in general, and by her pat ronizing manner to her own sex. Her style of manner is like the Austrian policy, repressive ; her style of conver Bation, reprehensive. She has started in life with an im mense conceit of her own mental powers and moral attri bates, of which the world in general is scarcely wortlij Her manner is indicative of this conviction ; and become accordingly, without her intending it, offensive, when sbf believes herself to be polite. The prude and the pedant are often firm friends, eacs adoring the other. The fast young lady deals largely if 306 THE CARRIAGE OF LADIES. epithets: Idiot, dolt, wretch, humbug,” drop from her lips ; but tlie prude and her friend the blue-stocking per- mit themselves to use conventional phrases only ; theii notion of conversation is that it be instructive, and, at the same time, mystifying. The young blue stocking has aevertheless, large views of the regeneration of society and emancipation of woman from her degrading inferiority of social position. She speaks in measured phrase ; it is like listening to a book to hear her. She is wrapt up in Tennyson and Browning. There is, in all this, a great aim at display, with a self-righteousness that is very un- pleasing. Avoid, therefore, either extreme, and be con- vinced that an artless gaiety, tempered by refinement, always pleases. Every attempt to obtrude on a company subjects either to which they are indifferent, or of which they are ignorant, is in bad taste. “ Man should be taught as though you taught him not. And things unknown proposed as things forgot.” It was well said by a late eminent barrister, that litera- ture in ladies should be what onions ought to be in cook- ery ? yo^ should perceive the flavor, but not detect the thing itself. The bearing of married women should so far difier from that of the unmarried, that there should be greater quiet- ness and dignity ; a more close adherence to forms ; and an obvious, as well as a real abandonment of the admira* tion which has been received before marriage. All flirlu- Cion, however it may be countenanced by the present custom of society, should be sternly and foi ever put aside. There is no reason for conversation to be less lively, or society less agreeable ; it is, indeed, likely to be TBE MARRIED WOMAN. 307 aioie so, if flattered vanity, which may be wounded at r.ny moment, interposes, not to mar but to enhance enjoy- fi t: fit. If a young married woman wishes to be respect^ < *1 and therefore happy in life, there should be a quiel ipriety of manner, a dignity towards the male sex ^hich cannot be mistaken in her for prudery, since it i consistent with her position and her ties. She should change her tone, if that has been ‘^fast;’’ she should not put liei self on a level with young unmarried women of her own age, but should influence and even lead her youth Pal acquaintance into that style of behavior which is doubtless much esteemed by men of good taste. She should rather discountenance the fast, but has no need Id copy or to bring forward the prude and the blue-stocking, And it behooves married women to be more especially guarded and sensible in their conduct, when it is remem- Dered how rapidly the demoralization introduced, perhaps^ by rur contiguity with France, is extending in every class Formerly, among trades-people and professional men, separations and divorces were almost unheard of t the vices that lead to them were looked on with horroi by the middle classes. But now, the schoolmaster runs hway with the wife of his apothecary ; the brewer does the fashionable with the attorney’s wife ; the baker in- trigues with the green-grocer’s hitherto worthy helpmate^ xNever, in any time, have the seeds of vice been so scat- : :)red by the gale from one condition of social life to ano < ..er ; and the infection of this appalling wickedness has i«icn spreading, as the Divorce Court proves, silently, but « dely, for some years. Every woman, however humble, even however poor, may i one thing for society. She may set an example : bu^ 808 THE CARRIAGE 01 LADIES. we call loudly on those in the higher walks of life to dt so, and to wipe away the reproach on Israel. In being introduced to a new acquaintance, there shouM be more dignity and a little more distance in the mai.ncj the married woman than that of the single lady When she visits in a morning call, let her neither hunj oiF, after a few moments of empty talk ; nor stay too long, never considering the convenience of her who receives her She should walk gently down stairs, not talking loud tc any one as she goes Never let her apologize for not having called sooner, unless positively necessary; such apologies are vastly like affronts. In receiving guests the English lady has much to learn from the French hostess. Many a time has the visitor in England been met with symptoms of hurry and preoccu- pation, remarkc^bly embarrassing to those who call; or the carriage is announced directly after her arrival, and the lady of the house looks as if she thought her friend ought to go. Some under-bred ladies, in country towns, look out of the window half of the time, or put tidy their work- boxes, making you feel that you are secondary. As an immutable law of hospitality and good-breeding, a guest should always be the first and sole object when alone with you. It is one advantage of the French system of having a day on which to receive morning callers^ that the lady of the house is ready, and willing to let so man f Idlers intc her drawing-room. In no respect does the French ladj shine so much as in her reception of those who, as she appears to think, “ do her the honor’’ to enter her house. It is this that makes the difference. In England we seem to think we do people an honor in letting them cross oui PHYSICAL CARRIAGE. 309 thresholds Jknd come up our stairs. The French la ly ad- nances to meet the ladies, but waits to receive the gentle- men. She has a chair ready for every one, and the rooms of the fashionable are often full to crowding, yet no on is neglected Something civil (and ••civil with ease^'' appropriate, well-turned, and often gracefully kind, is saio to every one. The stranger or foreigner is not left out of the conversation previously going on ; he or she is not made to feel you are not one of us ; the sooner you go the better.” The conversation is soon general, though «fithout introductions. Having said all you wish, and stayed the usual time, you rise, and the lady follows you CO the door, where a servant is waiting to conduct you down stairs and call your carriage into the coiir. This igreeable accueil forms a strong contrast to the ennui v^hich a maUd-jjropos visit often seems to produce in a London drawing-room, and the evident despatch with which ft lady often rings the bell to let you out, often sitting down and resuming a conversation before you are half across the old and spacious apartment. In regard to the physical carriage of women, the graces of an upright form, of elegant and gentle movements, and of the desirable medium between stiffness and lounging, are desirable both for married and single. The same ruler* and recommendations are applicable to both. Control over the countenance is a part of manners. As a lady enters a drawing-room, she should look for the mistress of the house, speaking first to her. Her face should wear a imila ; she should not rush in head-foremost ; a graceful bearing, a light step, an elegant bend to common acquaint ance, a cordial pressure, riot shaking^ of the hand ex* tended to her, are all requisite to a lady. Let her sini 810 THE CARRIAGE OF LADIES. gently into a chair, and, on formal occasions, retain hei upright position ; neither lounge nor sit timorously on the edge of her seat. Her feet should scarcely be shown, and not crossed. She must avoid sitting stiffly, as if a ramrc i were introduced within the dress behind, or stooping Excepting a very small and costly parasol, it is not no^ usual to bring those articles into a room. An eleganth worked handkerchief is carried in the hand, but not dis- played so much as at dinner parties. A lady should con- quer a habit of breathing hard, or coming in very hot, or even looking very blue and shivery. Anything that de- tracts from the pleasure of society is in bad taste. In walking the feet should be moderately turned out, the steps should be equal, firm, and light. A lady may be known by her walk. The short, rapid steps, the shak- ing the body from side to side, or the very slow gait which many ladies consider genteel, are equally to be deprecated. Some persons are endowed with a natural grace that wants no teaching ; where it is not the case, the greatest care should be taken to engraft it in childhood, to have a master, not for dancing alone, but for the even more important at- tributes of the lady’s carriage. To bow with grace, oi to curtesy when required, to move across a room Wc'l, are points which strike the attention almost unconsciously tc ourselves, and the neglect of which often provokes com* ment even on those in other respects well qualified to adjn iocietj. PART 11. fBE INDIVIDUAL IN INDIVIDIaL RELAri3N8 CHAPTER IX. IN PUBLIC THE PROMENADE, ETC. So now, my dear Sir and my dear Madam, you are dressed, you have your accomplishments ready for use, you kno\^ how to carry yourself, what good habits to attend to, whai bad ones to avoid ; you have made a full examination of yourself ; you feel confident that you are a complete gen tleman,” or a charming woman you have had lunch, you feel comfortable and happy, and you say to yourself Let me go out and put these good rules into practice.’’ So then, if you are a man, you consult nobody but youi watch ; if you are a young lady, you consult mamma, and both having obtained the requisite assent, you, sir, issue forth with your watch, and you, mademoiselle, with your chaperon, and you go to meet your acquaintance in tha walk. Where the said walk may be is little matter. In the days of the Stuarts, you would have repaired to the transepts of old St. Paul’s, then the fashionable promenade. In a later reign you would have turned your steps to the ' Mall,” and met Beau Tibbs there in all his glory. N3w, ( 311 ) 312 IN PUBLIC. THE PROMENADE, ETC. if you live in London, you make for Rotten Row ; if iB a watering-place, for the Promenade or the Parade, or bref^ whatever may be the spot chosen for the gay peacocte to strut in. You have not been there tw’o minutes before you metl somebody you know. But that is a very vague term ; for you may know people in almost a dozen different ways. First, then, you ki.ow them slightly, and wish to recognize them slightly. Your course is simple enough. If you are a lady, you have the privilege of recognizing a gentleman. You wish to do so, because there is no rea- son that you should not be polite to him. So when you come quite near to him and see that he is looking at you, you bow slightly, and pass on. There are one or two things to be avoided even in this. You must not, how- ever short-sighted, raise your glasses and stare at him through them before you bow ; but as it is very awkward for a lady to bow by mistake to a gentleman she does not know, you should look at him well before you come up to him. If you are a man, on the other hand, and you meet a lady whom you know slightly, you must wait till she bows to you. You then lift your hat quite off your head with the hand, whichever it may be, which is farther from the person you meet. You lift it off your bead, but that is all ; you have no need, as they do in France, to show the world the inside thereof ; so you immediately rep]a-r<' it. In making this salute, you bend your body slightly. If, which should rarely occur, you happen to be smoking you take your cigar from your mouth with the othei hand ; so too, if you have your hands in your pockets which I hope you will not, you take them out before bow- THE SALUTE. 318 Ing. To neglect these little observances would show a want of respect. But suppose it is a person whom you know rather more than slightly, and to whom you may speak. Well, then no man may stop to speak to a lady until she stops to Speak to him. The lady, in short, has the right in all cases to be friendly or distant. Women have not many rights ; let us gracefully concede the few that they possess. You raise your hat all the same, but you do not shake hands unless the lady puts out hers, which you may take as a tfign of particular good-will. In this case you must not stop long, but the lady again has the right to prolong the interview at pleasure. It is she, not you, who must make the move onwards. If she does this in the middle of a conversation, it is a proof that she is willing that you should join her, and if you have no absolute call to go your way, you ought to do so. But if she does so with a slight inclination, it is to dismiss you, and you must then again bow and again raise your hat. K, however, you are old acquaintance without any quar- rel between, you should, whether gentleman or lady, at once stop and give the hand and enter into conversation. The length of this conversation must depend on the place where you meet. If in the streets, it should be very short ; if in a regular promenade, it may be longer ; but as a rule, old friends do better to turn round and join forces. On the other hand, if you are walking with a nan whom your lady friend does not know, you must no^ stop , still less so, if she is walking with a lady or gen • tleman whom you do not know. If, however, a decided inclination is evinced by either to speak to the other, and ou so stop, the stranger ought not to walk on, but tc 14 S14 THE PROMENa:>E, etc. stop also, and it then behooves you to introduce him oi her. Such an introduction is merely formal^ and goes w further. Lastly, let us suppose that you want to cut’’ youjp aocj[uaintance. 0 fie ! Who invented the cut ? What de- mon put it into the head of man or woman to give this mute token of contempt or haired ? I do not know, but 1 do know that in modern civilized life, as it goes, the cut is a great institution. The finest specimen of it which we have on record is that of Beau Brummell and George IV. These two devoted friends had quarrelled, as devot- ed friends are wont to do, and when they met again, George, then Prince, was walking up St. James’ Streen on the arm of some companion, and Brummell, dressed to perfection, was coming down it on that of another. The two companions happened to know one another, and all four stopped. George the Prince was determined to is nore George the Beau’s existence and talked to his com- panion without appearing to see him. George the Bear expected this, but was still mortified. They all bowed and moved away ; but before the Prince was out of hear- ing, Prummell said to his companion in a loud voice. ‘‘Who’s your fat friend?” It is well known that the Recent grieved at that time most bitterly over his grow- ing corpulency, and the Beau was avenged. But my advice to anybody who wishes to cut an ac uaintance is, most emphatically, Don’t. In the first place, it is vulgar, and a custom which the vulgar affect. It is pretentious, and seems to say, “ You are not good enough for me to know.” All pretension is vulgar. In the next place, it does the cutter as much injury as the cuttee. The latter, if worthless, revenges himself by denouncing th« THE CUT. 815 former as stuck up, unpolite, ill-bred , if nimself well- bred, he says nothing about it, but inwardly condemns and despises you. Now, in a world where love is at a premium and even respect is not cheap, it is a pity to add, by foolish ‘ride, to the number of those who dislike you ; but. if here were no other consideration, it is extremely uncliris tian, to say the least of it. It is a giving of offence ; and woe to him by whom offences come. It is the consequence either of pride or of judging your neighbor, both of which are bad faults. Lastly, it raises up for ever between two people a barrier which neither years nor regret can sur mount. It is a silent but desperate quarrel, but, unlike ^ther quarrels, it is never followed by a reconciliation. Che Christian law used to be, ‘‘ If you have aught against four brother, go and expostulate with him.’’ The mode: a social law — not, however, the law of good society — mak 3 4n amendment : Do not take the trouble to go to him- > it will do no good — but cut him dead when you meet, an 3 60 get rid of him for ever.” Yes, Dead !” Dead, mdeed ; for all the love, all the forgiveness there migh\ flow between you, he is as good as dead to you. what ia more, you have killed him. But the cut is often a silly measure, and far too promptly resorted to. At Bath you have known the Simpkinses, and even been intimate with them, but in Town you take t into your head they are '^inferior;” you meet and 'ut them. Well, a fortnight later, you find that Ladj So-and-so is particularly partial to the Simpkinses. ‘ D<\ 70U know those charming girls ?” she asks, and how foolish you then feel. Or again. Captain Mactavish is your best and most amusing friend ; slander whispers in your eai’, '* Mactavish was cashiered for fraudulent transactions " 816 THE PROMENADE, ETC. You go out, happen to meet, and cut him dead. The next day the truth comes out. It is another Mactavish who was cashiered, and your friend is a model of honor. Whal can you do ? You cannot tell him you made a mistake U would then be his turn to take a high hand. No no says he, when you offer to renew the friendship, if you could so soon believe evil of me, you are not the man for Mactavish. Besides, you cut me yesterday, and I can forgive everything but a cut.’’ Or again, papa is alarmed at the attentions of young Montmorency. A penniless boy making love to Matilda !” he cries indignantly, and orders the said Matilda and her mamma to cut him. Mont- morency, in pique, runs off to Miss Smith, offers, and marries her. It is then discovered that Montmorency has a bachelor uncle whose whole fortune will come to him, and Matilda is miserable. But there are some cases in which a cut becomes the sole means of ridding one’s-self of annoyance, and with young ladies especially so. A girl has no other means of escaping from the familiarity of a pushing and thick- skinned man. She cannot always be certain that the people introduced to her are gentlemen ; pleased with them at first, she gives them some encouragement, till some oc- casion or other lays bare the true character of her new acquaintance. What is she to do ? He requires so little to encourage him, that even a recognition would be sufficient ^ bring him on. She has nothing left but to cut him lead. The cut, however, should be positively the last re- lource. There are many ways, less offensive and more dignified, of showing that you do not wish for intimacy , the stiff bow without a smile is enough to show a man of any preception that he need not make farther advances THE CUT. sr md as for cutting people of real or imaginary inferiority it is the worst of vulgarity. We laugh at the silly pride of the small dressmaker who declines to go through the kitchen. Not accustomed to associate with menials/’ he tells you, and knocks at the front door ; we smile at the costermonger who cannot lower himself to recognise the crossing-sweeper ; and how absurd to those of a higher class than our own must the Smiths, whose father was a physician, appear, when they cut the Simpkinses, whose progenitor is only a surgeon, and so on. But if you have once known people you should always know them, if they have not done anything to merit indignation. If you have once been familiar with the Simpkinses, you are not only inconsistent and vulgar, but you accuse yourself of former want of perception, if now you discover that they are too low for you to know. But, if a cut must be made, let it be done with as little ofiFensiveness as possible. Let the miserable culprit not be tortured to death, or broken in the social wheel, like a Damiens, however treasonable his offence. Never, on any account, allow him to speak to you, and then staring him in the face, exclaim, ‘‘ Sir, I do not know you !” or, as ome people, trying to make rudeness elegant, would say, “ Sir, I have not the honor of your acquaintance/’ nor behead him with the fixed stare ; but rather let him see that you have noticed his approach, and then turn year head away. If he is thick-skinned or daring enough to ■come up to you after that, bow to him stifily and pass oa In this way you avoid insolence, and cause less of tha destroyer of good manners — confusion. There are some definite rules for cutting. A gentle- man must never cut a lady under any circumstances. An 818 THE PROMENADE, ETC. anmarried lady should never cut a married one. A ser Vdnt of whatever class — for there are servants up tc royalty itself — should never cut his master ; near relationi should never cut one another at all ; and a clergyman should never cut anybody, because it is at best an unchiis tian action. Perhaps it may be added that a superior should never cut his inferior in rank ; he has many other ways of annihilating him. Certainly it may be laid down that people holding temporary official relations must waive their private animosities, and that two doctors, for instance, however much opposed to one another, should never intro- duce the cut over the bed of a patient. I pass now to a much pleasanter theme, that of saluta lion. I know not when men first discovered that some sign was necessary to show their good-will to one another Hatred, the ugliest of all the demons, (and they are not renowned for beauty), took a reserved seat early in the history of the world, and the children of Cain and Seth, if they ever met, must have found it necessary to hold out some human flag of truce. What this may have been we have no records to prove, but it is certain that prostra- tion, which made a man helpless for the moment, was a very early form of salutation, and one that has not yet gone out, for kneeling, which is only a simpler form of it, it still preserved in our courts. But this was too awkward a practice for everyday life, especially when men gathered *nto cities and met their fellow-creatures daily in large numbers. Fancy a member of Parliament bobbing down on his ‘‘ marrow-bones’’ whenever he met a constituent, or a clergyman wearing the knees of his black limb covers’- into shining patches as he walked the parish and met Tim Miles and George Giles at every corner. The question thee ABOUT SALUTATION. 816 arose how to show the same good-will without the same in- con venieuce, and which of the senses should be employed in it. We looked at the brute creation, Tvhich, in its gift of instinct, seemed to have as it were a direct revelation foi such things, but found little counsel. Dogs wagged tlieir tails, but their masters had none to wag, except indeed among the Niam-Niam, and even with them it is doubtful wnether the necessary pliability exists. Horses know their friends by the smell, and Mr. Rarey tells us that we need never fear a horse which has sniffed us all over, for the sim- ple reason that it will no longer fear us. But though it is said you may tell a Chinaman, as the ancients told an Ibe- rian, par son ocleur^ and though you may certainly recognize a modern fop by his smelling of musk and insolence,’’ yet it does not appear that there is any perfume by which the human being can assure you of his good intentions. The prostration was probably therefore first followed by a deep inclination of the body, which we preserve faintly enough in our modern bow, and which was the recognized form cf worship in several eastern countries. Another modifica- tion of prostration, which was preserved in this country between servants and masters till the end of the seven- teenth century, was that of making a knee,” as Ben Jonson calls it, w^hich was nothing more than slightly bending one leg and so lowering the body. But these forms were too much for some people and too little for others. The children of this world soon discovered that they were not all children alike, and made early a marked distinction of persons. The salute fit for a chieftain was much too good for a serf, and the serf himself was not going to make a knee to a brother serf, however mucti he liked him. In fact, it became necessary to distinguish be / 320 THE PROMENADE, ETC tween the amount of respect due to position (for cliaractei soon lost its due recognition), and the amount of cordial- ity due to frien..o^ip. Thus some form of inclination re- mained in use for the salute of respect, and thus the eye was the sense there employed. The principle of respect was brought variously into practice, but in no way so prominently as that of baring some part of the body, thereby putting the saluter to a temporary inconvenience, and laying him open to the attack of the saluted. In one country the shoes were taken off, in another the head- gear, though St. Paul's philosophic, if not very gallant, distinction relative to the honor of a man laying in his head, and that of a woman elsewhere, would seem to make the Orientals more consistent in keeping their tur- bans on and taking off their slippers. In no country, however, do we hear of women taking their bonnets off, as a salute, though in some to unveil the face was a mark of great reverence. That, of course would depend on whether it was a pretty face or not ; but however this may be, the forms of salutation which have been retained among European nations are much the same ; the bow, namely, as a relic of prostration, and baring the head, among men ; while among women the prostration was kept up to a much later date, and the curtsey, in w^nch the knees were bowed, is not yet quite vanished from the modesty of our land. Maid-servants and country wives retain it still. But when we come to cordiality we find another sense brought into action. Words were known to be concealers of thought, so that the sense of hearing was out of the question, while smelling and tasting were unanimously 70ted brutish ; and those poets who talk about tasting THE KISS. 321 the hcney of her lips,” are fitted to Le laureates in the cannibal islands rather than in the British kingdoms There remained then the sense of touch, which, if iio» the most delicate, is one which the human race particu larly depend on, as our blind children learn to know evei colors thereby. Besides, owing to the absence of fur in our race, the sense of touch is more acute in us than in any other animals. Well, on the touch-and-know principle, some races im* mediately undertook to conduce to each other’s comfort as a token of cordiality. In the frost-bitten regions of Lap- land, for instance, it is the fashion to run up to your friend and rub his nose with yours. It is a mute ex- pression of the wish that his proboscis may not drop off some cold morning ; and indeed this custom must assist in preserving that graceful feature from the effects of frost, so that the man with the largest acquaintance is also like- ly to have the largest nose. In Southern Africa again, where the feet get terribly dry from the heat of the soil, it is the custom to rub toes ; and in some country or other, the height of elegance is to moisten the hand in the most natural manner, and smear your friend’s face with it. These customs, however, must ha.ve had a somewhat local appreciation, and have not received general approba- tion. There are now two recognised modes of cordial salutation — the kiss and the shake of the hand. Whether kissing was known in Paradise, as Byron, whc had some experience of it (kissing, I mean, not Paradise), assures U£ ; “ One remnant of Paradise still is on earth. And Eden revives in the first kiss of love ; * * w« cannot stop to investigate, but that it was a very earlj 14 * 322 THE PROMENADE, BTC. discovery, those who read their Bibles maj find out, ll is a beautiful custom, an angelic custom ; I say it without blushing, because it was originally, and in many countrit:# is- “let us hope even in England — the most innocent tliii-g in tlie world. Certainly, about the period of our ov, li eiu, the kiss of peace’’ was a mark of love between men though in some cases it was made to serve the dead- liest ends. It is still in use between men in France and Germany. The parent kisses his grown-up son on the forehead ; friends press their lips to others’ cheeks ; bro- thers throw their arms round one another’s necks and embrace like lovers. Alack and alas ! for our stiff hu- manity. Here in England it is reserved for children and girls, and for Minnie to stop my lips with when I am going to scold her. Well, it is a beautiful old custom, all the same, and if we were not so wicked in this nine- teenth century, we should have more of it. In the days of good Queen Bess it w^as the height of politeness to kiss your neighbor’s wife, and our grandfathers tell us that on entering a room they kissed all the women present as a matter of course. This privilege is reserved now for Scotch cousins, who make a very free use of it. But, alas ! this beautiful symbol of pure affection, which sent a thrill from warm lips through all the frame, is now be- come a matter of almost shame to us. It is a deed to done behiid the door, as Horace Smith hints. “ Sydney Morgan was playing the organ, While behind the vestry door Horace Twiss was snatching a kiss From the lips of Hannah Moore.” Poor Hannah Moore ! how the very thought d usi bafi shrivelled her up. THE KISS. 822 kiss of mere respect was made on tke hand, a good Ai e.ttstGin still retained in Germany, and among a fe^ old beaux at home. Whether it was pure respect whicl Induced Leicester often to kiss the Virgin Queen on he: lips, which,” we are told, she took right heartily,” i cannot say ; but at all events in this day, the kissing of the lips is reserved for lovers, and should scarcely be per* foimed in public. But the kiss of friendship and rela- tionship on the cheeks or forehead is still kept up a little, and might be much more common. I like to see a young man kiss his mother on her wrinkled brow ; it shows “ there is no humbug about him.” I like to see sisters kiss, and old friends when they meet again. But I may like what I like. The world is against me, and as it is a delicate subject I will say no more on it, save only this, — As a general rule, this act of affection is excluded from public eyes in this country, and there are people who are ashamed even to kiss a brother or father on board the steamer which is to take him away for some ten or twenty years. But then there are people in England who are ashamed of showing any feeling, however natural, how- ever pure. This is a matter in which I would not have etiquette interfere. Let the world say it is rustic, or even vulgar, to kiss your friends on the platform of a railway, before they start or when they arrive. It is never vulgai to be loving, and love that is real love will show itself though there were ten Acts of Parliament against it. ‘‘ A cold hand and a warm heart” is an old saw, whicl may be true for the temperature of the skin, but is cer^ fcainly not so for the mode of pressing it. A warm heart.^ I am persuaded, gives a warm shake of the hand, and a man must be a hypocrite, who can shake yours heartily 324 THE PROMENADE, ETC. while he hates you. The hand is after all the most natu ral limb to salute with. Next to those of the lips, the nerves of touch are most highly developed in the fingers which may be accounted for by the perpetual friction and irritation tc which they are subjected, for we know that those portions of the skin are the most ticklish which un- dergo the most friction. However this may be, the hand is the most convenient member to salute with. The toe rubbing process, for instance, must subject one to the risk of toppling over in any but a dignified manner ; “ mak- ing a knee’' was liable to be followed by breaking a nose, if the balance were not carefully preserved, and as for the total prostration system, I feel convinced that it must have been given up by common consent after dinner, and by corpulent personages. But the charm of the hand, as a saluting member, lies in the fact of its grasping power which enables the shaker to vary the salute at pleasure. The freemasons well know this, and though they begin the mysterious salute with signs for the eye, they are raie- ly satisfied till they have followed them up by the giasp, which varies for almost every grade, for apprentice, mas- ter, royal arch, knight templar, and all their other absur- dities. My worthy masons, do not suppose that you possess a monopoly of this art. There is as cunning a freomasonry in all society, and the mode of taking, grasp- ing, and shaking the hand, varies as much according to circumstances, and even more, than your knuckling sjs* tern. First, there is the case where two hands simply take hold of one another. This is the mode of very shy pec« pie, and of two lovers parting in tears : but then in the me case the hold is brief, in the other continued. Next HAND-SHAKING there is the case where one hand is laid clammily in the other, which slightly presses the fingers, not going down to the palm. This is a favorite mode with ladies, espe- cially young ladies, towards slight acquaintance ; but vhen my heart flutters a little for Mariana’s smile, 1 sliould be piqued indeed, nay, shocked, if there wert nothing more than fingers laid in my hand, no responsive thumb to complete the manoeuvre, and when Sybilla told me she could not love me, and when she would not listen, but hurried away up the terrace steps, and turned to give me the last — last shake of a hand, I have never touched again, I cannot tell you what of despair she saved me in the friendly warmth — I do not say afiection — with which she wrung my hand that passionately clung round hers. Ah ! Sybilla, better have left that hand with me, have given it me for ever, than to the wealthy wig-wearing, rouged and powdered bear, to whom they sold you after- wards. Next, there is the terribly genteel salute of the under- bred man, who with a smirk on his face, just touches the tips of your fingers, as if they were made of glass ; there is the blunt honest shake of the rough, who lays out his hand with the palm open and the heart in the hollow of it, stretches it well out, and shakes and rattles the one you put into it ; there is the pouncing style of him whe affects but does not feel cordiality, who brings the angle between thumb and finger down upon you like gaping shears * there is the hailing style of the indifferent man who seems to say to your hand, “ Come and be shaken there is the style of the man who gives your hand one toss, as if he were ringing the dinner-bell ; and anothej bell-ringing style is that of milady, who shakes her owf 626 THE PROMENADE. ETC. hand from the wrist with a neat fine little movement, and does not care whether yours shakes in it or not ; there ia genius who clasps your hands in both of his and beams into your face; and there is love who seizes it to press il tighter and more tightly, and sends his whole soul through the fingers. But the styles are infinite ; there is the mesmeric style where the shaker seems to make a pass down you before getting at your hand ; there is papa’s style, coming down with an open-handed smack, that you may hear half the length of Parliament Street ; there is the solemn style, where the elbow is tucked into the side, like the wing of a trussed fowl, and the long fingers are extended with the thumb in close attendance ; there is the hearty double- knock style of three rapid shakes ; there is the melan- choly style, where the hand is heaved up once or twice slowly and lowered despairingly ; there is the adulatory style, where it is raised towards the bent head as if to be •nspected ; there is the hail-fellow style, where the arm is stretched out sideways, and the eyes say, ‘‘There’s my hand, old boy !” Then of styles to be always avoided, there is the swinging style, where your arm is tossed from side to side ; there is the wrenching style, by which your knuckles are made to ache for five minutes after ; and there is the condescending style, where twn fingers are held out to you as a great honor. But, the best style of all, me judice, is the hearty single clasp, full-handed, warm, momentary, just shaken enough to make the gentle grasp well felt but not painful. The etiquette of hand-shaking is simple. A man haa ao right to take a lady’s hand till it is offered. It were t HAND-SHAKING. 82 : robbery whick she would punish. He has even less right to pinch or to retain it. Two ladies shake hands gently and softly. A young lady gives her hand, but does not shake a gentleman’s, unless she is his friend. A ladj should always rise to give her hand ; a gentleman, ol course, never dares do so seated. On introduction in a room, a married lady generally offers her hand, a young lady not; in a ball-room, where the introduction is to dancing, not to friendship, you never shake hands ; and as a general rule, an introduction is not followed by shak- ing hands, only by a bow. It may perhaps be laid down, that the more public the place of introduction, the less hand-shaking takes place ; but if the introduction be par- ticular, if it be accompanied by personal recommendation, such as, ^‘1 want you to know my friend Jones,” or, V Jones comes with a letter of presentation, then you give Tones your hand, and warmly too. Lastly, it is the priv- dege of a superior to offer or withhold his or her hand, BO that an inferior should never put his forward first. There are other modes of salutation, which, being too familiar, are well avoided, such as clapping a man on the shoulder, digging him in the ribs, and so forth. The French rarely shake hands, and only with intimate fi^iends. They then give the left hand, because that is nearer the heart, la main du cceur. The most cordial way of shak- ing hands is to give both at once, but this presupposes certain or uncertain amount of affection. When you meet a frieni in the street, it must depend on the amount of familiarity whether you walk with him or not, but with a lady you must not walk unless invited either verbally or tacitly A young and single man should 328 THE PROMENADE, ETC. never walk with a young lady in public places^ unless especially asked to do so. How Sybilla’s words tbrilled thrcugh me, when she said, Mamma, I am going tc walk home with Mr. , if you have no objection.^’ ! fiad not proposed it, it was her own doing. No wonder I am a bachelor still, and she the Amy in Locksley Hall ♦ If you walk with a lady alone in a large town, particu- larly in London, you must offer her your arm ; elsewhere it is unnecessary, and even marked. In driving with ladies, a man must take the back seat of the carriage, and when it stops, jump out first and offer his hand to let them out. In your own carriage you al- ways give the front seat to a visitor, if you are a man^ but a lady leaves the back seat for a gentleman. In railway travelling you should not open a conversa- tion with a lady unknown to you, until she makes some advance towards it. On the other hand, it is polite to speak to a gentleman. If, however, his answers be curt^ and he evinces a desire to be quiet, do not pursue the conversation. On your part, if addressed in a railway carriage, you should always reply politely. If you have a newspaper, and others have not, you should offer it to the person nearest to you. An acquaintance begun on a railway may sometimes go farther, but, as a general rule, it terminates when one of the parties leaves the carriage. A Frenchman always takes off his hat in a carriage where there are ladies, whether a private or public one. This 13 a politeness which really well-bred Englishmen imitate. If you go in an omnibus (and there is no reason why e gentleman should not do so), it is well to avoid conver- sation, but if you enter into it, beware of inflammatory IN PUBLIC CONVEYANCES 829 subjects. An acquaintance of mine once talked politics to a radical in an omnibus. The two got heated^ and more heated, and my acquaintance — for he was no fi iend^ I assure you — ended by driving his opponent’s head through the window of the vehicle. It w^as agrteablo-"- — to see his name next day in the police report. CHAPTER X Ul PRIVATE. VISITS, INTRODUCTIONS, ETC. Phhre are many great men who go unrewarded for the lervices they render to humanity. Nay, even their names are lost, while w^e daily bless their inventions. One of these is he, if it was not a lady, 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 oould only be done 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 individual, and with those who have a large acquaint- ance this custom is becoming very common in large tovfns. The visit or call is, however, a much better institution than' is generally supposed. It has its drawbacks. It wastes much time ; it necessitates mucTi small talk. It obliges one to dress on the chance of finding a friend at home ; but for all this it is almost the only means of making an acquaintance ripen into a friendship. In the visit all the strain, which general society somehow neces- sitates, is thrown off. A man receives you in his room? cordially, and makes you welcome, not to a stifi* dinner^ but an easy-chair and conversation. A lady, who in the ball-room or party has been compelled to limit her conver' sation, can here speak more freely. The talk can descend from generalities to personal inquiries, and need I say that il LETTERS OF INTRODUCTION. 33J ycu wish to know a young lady truly, you must see hei at home, and by daylight. The main points to be observed about visits are the pro- per occasions ani the proper hours. Now, between actual friends there is little need of etiquette in these respects A friendly visit may be made at any time, on any occasion True, you are more welcome when the business of the day is over, in the afternoon rather than the morning, and you must, even as a friend, avoid calling at meal-times. But. on the other hand, many people receive visits in the eve- ning — another French custom — and certainly this is the best time to make them. As however, during the season, you have but a slight chance of finding your friends at home in the evening, another custom has been imported from France into the best circles of English society, that, namely, of fixing a day in the week on which to receive evening visitors with- out the ceremony of a party. The visit may then last from one to two hours, and be made either in morning or evening dress, the latter being the better. However, this custom is not yet a common one, but I beg to recommend it to those who wdsh to have friends as well as mere ac- quaintance. The principal class of visits, then, is those of ceremony. The occasions for these are — with letters of introduction, after certain parties, and to condole or congratulate. In the first case, letters aie rarely if ever given to per- 3ons in Town. The residence in town is presumed to be transitory, and letters of introduction are only addressed to permanent residents. On the other hand, they are ne- cessary in the country, particularly when a family take up their residence in a district, and wish to enter the best S82 VISITS, INTRODUCTIONS, ETC. society of the place. In this last case the inhabitaiits al ways call first on the new-comer, unless he brings a lettei of introduction, when he is the first to call, but instead of going in, leaves it with a card or cards, and waits till this formal visit is returned. In returning a visit made with a letter it is necessary to go in if the family is ai home. A letter of introduction,’’ says La Fontaine, ' ie a draft at sight, and you must cash it.” In large towns there is no such custom. It would be impossible for the residents to call on every new comer, and half of the new arrivals might be people whose acquaintance they would not wish to improve. If however, you take a letter of introduction with any special object, whether of business or of a private or particular character, you are right to send in the letter with your card, and ask for admission Such letters should only be given by actual friends of the persons addressed, and to actual friends of their own. Never, if you are wise, give a letter to a person whom you do not know, nor address one to one whom you know slightly. The letter of introduction, if actually given to fts bearer, should be left open, that he may not incur the fate of the Persian messenger, who brought tablets of intro- duction recommending the new acquaintance to cut his head off. A letter of this kind must therefore be carefully worded stating in full the name of the person introduced, but with as few remarks about him as possible. It is gen- erally sufficient to say that he is a friend of yours, whom you trust your other friend will receive with attention, &c In travelling it is well to have as many letters as possible but not to pin your faith on them. In foreign towns it is the custom for the new comer to call on the residents first just the reverse of ours. VISITS OF CEREMONY. 38E Ceremonial visits must be made the day after a ball when it will suffice to leave a card ; within a day or tw<5 after a dinner party, wffien you ought to make the visii pei'sonally, unless the dinner was a semi-official one, such ^ the Lord Mayor’s ; and within a week of a small party, when the call should certainly be made in person. All these visits should be short, lasting from twenty minutes to half-an-hour at the most. There is one species of ^‘borc’’ more detestable than any other — the man, namely, who comes and sits in your drawing-room for an hour or two. preventing you from going out to make your own calls, or interrupting the calls of others. It is proper when you have been some time at a visit, and another caller is an- nounced, to rise and leave, not indeed immediately, as if you shunned the new arrival, but after a moment or tw^o In other cases, when you doubt wffien to take your leave, you must not look at your watch, but wait till there is a lull in the conversation. Visits of condolence and congratulation must be made about a week after the event. If you are intimate with the person on whom you call, you may ask in the first case for admission ; if not, it is better only to leave a card and make your kind inquiries” of the servant, who m generally primed in what manner to answer them. In visits of congratulation you should always go in, and be hearty in your congratulations. Visits of condolence are terrible inflictions to both receiver and giver, but they may be made less so by avoiding, as much as consistent with sympathy, any allusion to the past. The receivei does well to abstain from tears. A lady of my acquaint- ance, who had lost her husband, was receiving such a visit in her best crape. She wept profusely for ^ome time upon 834 VISITS. INTRODUCTION, ETC. the best of broad-hemmed cambric handkerchiefs, and theii turning to her visitor said : I am sure you will be glad to hear that Mr. B has left me most comfortably pio- ^ided for. ^^Hmc illcb lacrymcB. Perhaps they wouT have been more sincere if he had left her without a penny At the same time, if you have not sympathy and heart enough to pump up a little condolence, you will do better to avoid it, but take care that your conversation is not too gay. Whatever you may feel, you must respect the sor- rows of others. On marriage, cards are sent round to such people as you wish to keep among your acquaintance, and it is then their part to call first on the young couple, when within distance. I now come to a few hints about calling in general ; and first as to the time thereof. In London, the limits of call- ing hours are fixed, namely, from three to six, but in the country people are sometimes odious enough to call in the morning before lunch. This should not be done even by intimate friends. Everybody has, or ought to have, his or her proper occupation in the morning, and a caller will then sometimes find the lady of the house unprepared. It is necessary before calling to ascertain the hours at which your friends lunch and dine, and not to call at these.' A ceremonial call from a slight acquaintance ought to be re turned the next day, or at longest within three days, unless the distance be great. In the same way, if a strangei comes to stay at the house of a friend, in the country, or in small country towns, every residenc ought to call oii him or her, even if she be a young lady, as soon as pos- sible after the arrival. These calls should be made in per- son, and returned the next day. LEAVING CARDS. 385 The card is the next point. It should be perfeotlv simple A lady’s card is larger than a gentleman’s. Tho formei may be glazed, the latter not. The name, ^ith a simple ^^Mr.” or ^^Mrs.” before it is sufficient, except iti the case of acknowledged rank, as ‘‘The Earl of Ducie/ Colonel Marjoribanks,” The Hon. Mrs. Petre,” an BO forth. All merely honorary titles or designations of position or office should be left out, except in cards des tilled for purely official visits. Thus our ambassador at Paris returns official visits with a card thus : L’ Ambas- sadeur de Sa Majeste Britannique,” but those of acquaint- ance with Lord Cowley” simply. The address may bo put in the corner of the card. The engraving should be in simple Italian writing, not Gothic or Homan letters, very small and without any flourishes. Young men have adopted recently the foreign custom of having their Chris- tian and surname printed without the ‘‘Mr.” A young lady does not require a separate card as long as she is liv- ing with her mother; her name is then engraved under her mother’s, as : — Mrs. Jones Brownsmith. Miss Jones Brownsmith. Or if there be more than one daughter presented, thus :~ Mrs. Jones Brownsmith. The Miss Jones Brozvnsmiths. Which latter form can be defended as more idiomatic, if less grammatical, than “ The Misses Jones Brownsmith but it is a matter of little importance. I cannot enter here on a grammatical discussion, and the one form is as com- mon as the other. You will find a small card-case neater and more oonven- 880 VISITS. INTRODUCTIONS, BTC. ient than a pocket biok ; and in leaving cards yju musi thus distribute them : one for the lady of the house and lier daughters — the latter are sometimes represented by turning up the edge of the card — one for the master cf llie house and if there be a grown up son or near male ro htion staying in the house, one for him. But though cards are cheap, you must never leave more than three ai a time at the same house. As married men have, or are supposed to have, too much to do to make ceremonial calls, it is the custom for a wife to take her husband’s cards with her, and to leave one or two of them with her own. If, on your inquiring for the lady of the house, the servant replies, Mrs. So-and-so is not at home, but Miss So-and- so is,’’ you should leave a card, because young ladies do not receive calls from gentlemen, unless they are very in- timate with them, or have passed the rubicon of thirty summers. It must be remembered, too, that where there is a lady of the house, your call is lo her, not to her hus- band, except on business. The Roman Assembly used to break up if thunder was heard, and in days of yore a family assembly was often broken up very hurriedly at the thunder of the knocker, one or other of the daughters exclaiming, I am not dressed, mamma !” and darting from the loom ; but ladies ought to be dressed sufficiently to receive visitors in the afternoon. As nerves have grown more delicate of lute ^ears, it is perhaps a blessing that knockers have been superseded by bells. Where they remain, however, you should not rattle them fiercely, as a powdered Mercury does, nor should you pull a bell ferociously. Having entered the house, you take up with you to the drawing-room both hat and cane, but leave an umbrella in COUNTRY-VISITIt^G. 337 the hall. In France it is usual to leave a great- coat iowa stairs also, but as calls are made in this country in morn- ing dress, it is not necessary to do so. It is not usual to introduce people at morning calls if large towns ; in the country it is sometimes done, not al ways The law of introductions is, in fact, to force nl one into an acquaintance. You should therefore ascertain beforehand whether it is agreeable to both to be introduced but if a lady or a superior expresses a wish to know a gen- tleman or an inferior, the latter two have no right to de- cline the honor. The introduction is of an inferior liicli position a gentleman always holds to a lady) to the supe- rior. You introduce Mr. Smith to Mrs. Jones, or Mr. A. to Lord B., not vice versa. In introducing two persons, it is not necessary to lead one of them up by the hand, bu^ it is suflSoient simply to precede them. Having thus brought the person to be introduced up to the one to whom he is to be presented, it is the custom, even when the con- sent has been previously obtained, to say, with a slight bow to the superior personage : Will you allow me to intro- duce Mr. — The person addressed replies by bowing to the one introduced, who also bows at the same time, while the introducer repeats their names, and then retires, eaving them to converse. Thus, for instance, in present- ing Mr. Jones to Mrs. Smith, you will say, Mrs. Smith, albw me to introduce Mr. Jones.” and while they are en* gaged in bowing, you will murmur, Mrs. Smith — Mr Tones,” and escape. If you have to present three or foui peopb to said Mrs. Smith, it will suffice to utter their re- spective names without repeating that of the lady. A well-bred person always receives visitors at whatevei time they may call, or whoever they may be ; but if you 15 838 VISITS, INTRODUCTIONS, ETC. are occupied and cannot afford to be interrupted by a mere ceremony, you should instruct the servant befoi ehand to S-ay that you are ‘^not at home.” This foim has often been denounced as a falsehood, but a lie is no lie unlesa intended to deceive ; and since the words are universally understood to mean that you are engaged, it can be no barm to give such an order to a servant. But, on the other hand, if the servant once admits a visitor within the hall, you should receive him at any inconvenience to your self. A lady should never keep a visitor waiting more than a minute or two at the most, and if she cannot avoid doing so, must apologize on entering the drawing-room. In good society, a visitor, unless he is a complete stran- ger, does not wait to be invited to sit down, but takes a seat at once easily. A gentleman should never take the principal place in the room, nor, oirthe other hand, sit ai an inconvenient distance from the lady of the house. IB must hold his hat gracefully, not put it on a chair or table, or, if he wants to use both hands, must place it on the floor close to his chair. A well-bred lady, who is receiv- ing two or three visitors at a time, pays equal attention to all, and attempts, as much as possible, to generalize th^ conversation, turning to all in succession. The last arrival however, receives a little more attention at first than the others, and the latter, to spare her embarrassment, should leave as soon as convenient. People who out-sit two or three parties of visitors, unless they have some particular motive Fci doing so, come under the denomination of “ bores.” A bore” is a person who does not know when you have had enough of his or her company. Lastly, a lady never calls on a gentleman, unless professionally or officially. It is no^ only ill-bred, but positively improper to do so At the same COUNTRY- VISITING. 889 time, tnere is a certain privilege in age, \\nich niakes it possible for an old bachelor like myself to receive a visit from any married lady whom I know very intimately, but Buch a call would certainly not be one of ceremony, an-1 ilways presupposes a desire to consult me on some poin! )r other. I should be guilty of shameful treacheiy. how- ever, if I told any one that I had received such a visit, while I should certainly expect that my fair caller W'ould let her husband know of it. A few words on visits to country houses before I quit this subject. Since an Englishman’s house is his castle, no one, not even a near relation, has a right to invite him- self to stay in it. It is not only taking a liberty to do so, but may prove to be very inconvenient. A general invi- tation, too, should never be acted on. It is often given without any intention of following it up ; but, if given, should be turned into a special one sooner or later. An invitation should specify the persons whom it includes, and the person invited should never presume to take with him any one not specified. If a gentleman cannot dispense with his valet, or a lady with her maid, they should write to ask leave to bring a servant ; but the means of your inviter, and the size of the house, should be taken into consideration, and it is better taste to dispense with a servant altogether. Children and horses are still more troublesome, and should never be taken without special mention made of them. It is equally bad taste to arrive with a waggonful of luggage, as that is naturally taken as a hint that you intend to stay a long time. The length of % country visit is indeed a difficult matter to decide, but in the present day people who receive much generally specify the length in their invitation — a plan which saves a great 340 VISITS INTRODUCTIONS, ETC. deal of trouble and doubt. But a custom not so commett dable has lately come in of limiting the visits of acquaint- ance to two or three days. This may be pardonable where tl\e guest lives at no great distance, but it is preposterou to expect a person to travel from London to Aberdeen for ft stay of three nights. If, however, the length be no specified, and cannot easily be discovered, a week is the limit for a country visit, except at the house of a near re- lation or very old friend. It will, however, save trouble to yourself, if, soon after your arrival, you state that yoi are come ‘‘ for a few days,’’ and, if your host wishes you to make a longer visit, he will at once press you to do so. The main point in a country visit is to give as little trouble as possible, to conform to the habits of your en- tertainers, and never to be in the way. On this principle you will retire to your own occupations soon after break- fast, unless some arrangement has been made for passing the morning otherwise. If you have nothing to do, you may be sure that your host has something to attend to in the morning. Another point of good-breeding is to be punctual at meals, for a host and hostess never sit down without their guest, and dinner may be getting cold. If, however, a guest should fail in this particular, a well-bred entertainer will not only take no notice of it, but attempt to set the late comer as much at his ease as possible. A host should provide amusement for his guests, and give up his time as much as possible to them ; but if he should b a professional man or student — an author, for instance— the guest should, at the commencement of the visit, insist that he will not allow him ^o interrupt his occupations, and the latter will set his visitor more at his ease by accepting this arrangement. In fact, ^he rule on which a host (dIRATCITIES to servants. 311 ihould act is to make his visitors as much at home as po3 sible ; that on which a visitor should act, is to inte rfere Uule as possible with the domestic routine of the house. The worst part of a country visit is the necessity of gi t?ing gratuities to the servants, for a poor man may often find his visit cost him far more than if he had stayed a home. It is a custom which ought to be put down be- cause a host who receives much should pay his own ser- vants for the extra trouble given. Some people have made by-laws against it in their houses, but, like those about gratuities to railway-porters, they are seldom regarded. In a great house a man-servant expects gold, but a poor man should not be ashamed of offering him silver. It must depend on the length of the visit. The ladies give to the female, the gentlemen to the male servants. Would that I might see my friends without paying them for ikmi bc8Ditality in this indirect manner. PART 111 fflE INDIVIDUAL IN CCMPAN! CHAPTER XI. DINNERS, DINERS, AND DINNER-PARTIES. ^ Board cried a friend of mine one morning after 8 heavy dinner-party ; “ It ought to be spelt ‘ bored.’ Never was a more solemn torture created for mankind than these odious dinner-parties. Call it society ! so you might call the Inquisition ; and I really have my doubts whether I should not be as happy between a couple of jailers, insert- ing another and another wedge into the terrible boot, as between that garrulous old woman, who never waited foj an answer, and that nervous young lady who never gave one, with a huge tpergne between me and the rest of my fellow-creatures, an occasional glimpse of an irritable, solemn host at one end, and a most anxious hostess at the other. Upon my word, two whole hours of this, with the most labored attempts at conversation all round, in a darl room with a servant perpetually thrusting something across ray shoulder, exciting each time a fresh alarm of a shower of sauce or gravy: stupidity worked up to silliness by bad (Si2) THE MORALITY OF DINNER-PARTIES. 3ia champagne and worse port, and, when every one is wearied 10 death a white-mouse ditty from the shy young lady and another hour and a half of that frantically garrulous old one — really is this society Perhaps not ; but that is no reason why a dinner-party, pioperly selected and properly served, should not be as pleasant a meeting as any other. Indeed in England it ought to be pleasanter. The English are not famous for conversation ; but it has been proved, that if you want them to talk, you must put something substantial into their moutliS. One thing is certain, namely, that a dinner-party xS the main institution of society in this country, and one which every class and every denomination recognises and permi ts. Many people denounce balls as wicked, and con- sider evening parties frivolous, but none see any harm in being vfell fed, and made to drink a certain or uncertain quantity of wine. It certainly has often surprised me, that at the very time when we are appealing to men of all positions and all fortunes for subscriptions to relieve the destitute poor — when starving brethren are crawling in their filthy rags along the crowded pavement — when the homeless are crouching on our door-steps, and perishing of hunger but a few streets off, the noble philanthropist who presides at a meeting foi ^heir relief, and the bishop who calls for charity for them from the pulpit, should see no harm in encouraging, by their presence, the prodigality and Sybarite luxury of professional dinner-givers (fi. r they make it almost a profession). It is certainly strange, that while Scripture is ransacked for texts inculcating almsgiving and the duty of feeding the hungry, those words of Solomon, wnich denounce the man who gives to ^e rich, should be so completely overlooked. It is re S44 DINNERS, DINERS AND DINNER-PARTIES. Diarkable that the man who can vfith difficult}^ be brougLj to give a ten-pound note to keep a hundred souls alive, should j of his own free-will, spend twice the sum once ^ week in feasting with dainties some dozen of his fellow- SJ eatures, who can scarcely get up the requisite amount of appetite to enjoy them. But, after all, it is not so stiange, for men are selfish, and the good-will of a few rich is more highly prized than the gratitude of many poor. But let this pass, and let us console ourselves by the reflection that common sense, if no higher feeling, will in time simplify oar social banquets ; and that charity, some fifty years hence, will see no liarm^ as it now would, ir calling in the blind, the halt, and the needy, to partake of the dishes we now spread only for the rich, the fash- ionable, and the appetiteless. One rule, however, we may gain at once from these considerations, that only the wealthy should be dinner-givers, and the man who cannot afford’’ £5 for the starving, should on no account af- ford £20 for the well fed. A dinner, like a pun, should never be made public un- less it be very good, but at the same time modern im- provements enable it to be that without being also very i^xpensive. The goodness of a dinner does not consist in the rarity and costliness of the viands but in the manner in which they are cooked and served, in the various con eornitants which contribute to give it brilliance and ele- gance, and yet more in the guests who eat it. This last point is, in fact, the mest important, so tlial the invitation is only a second consideration to the dinner itself The rules for invitations, and some hints whom to invi'c are given in the next chapter by my colleague WHOM TO INVITE. 346 I need give but a few hints of my own. People who have- a large acquaintance and give dinners, should keep a book in which to write the names of those who compofiic- each party, which prevents the mistake of asking the same person twice, and of bringing precisely the same people together again when their turn comes round. There are indeed some privileged persons like myself, agreeable old bachelors, who, being free from encumbrance and full ol talk, are always w^elcome and generally wanted. In fact, such men run a risk of being known as professional diners out, like the convivcB of Rome, so that it is a greatei charity not to invite them too often. And this reminds me that you should not ask a man ^vithout his wufe, though you may leave his sons and daughters out of the calculation. Then, again, the very ancient had better be left to dine at home, unless, like Lady Morgan, they preserve their conversational powers. The invitation must be answ^ered as soon as possible, and the answer addressed to the lady of the house. But the question whom to invite, is one which cannot be so easily answered. First, there are some people w^hom you rmist invite sooner or later, namely, those at whose houses you have dined ; because you may neglect every Christian duty, and be less blamed than if you omit this social one. This is certainly absurd, and society be- 'omes almost loio when dinner-parties take the semblance f a tacit contract, in which the one party undertakes to feed the other to-day, if the other will feed him in roturt before the end of the season. Yet I have knowm poopde not at all ashamed to complain that they have not been asked to iinner, and not blush to say, They owe, us a iinner, you know.’’ Somehow, then, you must manag# 15 * 54{^ DINNERS, DINERS, AND DINNER-PART. ES to acquit yourself of these dinner debts before the season is over. Society condemns you severely if you do not pay your debts of hospitality. Of course this applies only to people who are known to be in the habit of givh^^ dinners. Those who from one cause or another do nci b m are still invited, though not so often. But when you have done your duty religiously in this respect, you have the world before you. Where to choose ? Now, after taking into due consideration the congruities and sympathies of those you may select, the ^rsfiief point is to invite men and women — an equal number of each of course — who can talk. By this I do not mean four rapid utterers of small-talk, who can coin more pretty nonsense in half an hour than a modern novelist in ^hree months, but men, who having gone through the iforM, and tamed their Pegasus with the curb of experi- •ence, not being bound, Mazeppa-like, on the back of some wretched hobby, c;in gallop smoothly over the themes xhat life and the newspapers supply to wit ; men who fiew life calmly from the height to which they have climbed, without prejudice and without awe ; and women who are capable of understanding and answering such men as these. But you must carefully avoid the eate?', b} which I mean both the gourmand and the gourmet^ both the alderma: whose motto is quantity, and the epicure who cries for quality. Of what good is it to pander to the greediness of a vile being, whose soul lies in the stomach, as the Greeks affirmed that it always did, and vhose mind and thoughts are much in the same rerion. If such men can talk at all, it is only of eating, and ii you do not feed them wdth the especial dainties they look for, their gratitude shows itself in sneers at your hospi^ WHOM TO INVITE. S41 tsiiity when they next dine out. Wits, again, ani met who think themselves to be so, should never be askec singly, for they will engross the conversation, and sileiwe the rest. When asked in numbers, they keep one anotli( j ifithin limits. The number of the guests is a difficulty. People find ibat it is more economical to give large than small din* ners, and will therefore continue to go on in solemn gran- deur. But the best dinners are those at which all t guests can join in a common conversation, to which tL^ host being within hearing of all his party can give th, proper lead. Such dinners alone can be agreeable to ali^ because no one is dependent on the liveliness of his or her nearest neighbor for conversation. As it is, too many dinner is nothing better than an eating quadrille, where each person has a partner and is at his mercy ; only that the dance lasts not an eighth of the time which the leashed diner is compelled to pass in company with his partner. Brillat Savarin says, that no dinner should have more than twelve guests, and the old rule was, neither less than the graces, nor more than the muses;” but London dinners oftener exceed these limits than the reverse, while country dinners mount up to twenty. Indeed, mih some senseless people, the eclai of the dinner seems to consist in the number of the guests, and the more you can feed the more your glory. I am inclined to think that the rule is the best ; but as it was made for tables at j^rhich la lies n^^ver appeared, some alteration must be made in it, and we may say generally, that an even num- ber is better than an odd one, and that it should be either six, eight, or ten. The first of course is reserved for jrour dinners of honor, when the men you admire and th€ 3*18 DINNERS, DINERS, AND DINNER-PARTIES. women you love — (two of each, for no man can find morj than tliat number in the world) — dine with you and youi i^ife ; the second is your sociable dinner, at which ail the guests are more or less known to one another ; and the third is your company dinner. If you exceed these nuin* bers, you may do what you will to make your dinnei perfect, your guests will spoil it all by falling into coup- les and eating in quadrille. But there is another reason for limiting the number, namely, that to give a good dinner, your means, your es- tablishment, your dining-room, the capacities of the table, and so forth, must all be taken into consideration. But if the dinner is given to fourteen, sixteen, or even eigh- teen as is now common in large towns, you must either increase your establishment and your expense not a little, ir be content, as people are, to give them the regular feed,’’ in Avhich everybody knows beforehand what they will have. One cook, for instance, cannot serve up pro- perly for more than a dozen people ; three men cannot wait properly on more than ten ; and a table which will hold more than that number will be so large as to sepa* rate the opposite guests too far for easy and general con- versation. Lastly, if your means enable you to dine a hun lred or a thousand every week, you would be a mad- man to do so ; you might as well give your dinner to two only, for what of that essential harmony, that communion )f mind and spirit, the feast of reason and the flow of >oul,” can there possibly be bet^veen a hundred, nay, even seventy people, some of them so far from one another that they could scarcely be heard without a speaking-trumpet? Having well selected your guests, you consider in w^hal room to dine them, for the regular dining-rocm is no* THE DININH-EOOM. 849 always the most comfortable. If the party be imall — sis or eight — a large dining-room will look very ghastly, and it should be borne in mind that dinner-givers of good taste study comfort more than grandeur, which latter i simply vulgar whether in the house of a duke or a haber dasher. The furniture of our dining rooms is certainly improving a little. Nothing could be more chilling tc the mind and appetite alike than the stone-colored walls^ displaying the usual magnificent oil-paintings of an un- known school, the bust of the master of the feast at one . end looking almost less solemn than the original under it. the huge table with its cumbrous silver adornments, the stiff side 'board and the stiffer chairs. Whether it was a Puritanical attempt at simplicity which insisted that if we would have a good dinner we should mortify the flesh with bad concomitants, or w^hether it was a foolisli fancy that a dining-room should be cold, though the dinner were hot, I cannot say ; but I feel that the man w^ho makes dining a study — and he w^ho gives dinners should in charity do so — must go farther in the improvements of the room than w^e yet have. Light and an air of comfort are the main essentials. The temperature must not, even in summer, be too low, for sitting at dinner produces a chill.in itself Thirteen to sixteen degrees of Reaumur are fixed for it by the author of the Physiologie du gout ; out whatever the exact temperature, it must be obtained before dinner by lighting the fire some hours previously, ind allowing it to burn rather low until near the end of the meal, when it must be replenished. There are very few days in an English summer when x small fire afte^ dinner is not acceptable. Iv very cold weather, when a targe one is necessary, it is not easy to manage so that 850 DINNERS, DINERS AND LINNER-PARIlEa. one-half of the guests shall not have their backs roasted and the other not be frozen, but there are two ways of preventing it — the one by a large glass screen before the fire, the other by a table in the shape of a horse-shoe or of a segment of a circle, of which the chord will be towards the fire. A dinner-giver will then have his round or oval table so made as to be divisible into two separate ones. The shape of the table is, in fact, a more essential point than some people think. In order that a dinner may be a social meeting, not a mere collection of t ies- -t tes^ as it used to be till recently, and still is sometimes, the table must be of a shape which will not make conversation dif- ficult between any two or more of the guests. The old parallelogram, with the stately host at the end and the radiant but anxious lady at the other, was fatal to con^ versation. It Avas too broad, toe long, too stiff — the cor- ners cut off the lord and lady of the feast from their hon ored guests, and necessitated leaning across ; while it Monsieur wished to make a remark to Madame, ho had, independently of the joints, ( pergne, and candelabra, a length of table to impede him which compelled him to raise his voice most unmusically. It caused a complete divorce, in fact^ and Sir Cresswell Cresswell could not more effectually sever man and wife than that ancient board” — for suck it literally was in shape — used to do. The modern table is oval. Some people dine at rouiul tables, like Arthur and his knights, but these if large enough for a party, wdll have a diameter every way toe long to allow any two opposite guests to converse. The horse-shoe table is suited only for a small party, and tin base should not be occupied. As for the hng planks,’ THE SHAPE OF THE which served us for tables at college, and still Jc to at public dinners, they have the advantage over the mahog' any of the dinning-room, of allowing a guest five persona to talk to instead of one. but they make elegance almosi impossible. A lozenge-shaped table, with the point rounded off, sounds Epicurean, but it leaves open th question — where are the host and hostess tc sit ? At the oval table I need scarcely say they sit in the middle of each side, opposite to one another. The dining-room must be, of course, carpeted even in the heat of summer, to deaden the noise of the servants’ feet. The chairs should be easy, with tall slanting backs, but without arms. As they should not be much higher than drawing-room chairs, the table must be lowered in proportion. Each person should be provided with a foot- stool. Light is positively necessary to digestion, and no party can be cheerful without it. It is difficult to have too much light, but profusion is less desirable than arrange- ment, while a mere glare becomes painful. Gas and candles should both be avoided on that and other ac- counts, and the best media for lighting are carcelle, or moderator-lamps, covered with open pink muslin, or tar- latane, which, without diminishing, softens the light. The principal object is to throw as much of it as possible on the table, with sufficient on the faces of the guests. Light- ing froixi the walls is apt to throw the latter into shade, and a chandelier in the middle must be hung very low tc do justice to the former. Lamps on the table itself are simply unpardonable, and must on no account be admit- ted. The best plan is to have four chandeliers, contain- ing each one large lamp, and hung over th^ places where 352 DINNERS, DINERS, AND DINNER-PARTIES. the four corners of the table would come if it were a pa5f‘ allelogram instead of an oval. The rest of the room, how* ever, must not be left in darkness, and lamps may placed on the side-board and side-tables. The latter musi be very neat, and both should be ornamented richly witl dowers rather than with that pompous display of plate \liich is too commonly seen. A few words about servants before we come to the table itself. Women Avait more quietly and quite as actively as men, but a butler, who can carve well and rapidly, is indispensable. If, however, you have men-servants, they should not be too many. A party of ten can be perfectly well served by two men and a butler, and, if there are more than these, they only get in the way of one another, or stand pompously by staring while you eat. Your ser- vants should be well trained and instructed, and should obey^very order Hven by the butler. A master or mis- tress should never speak to them at dinner, and they must be themselves as silent as Sappists. They should wear light shoes that cannot creak and if they have a napkin instead of gloves, you must see that their hands are per- fectly clean. They should have their “ beats’’ like po- licemen, one beginning at the guest on his master’s right and ending with the lady of the house, the other with the i^uest on his mistress’s right ending with the mas^ )r. The table, on which all eyes are turned, is :he next point. Great changes have taken place in the last ten or fifteen years in its arrangements, and as the Russian plan is now adopted in the best houses, and is, at the same time, the most elegant, I shall not stop to speak of any other. The main point is to. secure beauty without interfering with conversation. Given, therefore, a taldo-cover, and a ARRANGEMENT OF THE TABLE 853 ^h\te aamask table-cloth over it, what arc we to flace thereon? First, nothing high enough to ccme between the heads of any two of the party, and therefore must epergnes, lamps, and so forth, be eschewed as nuisances Next, that which is pleasant and agreeable to the eye. and something that it can dwell upon with pleasure. A com- mon object for the centre is desirable, and this should be some work of art, of Parian or china, not too high noi too large, and on each side towards the thin ends of the oval should be bowls of biscuit-ware or china, filled with flowers: or, to be elegant, you may have two little table-foun- tains, provided their basins are low. The rest of the table must be covered with dessert. By this arrangement plate becomes a secondary matter, and indeed a display of mas- sive silver is rather chilling, and alwavs looks ostentatious, [n addition to the flowers mentioned, the French often place a bouquet on the napkin of each lady, and ffie at- tention is certainly a pretty one. The place for each guest should be roomy, but not too far from his neighbors. The dinner-service of the present day may be reduced to plates alone, since everything else is served at the side-table. I am inclined to think that pure white china with a gilt edge, and the best of its kind, is the fittest service to dine off, but this is a matter of taste only. At any rate, the dessert- service should be handsome. Bachelors at dinner have a great advantage in having their light wine placed by tlu ir glasses in black bottles, but in other dinners the wine ia handed. It will, however, be well on all occasions to have sufficient glasses for all the wines to be drunk placed 3n th( right hand of each plate, and the same may be said of knives, spoons, and forks. The napkins may be folded according to fancy. Sometimes they are placed on the 354 DINNERS, DINERS, AND DINNER- MRIIES. plate with a roll of bread inside, and sometimes ari*angese who read the commonest history of England will renumber), than that perpetual turbot. In fact, no kind of eating can be more varied than that of fish ; yet, by sticking to antique traditions, we deprive ourselves of the enjoyment of all the wealth of sea and stream. There are scores of ways of dressing them all too, which you can learn in any good cookery-book, and almost any fish can bo made not only eatable but delicious by clever cooking. But vulgarity has driven many a good but cheap eatable from the table of the rich ; and the Duke of Rutland was quite right to give Poodle Byng his conge, when one of these despised delicacies appeared at the Duke’s table, and Poodle exclaimed, Ah ! my old friend haddock ! I have not seen a haddock on a gentleman’s table since I was a boy.” Oysters, though eaten at dinner in France, are properly excluded from table in England, as being much too heating, and carp is very indigestible ; but there are the Devonshire John Dory, a far better fish than turbot, red mullets, salmon-trout, whitings, smelt, mackerel, sturgeon, the favorite of the Emperor of China, and even sprats and herrings, to form a variety besides those mentioned before. But our chief thanks to the new system are due for ita dstracizing that unwieldy barbarism — the joint. Nothing oan make a joint look elegant, while it hides the master of the house, and condemns him to the misery of carving. I was much amused at the observations of a writer on the subject of dinners, who objected to flowers on the tabla Tnfi ORDER OF DINNER. 359 ' bf?cause we don’t eat flow^ers, and everything that is oc the table ouglit to be eatable.” At this rate the coot would have to dish up the epergnes and candelabra. But the truth is, that unless our appetites are very keen, the light of much meat reeking in its gravy is suflScient t< destroy them entirely, and a huge joint especially is cal culated to disgust the epicure. If joints are eaten at all, they should be placed on the side-table, where they will be out of sight. Vegetables should properly be served separately on a clean plate after the roast, but when served with it, a guest should be satisfied with at most two kinds at a time, nothing showing worse taste than to load your plate. Asparagus, pease, artichokes, haricots, vegetable marrows, and spinach ought, if not a component part of a made dish, to be served separately. There are many ways oi dressing potatoes and carrots, which last are a vegetable much neglected at English tables, but when quite young, and dressed with butter in the French fashion, a delicious eatable, and a preventive of jaundice, which should rec- ommend them strongly to professional diners-out. But I am not a cook, and cannot go through ever} course with you. It must suffice to say, that the dishes should not be too many, and that good cooking and management make a better dinner than either profusion or expenditure, or delicacies out of season. The main p(unts are originality and rarity, and to have the best of everything, or not have it at all. Perhaps the strangest dinner I ever ate was in teie-d-tete with a bachelor oi small appetite. There were but two courses. To the first we stood up, opening our owm oysters, and devouring them till we could eat no more The second course, to niiO DINNERS, DINERS, ^ND DINNER- PARTIES. which v/e sat down, consisted of a dozen marrow-honf s of which we each' discussed six. They were as hot a3 I boy could be, and excellent. A variety of vegetables eciepleted this light rej)ast, and though I could havs dined more largely, I was bcund to confess that my friend had given me a dinner whicli I should scarcely have got elsewhere. Lest you should be tempted to offer a simiki repast to a large party, I must warn you that the marrow- bone is not considered a presentable dish, and that the marrow must be extracted by a special kind of spoon, of which a clean one is required for every bone. Brillat Savarin says, that the order of the solids should be from the heaviest to the lightest. This is not strictly observed either in France or England, and it may be use- ful to know wLat is the order generally adopted in this country. It is as follows : — 1. Soup. 2. Fish. 3. Patties (of oysters, lobsters, shrimps, or minced ^ea] ) 4. Made dishes, or entrees, which include poultry. 5. The roast, or piece de resistance. 6. Vegetables. 7. The game. 8. Pastry, puddings, omelettes. 9. The ice. 10. The dessert The salad ought to have, but seldom Das a place in tWg list, namely, after the ice, and with cheese. When rrado a mayonnaise, that is with chicken, cold fish, or shell- fish, it comes in as a made-dish. But a pure salad, well dressed is a dish to set before a king.” and that you SALADS 361 may be able to dress it yourself, ard we may finish osj dinner with cheerfulness, I give you Sydney Smith’s ri- jeipt to learn by heart, — “ Two large potatoes, passed through kitchen sieve, Unwonted softness to the salad give. Of mordent mustard, add a single spoon ; Distrust the condiment which bites too soon ; ]Lit deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault To add a double quantity of salt. Three times the spoon with oil of Lucca crown, And once with vin^^gir procured from town ; True flavor needs it, and your poet begs The pounded yellow of two well-boil’ d eggs. Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl. And, scarce suspected, animate the whole ; And lastly, on the favor’d compound toss A magic spoonful of anchovy sauce. Then, though green turtle fail, though venisoL toiigfe. And ham and turkey are not boil’d enough. Serenely full, the epicure may say — Pate cannot harm me — I have dined to-day ! ” Well, dinner is done, but not tbe diners. There re- mains on the table what is a whole dinner in Italy, and what is dinner enough for a poet — fruit and wine. Talk- ing of poets, though, reminds me that their chameleon exsisteirce is only a poetic license. Byron, who dined oflf potatoes and vinegar in public, generally rewarded him- self in private with an unspiritual beef-steak, and cut from the joint and the poets of olden time/’ by which I mean the days of eating in Athens and Borne, were also the paraistes of the feast, and for a stave or two, gladly accepted a steak or two, just as some later poetl Lave dined with my Lord to-day, on the tacit understand- ing that they should write him a dedication to-morrow Tn fact, Gruh street was not inappropriately named, if 16 362 i^xiNiNKRS, DINERS. AND DINNER-PARTIES. slang be English , and most of our own poets, — and Rogers^ e. g .^ — have been careful diners. But, then, the legend which made Minerva spring from the head of Tupiter. has long been proved a good-natured mistake lestined to encourage our minion lyricists,’* and then s now no doubt that the muse of song and literature had as large a corporation as any other of the nine. Wh^ else is the meaning of writing for bread ?” But stop, I had nearly forgotten Grace. Well, that is nothing very extraordinary, for the thanksgiving is posi- tively the last thing thought of by the diner, and when it is remembered, it is too often reduced to a mere formality. What ridiculous mockeries are the long Latin graces through which we had to stand at college, and the chanted graces at public dinners ! If a man be really thankful to God for what he gives him, a few thoughts, not words, best express it ; but if words be necessary, let them be short and solemn, that each one’s heart may echo them Dr. Johnson w\as well reproved in his formal religion^ when his wife told him it was of no use to ask his Maker to make him truly thankful, when the next moment he would sit down and abuse every dish on the table ; ani what was said to Johnson may be said to many a pamper- ed diner-out, and to many a grumbling father of a family : Better a dry morsel where love is, than a stalled ox, and”— let me adapt it to the present day — griimhlmg therewith.” How often does a man say the words of hi^ grace, and soon after find fault with the dinner, ungrate* ful alike to his host and his Maker. But, as far as etiquette goes, there is only this to be said, — that the audible grace is spoken by the master of the feast, or if a clergyman be { resent, by him. So in India, \ Brab DUTIES OF HOST AND GUEST. t 86S min was always invited to bless the banquet, and give it the sanction of his presence. The etiquettes of dinner are not V3ry numerous. 'We have already spoken in Chapter vii. of the manners pro per at the dinner table. We have now to consider a feiR »luties of host and guest. Punctuality may be the soul of business, but it is also that of knife-and-fork play. Everybody must be punc- tual at the great event of the day. Dinner,’’ said a French cook, is the hope of the hungry, the occupatio’^ the idle, the rest of the weary, and the consolation of che miserable !” Can any one be guilty of delaying such % moment ? The Romans complained that before the sun- dial was discovered, one dined when hunger ordered, but afterwards hunger had to wait for time. In our modern dining rooms, w^e have little fear that hunger wdll annoy Any one, but sometimes a delay may occur which may make hunger a very intimate acquaintance. Thus, Cam- bacer s, one of the best dinner-givers of his day, once kept his guests waiting three hours, while he was engaged on state business ; and Walpole relates how he once had to wait nearly four hours for dinner at Northumberland House, because thb Lords were reading the Poor Bill. The guests sat down at last without the Peers, but had not done when the legislators tumbled in and had the whole dinner served up again. This dinner had been fixed for the then fashionable hour of five, and did not finish till eleven. However, this was more excusable than the case of a late nobleman, w^ho was seen mounting hia horse for his afternoon ride, just as his guests assembkd in the drawing-room 364 DINNERS, DINERS, AND DINNER-PARTIES. Next to the host and hostess, the cook ought tc Ih punctual. But the guest’s arrival is more important still : and the guest has no excuse, because from the merest s:)lfishnes3, or want of consideration, he may put a whole, party to inconvenience. The invited having arrived, th lady receives them in the drawing-room, and the conver gat :ri is necessarily more or less formal, for everybody is waiting for the event. At last a servant announces that dinner is ready. It is then the part of the host to paii off the guests. He himself takes down the lady of the highest rank, or the greatest stranger. Distinctions of rank are going out in good society, although precedence exists just as a herald’s office does ; but it may generally be said that age has the real precedence, and a lady of ad- vanced years should not be put behind any one of rank under royal blood. The most intimate with the family take the lowest, the least so, the highest place. At dinner the gentleman sits to the right of the lady, so that th(y arrangment is easily made. In France there is no pro- cession of this kind, and the awkwardness of precedence is thus avoided. There, all the guests enter pell-mell, and find their names written on papers placed on their nap kins. Besides these papers a bill of fare * is placed on each plate, when the dinner is really good, and the din- ner-giver an epicure. It is the duty of the host to load the conversation as aiuch as possible, and it is still more his duty to make it gtjneral. As, however, this art is little understood by Englishmen, a m in will generally have to talk more ci less to the lady on his left. He must take care not tc neglect her fur the one on his right, however charming the PINNER ETIQUETTE. 865 latter may be. The dinner over, and the servants dig* missed, the ladies sit for a short time at dessert and thee retire ; the youngest man in the room rises to open ihe ioor for them, and all the rest rise and stand by then f hairs. Then comes the drawing-round,” and the con-^ versation grows lighter and easier. But young men and old should beware of making it too light, or of running, as our barristers often do, into stories that are unfit for ladies’ ears. A true gentleman will be the same in ladies’ society as he is out of it. A young man should not linger over his wine, and he may rise and leave the dining-room before the others go. But it remains with the host to offer to join the ladies,” which he should do whenever he sees any one growing warm over his port and talking too free- ly. Coffee and tea are both served up stairs, and both should be hot. Coffee is drunk without milk, and wdth sugar ; tea, by those who know how to enjoy it, without either ; but they are the rarce aves of society, men ^whe know what is good and enjoy it quietly. A little green tea is necessary after wine, for it awakens and excites. No man should drink enough wine to make him feel toe easy with the ladies. If he has done so without feeling its effects, he had better go home before he goes up to the drawing-room. In France the gentlemen come away with the ladies, and there is no wine-drinking. In England he custom is dwindling down to a mere form, and the sliorter you remain after the departure of the ladies the better. But remember, that many meats require as much as four hours to digest, and that the best aid to digestion is lively, easy conversation. A dinner party breaks uy 866 DINNERS, DINERS, AND DINNER-PARTIES. at about eleven. There should be a little music m :he evening ; but it is a great mistake to have a regular even- ing party after a dinner. At eleven you go home, and having had a walk, put on your whtce neck- tie for the nexi event of the evening, which is in the thir toonth chapter. CHAPTER XII. LADIES AT A DINNER. Wj have Lext to consider a lady in the all-important character of a hostess at a dinner party. Her first duty in this capacity is to send out her invi- tations in due time and proper form. With regard to the time, it is necessary, during the height of the London Beas'iO, to send an invitation three weeks before the din- ner party ;abut, in the quiet season of the year, or in the country it is neither essential to do so, nor usual. The best plan for persons who give many dinner parties, is to have a plate with their names and invitations printed thus : — Mr, and Mrs. Request the favor of Mr, and Mrs. ’s Company at dinner on the at o*clock. In writing to persons of rank far above your own, or to clergymen of high dignity, such as bishops and deans, the word honor’’ should be substituted for “ favor.” These invitations should properly be sent by a servant, wud not by the post^ unless the distance be great. Next comes the choice of guests, thus assembled, to si iB close contact for two hours or more. This involves many considerations. If your guests dt 368 LADIE? AT A DINNER. not assimilate, no luxury of dinners, no perfection of manners on your part, can avert a failure. Yet so little is this understood, that there are persons who collect, it would seem, a party so discordant as to provoke a ques * tion whether they had not shaken them all in a bag gether, ani turned them out loose upon each other — the man of easy principles with the serious doctor of divinity ; the man of talent with a rich and mindless merchant ; the quiet country family with the trashy London dashers, and so on; and these solecisms in taste and discretion occur frequently. Nor ought the worldly positions of people to be the sole consideration. Many a nobleman will assimilate far better with the poor author than with tlie millionaire ; wealth, simply because it is w^ealth, gains little prestige in good circles ; there is a prejudice against the nouveau riches among the old families of England. Neither is it desirable to club all your aristocratic or fash- ionable acquaintance together ; you offend by so doing, those who are left out ; and many lose valuable friends who, however conscious they may be of an inferior posi- tion, do not like to be reminded of it. It is something too, to avoid giving pain to the feelings of others. The general rule, however, is to invite persons of nearly the same standing in society to meet at dinner ; taking care that their general views and mode of life are not so contrasted as tc be likely to clash. In the country, dif- erence of politics used to form a barrier ; Whig and Tory^ even if they sat at table together, would scarcely drink wine with eacti other. But all that inconvenience to host and hostess has long since passed away, and to the facili- ties of forming a party the custom of no longer asking any one to txke wine has contributed. SELECTION OF QUESTS. 869 Those who wish to form agreeable dinner-parties will ivoid a class : a dinner composed of officers only And tlieii wives recalls too forcibly barrack life; ^‘talking pipe clay,” as they term it, is as fatiguing as ‘‘the sbip,^ though not so vulgar. Wives of officers in marching regi ments have generally travelled far, and seen nothirg' they can tell you little but how bad their quarters were, and how they were hurried away from such and such a place, The gentlemen of the bar sprinkled about, make a charming spice to a dinner ; but, like all spices, one must not have too much of them : they want keeping down, otherwise you have your dining-room turned into Westminster Hall ; or you feel, if you venture to talk yourself, as if you were subjecting yourself to a cross* examination. Yet the late Lord Grenville remarked, that he was always glad to meet a lawyer at a dinner-party for he was then sure that some good topic would be started. The title of doctor is against the fascination of a physi- cian’s manners ; his very attentions may seem to have an interested air, since the doctor’s clients are in society. A conclave of doctors is even more formidable than one of lawyers, for the former have only to deal with the consti- lution of the state, and the latter are looking, perhaps, at your constitution, and privately condemning it. A whole party composed of clergymen is perhaps worse ; delightful as companions, valuable as friends, as many clergymen are when assembled they run naturally into topics we io aot wish to have familiarized. Secular interests peep out from those we esteem sacred : the pleasures of gastrono which are as fully appreciated by the clergy as by any otl: er class^ seem so little to accord with the spirit* stirring eloquence we heard last Sunday, that we regret 16 * S70 LADIKS AT A DINNER. having met our ^‘venerable rector” under such circuro otances. Pei haps,” says Dr. Johnson, good-breeding consir^U in having no particular mark of any profession, but a gci eral elegance of tnanners.” On this principle of goir. ralizing should dinner-parties be formed. In high English society, to quote that accomplishet. member of society, Mr. Hayward, in his Treatise on Codes of Manners^ any calling was some few years since derogatory to the perfect character of a gentleman ; it is now otherwise. Yet the distinction of the aristocratic professions, as opposed to other callings, is maintained, and it will perhaps continue to be so. These are the church, the bar, the higher walks of medicine, the army and navy. The different members of these professions and their wives and families are therefore fit for any society ; there is no possible objection to their mixing at a dinnei- table with nobility, provided they be well-bred and agree- able. The literary man, if a gentleman by education and manners, is always an agreeable addition ; and the highesi in rank have in this country set the example of inviting artists, architects, and sculptors, but not always their fam- ilies, to their tables. Great eminence in talents sets aside distinctions ; and “ the first class of millionaires,” Mr. Hayward assures us, ‘ rise superior to rules.” But it is not in good taste to follow out this last maxim, unless high personal character, the good employment of vast wealth, and a gentlemanlj bearing, accompany riches. The lady, whose talk about bigotry and virtue” was the amusement of the clubg some years since, had no right, in regard to her husband s jfOsition ajnd character, to be associated, as she was, with PRECEDENCE. 971 c i 1 of Ligh rank or of old patrician families; the tar- nish hagi since been taken off the picture, and It has sunk down to its original value, after having been at a fabulous estimation in the social mart The next points refer to the duties of a lady on the arrival of the guests at the house. She remains in some convenient part of her drawing-room, and too much can- not be said of the importance of her being dressed some time before the party arrives. Want of attention in this respect, though very much less thought of now than for- merly, is a real breach of good manners. Neither should her daughters, should she have any, come dropping in one by one, but should be seated, ready to receive the visitors. Previously, however, to her going up to dress, the lady of the house should have arranged, with some considera- tion, who is to take precedence. 1. With respect to persons of title. These take pre- cedence according to their titles; but. should there be diplomatic foreigners of the first class, they go out first ; or, should there be a bishop and his wife, precedence is usually given to them by courtesy, even over dukes and marquises ; bishops ranking with earls.* * The same cour- tesy is extended to all the dignified clergy ; whilst the wives of all the clergy take precedence of the wives of barristers ; and the wives of the esquires, without profes* siofis or trade, take precedence of both clergymen’s and barristers’ wives. These distinctions are seldom, it is true, figorously to be pursued, but it is convenient to kno^ them ; it is as well, also^ especially to remember that the • See Lodgc’e Orders for Precedency, An e-rchbiskop ranks wiil • dake. 872 LADIES A1 A DINNER. wives of clergymen and of barristers, by right, take pie* cedence of the untitled wives of military and naval men There is no place specified for physicans, who, however are ranked in the households of the royal family next tc the knights, and whose wives, therefore, go out after those of the barristers. These seem to be worldly and unimportant rules ; but whatever prevents mistakes, ill-will, and the possibility ol doing a rude action without intention, comes under the comprehensive head — How to be civil with ease.’’ Be- sides, although in friendly society, as it is called, a breach of etiquette might not signify, there is so much that is unfriendly, so much in which criticism stalks among the company seeking whose conduct he may challenge, that a hostess should be perfectly armed with every defence against comment. As her guests enter she should advance half-way to meet them. This is a point of politeness ; and a lady in a county near London gave great offence once at her first dinner, by standing with one arm on her mantle-piece, waiting till her company came up to her. All the chairs should be ready, so that there should be no placing or needless confusion ; but, should any change in the arrange- ments of the rooms be requisite, it should be made by the butler or by the gentleman of the house. The lady of the house should do nothing but receive, converse, and look as well as she can. To this end her room and nl) the minutiae should be tastefully arranged. A distribu- tion of natural flowers adds greatly to the gaiety of a drawing-room, how richly or poorly soever it may be fur- nished : people are apt to forget in England, what is nevei forgotten in Fran?e, how greatly the style and arrange* RECEPTION OF GUESTS. 37S ment of furniture contribute to make a party g3 oiBF well^ and those engaged in it look well, of which pleasing facf people often have a sort of intuitive conviction, even witi)- out the aid >f the looking-glass. And now the test of good-breeding in a hostess is to detected ; it is often a severe one. Her guests may arrive all at once, she must not be hurried, yet each and all musl feel that they have her individual attention. She must have something pleasing and cheerful to say to every one, but she must not say or do too much. Perhaps her guests are late, or perhaps, worst martyrdom of all, her servants are late in announcing dinner. She chafes inwardly ; but still, feeling as if on a stage, with an army of observation around her, she bears up ; strikes out new subjects ; ap- pears as if still expecting some one ; no, nothing is to go wrong with her ; be it ever really so wrong that day, she must not seem to notice it. It may be argued that this implies a degree of self- restraint akin to dissimulation ; but that is an error ; self- restraint does not imply dissimulation. At le:\gth dinner is announced ; perhaps a few minutes previously some reckless youth, or sexagenarian, but probably the former, since the being too late for dinner is not commonly the fault of age, comes breathlessly in. I am shocked to say I have seen married ladies look very much out of temper at the delinquent on such occasions, especially if he hap- pened to be “ some one we must ask’’ — a youth from iege, or a country cousin — and I have heard the gentleman call out ^‘dinner” to the servant before the door was closed. The French host and hostess would die rather In a well-arranged party the butler should have a list d 874 LADIES AT A DINNER. the guests, so that he may know, as one after anothei comes in, that he may be placing the silver dishes with hcM water in them on the table, arranging the lights, and doing many little things that require time, and, if omitted, cauet delay. The party being assembled, and dinner announced, the gentleman of the house offers the lady of the highest rank his arm, and, having previously arranged with the othei gentlemen which ladies they are to conduct, moves off with the one he has chosen to the dinner-table, and places her on his right hand, next to himself. The gentleman appointed to conduct the lady of the house almost simultaneously offers her his arm ; they fol- low, and are followed in their turn by the whole of the company, linked by previous arrangement. As these va- rious couples enter, the master of the house, already in the dining-room, arranges where they are to sit. Some- times, however, and in certain houses, this is not done, but, more gracefully I think, the party seat themselves as they enter ; a due sacrifice to the rules of etiquette having been made by the master and mistress of the house in their own persons. It is still customary, but not invariably so, as formerly for a lady to sit at the head of her own table. Let us. however, suppose her there, as being the most frequent arrangement. Henceforth she has nothing to do with the dinner, except to partake of it In cld times, the lady presiding was expected to carve every lish before her, and to be perfect in the art of carving. Lady Mary Montague, presiding at her father s table, was condemned, at fifteen, to perform CONVERSATION AT DINNER. 876 this feat whenever her father had a party. Had she lived now she need never have touched a spoon, fork, or knife, except those on her own plate ; her lovely face might have beamed serenely on those around her ; and her dawn- ing powers of mind have been enhanced by conversation, which was in those days impossible. In the present era whilst the hostess should, as it were, see everything tha goes on, or does not go on, she should look at nothing, say nothing, and reserve all stricutres on failure and re- proof, if needful, not until the time when guests shall have departed, but until the next day, when her servants, hav- ing recovered the fatigue of unusual exertion, will be more willing to listen without irritation and to good effect than on the previous evening. Drinking much wine is vulgar, whether the sin be per- petrated by a duchess or a farmer’s wife : all manifest self-indulgence tends to vulgarity. A lady, also, should not be ravenous at table ; neither should she talk of eating or of the dishes. Whatever conversation takes place should be easy ; if possible sensible, even intellec- tual, without pedantry. It may be personal, if with pru- Jence ; for nothing is so agreeable, for instance, as to hear public characters discussed at table ; and there is a nat- ural love of biography in the human mind that renders anecdote, without scandal, always agreeable. The conver- sation at dinner tables is usually carried on in an under tone, and addressed first to one neighboring gentleman, then to another. In large dinner-parties general conver- sation te impossible. It is only at that delightful form of social intercourse, a small party, that one may enjoy the luxury of an animated and general conversation. 876 LADIES A DINEER. It is now the custom for ladies to retire after the ice and dessert have gone round. They then retire, almost in the same order as they came, to the drawing-room Here the province of the lady of the house is to maintain tiasy and cheerful conversation, and to make it, if possible, /eneral. Her labors are often not well repaid, but, in modern times, are not of long duration. One is tempted, however, sometimes to envy the French customs. At a Parisian dinner-party, each gentleman rises with his appointed lady neighbor, gives her his arm, and leads her into the drawing-room, where coffee comes in directly. Thus the evening begins. In some instances the gentlemen, and ladies also, soon take their leave ; in others, remain till ten or eleven o’clock. But the dreary interregnum which still occurs in this country whilst mine host is circulating the bottle below — and ladies are discussing their servants, the last tooth their baby cut, or the raging epidemic, in the drawing-room above — is unknown in the salons of Paris. It must not be forgotten that all the comfort and part of the success of a dinner-party must depend on the pre- vious arrangements ; but the qualities which regulate a house, and the experience which is brought to bear upon the important knowledge of how to give a dinner^-party, as far as the material part is concerned, is not in my pjrovince. What Lord Chesterfield says is here to the purpose: The nature of things,” he remarks, is always and everywhere the same, but the modes of them vary more or less in every country but good-breeding, he adds, con- fists in an easy and genteel conformity to them, or rather AFTER DINNER. 3 * 7 ^ ‘tke assuming of them at proper times and in propel places.’’ In conclusion, let us recal the advice of Napoleon tht First, who duly respected the importance of dinner-parti»:^ ft social institution ; ** Te*uz banne table^ et wigntz (€$ ftmmzz CHAPTER XllL BALLS. Balls are the paradise of daughters, the purgatcrj of chaperons, and the Pandemonium of Paterfamilias. But when he has Arabella’s ball-dresses to pay for; when mamma tells him he cannot have the brougham to-night because of Lady Pantile’s dance ; when he finds the house suddenly filled with an army of upholsterer’s men, the passage barricaded with cane-bottomed benches, the draw- ing-room pillaged of its carpet and furniture, and in course of time himself turned bodily out of his own library with no more apology than, “ We want it for the tea to-night when, if he goes to bed, there is that blessed — oh ! yes, bless- ed — horn going on one note all night long, and, if he stops up has no room to take refuge in, and must by force of cir- cumstances appear in the ball-room among people of whom he does not know one quarter, and who will perhaps kindly put the final stroke to his misery by mistaking him for his own butler ; when Paterfam. undergoes this and more, he has no right to o^mplain, and call it all waste of time and pure folly. Will he call it so when Arabella announces that she is engaged to the young and wealthy Sir Thysse Thatte, Bart., and that it was at one ball he met her, at another he flirted, at a third he courted, and at a fourth offered ? Will he call it so when he learns that it is the balls and parties — innocent amusements — which have kept C878) THE INMTAnONS. 379 his son Augustus from the gaming-table^ and Adolphus from curagoa ? Perhaps he will give them a worse epithet when they have killed Ada and worn out her uiother. But then whose fault was that ? Est modus in rebus^ and balls in moderation are as different from balls in excess a gun-practice at Woolwich from gun-practice at Delhi. There is not half enough innocent amusement in Eng land^ and, therefore, there is far too much vice. I should like to see dancing come in and drinking go out (as it would do) among our lower orders. I should like to see Clod clap his heels together on the village-green, instead of clogging his senses with bad beer at the village public- house. They do so in France, and the Frenr^h are a sober race compared with the English, It would improve tlie health of the women and the morals of the men. But this is not my ^resent affair. The advantage of the ball in the upper classes is. that it brings young people to- gether for a sensible and innocent recreation, and takes them away from silly, if not bad ones, that it gives them exercise, and that the general effect of the beauty, ele- gance, and brilliance of a ball is to elevate rather than deprave the mind. Balls can only be given often by the rich, but ball-goers are expected to turn ball-givers once a year at least, and your one dance, if well arranged, will cost you as much fts your dinners for the whole season. It is not often then that people who have no daughters, and are too old to lance themselves, give a ball ; and, as a rule, if you can- not afford to do it in good style, it is better to leave it alone. In London, however, no one will blame you for not giving a dance. The difficulty, then, is not to find balls enough to go to, but time enough to go to all. 580 BALLS. When you hare made up your mind to give a ball, and have succeeded in fixing a day when there will be no very grand aSair, such *as a court-ball, to take your guest? way, the first thing to do is to send the invitations. How many shall we ask, Arabella?’’ ? Oh ! at least two hundred, mamma I do so like a large ball.” ‘‘ Nonsense, my dear, our rooms won’t hold eighty with comfort.” ^ Then there is the staircase.” A pleasant prospect for late comers.” And the hall.” ‘‘ Where they will have the society of the footmen- very agreeable.” And the conservatory,” urges Arabella. No, my child, that is reserved for flirtations. In short, if we have more than a hundred, it will be a terri- ble crush.” “ But, mamma, a crush is quite the fashion. I’m sure people here in London don’t go to balls to dance.” “ What for then. Miss Wisdom ?” “ To say they have been there ; to say it was a fright- ful crush at the Joneses ; to see their neighbors, to be sure.” ‘‘ And to be melted with the heat.” ‘‘ Well, we can ice them, mamma.” However, Arabella is partly right. In London, anil Juring the season, if a ball is given as a formality, and the rooms are not large, it is better to give up the hope of comfortable dancing, and have the renommee of a crush. All the gentlemen who failed to get into the drawing-room, and all the young ladies whose dresse# BALLS. 381 were hopelessly wrecked, will execrate, but still lemem her you, and it is something to be remembered in London whether well or ill. So that when you have called yoiii guests together as close as sheep in a fold, allowed tluji; to take an hour to climb the stairs, and half an hour to get do\^Ti again, given them a supper from Gunter’s. Aviih champagne of the quality which induced impudent Brum- mell to ask for some more of that cider ; very good cider that,” you have done the notorious if not the agree- able thing, and Mrs. Fitzjones^ ball will be talked of and remembered. But there are better ways of achieving this highly desirable notoriety of three days’ duration. Any number over one hundred constitutes a ‘‘ large ball,” below that number it is simply a ball,” and un- der fifty a dance.” I have been at a ball of ^en thous- and^ as large as the garrison of Paris itself, given by Madame Hausmann at the Hotel de Ville in that city and yet, though it was not “ the thing” to dance there, the rooms looked almost empty, so many and so large were they. On the other hand, I have been at the Tuil- eries when there was not a tenth of that number, and found the dancing confined to one little spot in the long gallery, about as large as an ordinary London drawing- room. In short, the numbers must be proportioned to the size of the rooms, with this proviso, that the more you have, the more brilliant, the fewer you have, the more enjoyable it will be. In making your list, you must not take in all your ^quaintance, but only all those who are moveable — the marionettes, in fact. Middle-aged people think it a com- pliment to be asked to a ball about as much as the boa- constrictor in the Regent’s Park would. Both ho and 882 BALLS. they like to be fed, and after five-and-thirty, it is labcrioiu not only to dance, but even to look at dancing. ^'What^Aa/Z we do for gentleman, mamma? T have counted up thirty-eight young ladies who dance, and only twenty-five partners for them.’’ In some places this is a question to which there is no answer but despair. Young men are at a premium in the ranks of Terpsichore as much as those of death, and they nust be bribed to join by as large a bounty, in the shape of a good supper. “ I shan’t go to the Fitzjoneses,” yawns De Boots of the Scotch MuflSneers, the champagne w^as undrinkable last year, and the pite de foie gras tasted like kitten.” How De Boots of the Muffineers comes to know the taste of kitten does not transpire. ‘‘ Well, my love,” says mamma, we must get some intimate friends to bring a young man or two.” Thereupon there is a casting up of who knows whom, and whom it would be best to commission as recruiting- sergeant. But mamma, Arabella, and the intimate ami de la maison may talk and write and labor, they will never make up the full war complement, and wall-flowers will flourish still. This system of bringing a friend ” is a very bad one, and should be avoided. It reminds me of a story of worthy Mrs. P — , who had Junot’s house in Paris, and in its magnificent rooms gave some of the larg- est and most brilliant balls, but, owing to the ‘‘friend’ system, very mixed. So much so that on cne occasion a gentleman went up to her and told her that there was one of the swell mob present. Mis. P — was deaf and amia- ble. “ Dear me,” she replied, “ is there really ? I hope ho has had some supper.” But the disciple of Fagan had taken care af himself ; he had not only had supper, bul THE ARRANGEMENTS. 383 when he had done using his fork and spoon^ had, in th« neatest manner, put them away in his pocket so that the next time I went to Mrs. P — ’s, I found a moiichard gitting near the door, behind a large book. I was asked tny name and address, and doubtless my description wa taken down too. I found that ladies as well as gentlemen were treated in this way. Your best plan, therefore, is to invite only one-third more than your rooms will hold, for you may be sure that more than that number will disappoint you. The invita- tions should be sent out three weeks beforehand, and you need not expect answers, except from those who have an excuse for not accepting. The requisites for an agreeable ball are good ventila- tion, good arrangment, a good floor, good music, a good supper, and good company. The arrangements are perhaps more important than any other item, and in this country they are little understood or greatly neglected. Yet the enjoyment of the dancers is materially increased by the brillance and elegance of the details, beauty and dress are enhanced by good lighting or proper colors, and the illu- sion of a fairy like scene may be brought up by judiciou? management, and the concealment of everything that does not strictly accord with the gaiety. In Paris, where balls, in spite of the absence of supper, are more elegant than anywhere else, a vast deal of effect and freshness is secured by the employment of shrubs, plants, and fioivers^ and these may be freely used without making your rooms fiintastic. Thus that odious entrance from the kitchen stairs, which yawns upon the lobby of most London houses^ should be concealed by a thick hedge of rhododendrons in pots ; the balustrades of the staircase and gallery should 384 BiLLS. be woven with evergreens, and all the fire-places should be concealed by plenty of plants m flower. In Paiis again, the musicians are unseen, and the strains of thi^ piano, horn, flageolet, and violin proceed from behind flowery bank, artfully raised in one corner of the bail rjom. It is a rare thing in London to find more than four ot five rooms e7i, suite, and often the number does nor exceed two. In the ‘‘ flats’’ of the large French houses, you have often as many as seven or eight rooms opening one into another, and so much is the advantage of space re- cognized, that a bed-room even is opened at the end of the suite, if necessary. I have danced in a room where the grand bed was standing in an alcove, scarcely con- cealed by thin muslin curtains, and disguised with » coverlet of embroidered white satin. But in En^^land an sacrifice should be made to secure a refreshment-room, if not a supper-room, on the same floor as the ball-room, nothing being more trying to ladies’ dresses than the crush down and up the stairs. A cloak-room down stairs for the ladies, with one or two maids to assist them ; a tea and cofiee room, with at least two servants ; and a hat-room for gentlemen, are indispensable. If the ball is a large one, numbered tickets should be given for the cloaks and hats. Up stairs the color and lighting of the rooms is essen- tial. The ball-room especially should be that which has the lightest paper ; and if there be dark curtains, par • ticularly red ones, they must be taken down and replaced by light ones. The best color for a ball-room is very pale yellow. The light should come from the walla, liC.ght ind in their presence he should be gentle and delicate ai- .most to afxult, never pushing his way apologizing if Im tread on a dress, still more so if he tears it, begging par- don for any accidental annoyance he may cccasion, and addressing everj Dody with a smile. But quite unpardon- able are those men whom one sometimes meets, who. 17 # B94 BALLS. BtandiTig in a door-way, talk and laugh as they would in a barrack or college-rooms, always coarsely, often indeli- cately. What must the state of their minds be if the aiglit of beauty, modesty, and virtue does not awe them into silence. A man, too, who strolls down the rocin with his head in the air, looking as if there were not “S greature there w^orth dancing with, is an ill-bred man, so is he w^ho locks bored ; and worse than all is he who takes tco much champagne. If you ire dancing wdth a young lady when the sup- per-room iS opened, you must ask her if she would like to go to rapper, and if she says yes,’’ which, in 999 cases of 1000, she certainly will do, you must take her thither. If you are not dancing the lady of the house will probably recruit you to take in some chaperon. How- evei little you may relish this, you must not show your disgust. In fact, no man ought to be disgusted at being able to do anything for a lady ; it should be his highest privilege, but it is not — in these modern unchivalrous days — perhaps never Avas so. Having placed your part- ner then at the supper-table, if there is room there, but :f not at a side- table, or even at none, you must be as ac- tive as Puck in attending to her wants, and as women lake as long to settle their fancies in edibles as in love matters, you had better at once get her something sub- stantial, chicken, jyatk de foie gras^ mayonnaise^ or what you will. Afterwards come jelly and trifle in due course A young lady often goes down half-a-dozen times :o {Le supper-room — it is tc be hoped not for the purpose of eating — but she should not do so with the same part- ner more than once. While the lady is supping you must stand by and talk to her, attending to every want PUBLIC BALLS. S9f diiJ the most you may take yourself is a glass oi cham pagne when you help her. You then lead her up stairs again, and if you are not wanted there any more,^ you Tuay steal dow^n and do a little quiet refreshment on your jwn account. As long, however, as there are many h* lies still at the table, you have no right to begin. Noth' ing marks a man here so much as gorging at supper. Calls are meant for dancing, not eating, and unfortunately too many young men forget this in the present day. Lastly, be careful what you say and how you dance after supper, even more so than before it, for if you in the slightest way displease a young lady, slie may fancy that you have been too partial to strong fluids, and ladies never forgive that. It would be hard on the lady of the house if everybody leaving a large ball thought it neces* sary to wish her good-night. In quitting a small dance, however, a parting bow is expected. It is then that the pretty daughter of the house gives you that sweet smile of which you dream afterwards in a gooseberry nightmare of tum-tum-tiddy-tum,’’ and waltzes a deux temps ^ and masses of tarlatane and bright eyes, flushed cheeks and dewy glances. See them to-morrow, my dear fellow it will cure you. I think flirtation comes under the head of morals more than of manners ; still I may be allowed to say that ball- P3orr flirtation being more open is less dangerous than ariy eUier But a young lady of taste will be careful not to fiauiit and publish her flirtation, as if to say, See, I have an admirer !” In the same way a prudent man wil never presume on a girl’s liveliness or banter No man of taste ever made an ofler aftei supper, and certainlj BALLS. d96 nine -tenths of those who have done so have regretted i at breakfast the next morning. Public balls are not much frequented by people ^of society, except in Avatering-places and country ,t twn^ Even tlicre a young lady should not be seen at more ihan two or three in the year. County-balls, race-balls, and hunt-balls, are generally better than common subscrip- tion-balls. Charity-balls are an abominable anomaly. At public balls there are generally either three or foul stewards on duty, or a professional master of ceremonies. These gentlemen having made all the arrangements, order the dances, and have power to change them if desirable. They also undertake to present young men to ladies, but it must be understood that such an introduction is only available for one dance. It is better taste to ask the steward to introduce you simply to a partner, than to point out any lady in particular. He will probably then ask you if you have a choice, and if not, you may be cer- lain he will take you to an established wall-flower. Pub- lic balls are scarcely enjoyable unless you have your own party. As the great charm of a ball is its perfect accord and harmony, all altercations, loud talking, &c., are doubly ill-mannered in a ball-room. Very little suffices to dif« turb the peace of the whole company. CHAPTER XIV. MORNING AND EVENING PABI1E8, WuEN all the flower of Greece turned out at thj oij of the Argive King, manned their heavy triremes and sailed away to Tenedos, do you imagine that one-fiftieth pai t of their number cared as much as a shield-strap for that lady of the white arms but black reputation, whom the handsomest man of his day had persuaded to ^ ^ fly beyond her fate’s control do you believe it was for fair false Helen that they resolved to sack Troy ? Not a bit of it, it was only an excuse for making a party.” So, too it was only for the party and the fun that all those hel- meted, scarved, iron-cased knights, m*ost preux and gal- lant, quitted the bowers of their lady-loves (which, tc say truth, must have been rather dull in day^ when there were no cheap novels, no pianos, no crochet, no chess, no backgammon, and no newspapers to talk about) and trotted off to Palestine, determined to return with the scalp of a Saladin. Why, if you were to examine the com sciences of nine-tenths of those same chivalrous gentlemen you would find the motive probably made up of the fcl lowing ingredients in the following proportions : — Religion, Hatred of Turks, The wish of my lady-love, Because it’s the fashion, Love of bloodshed, 3 4 5 15 For the sake of the p^irty, ( 897 ) 898 MORNxNG AND EVENING PARTIES. In Other words, all the other motives together wjuld not outbalance that prime consideration. People will make a party for anything. Make a party to see the sun set;’’ make a party to take a ?v'alk ; ‘‘ make a party to hear the nightingale make i party to go to church make a party to go nowhere near church, but to Hampstead Heath instead “make a party to ride a donkey “ make a party to play at a new game “ make a party to do nothing at all.” There are people — very good people they think themselves too — who cannot even read their bibles without a party, and the very people who rail at balls and parties, and amuse- ment of any kind, will most //?zostentatioiisly make a party to see them give away a hundred cups of tea or fifty pinafores, which act then goes in the world by the name of “charity.” I don’t think the Pharisees were 'j[uite so bad as this, because if they did do their good deeds in public, they did not make a party to come and see them, unless indeed the sounding of a trumpet was the Hebrew way of sending out invitations. However, this is not my present business. The system of gathering a little assembly tc join in every pleasure, as long as it is free from ostentation and cant, only shows w^hat sociable and sympathetic beings we are. For the real objects of these parties are not, believe me, the sun- jot, the walk, the nightingale’s service, the donkey, tl>6 flew game, and the dispensing of pinafores, hut the ?nter« ii'inment of one another’s society, so that all parties having Ihe same ultimate aim may be governed by the same laws 1 have made an exception for dinner and dances, because with many people the food and the waltz are the sole ob- ject. But in most other cases the excuse given for the MAKING A PARTY. 399 gathering is precisely the kind of thing which (y:uld be enjoyed much more in solitude, or, at most, with one sympathetic companion. Take a pic-nic as an instance We go miles, at a considerable outlay may be, :nly to en- joy some beautiful view, or to wander in some ancient ruin. Does the small gossip of the pic-nic aid us in the enjoyment of the former, or its noisy prattle hallow rath- er than disturb the memories of the past that haunt the latter ? So then the main difference in all kinds of parties lies in the selection of the guests, the dress they wear, and the peculiar tone of the conversation. Another great distinction lies, too, between town and country parties. Let us then divide parties under these two general heads. Town-parties consist in conversaziones, private concerts, private theatricals, tea-parties, and matinees. The first, wdiich also go by the names of Receptions ind At Homes,’’ have for principal object conversation only, so that in the selection of guests youth and beauty iire less considered than talent, distinction, and fashion. An Indian prince, a great nobleman a distinguished foreigner, or a celebrated statesman, are considered valua- ble attractions, but it must be a consolation to the lion- Luntress to feel that if the presence of these curiositie^s increases the reputation of her assemblies, they do by Ho means add to. but rather diminish the general ease of the conversation. On the other hand, to assemble as many persons distinguished for talents or achievements as possi ble, must necessarily give them brilliaiice ; and, as I liav( eaid, the great behave better in the presence of rivals and compeers than v/here they are chief planets. The invi- tations should be sent out from a week to a fortnight 100 MORNING AND EVENING PARTIES. befol ehand. Tea must be served in a separate roon ^ tt which the guests are first conducted, and ices handed at short intervals throughout the evening. Sometimes ,n smaller receptions a supper is served, but this is bj 10 means common, as from these meetings the ladies /ene rally repair to a ball. The hour for meeting is be tween nine and ten, and the party breaks up before one .fi the morning. The lady and gentleman of the liouse both receive the guests, somewhere near the door of the orincipal room ; or if the reception is a small one, the w for the most part, you may be more familiar in yonr general manners, and to be agreeable, you are expected to be merry, humorous, and ready for anything that may be proposed. On the other hand, as prejudices are always greater ip proportion to the narrowness of the mind, and are some- times especially deep-rooted in the squires and clergymen whom you meet in these gatherings, you must be very careful how you approach the topics which most interest them. I have known a whole party, at one moment full ^f merriment and laughter, suddenly cast into the deepest gloom of horror and dismay, by the innocent allusion of a stranger to AT. B.” w’aistcoats, the rector who was present being high-church. On the same princifle it ie wise to avoid speaking much of the church itself, the •chools, the dispensary, the preserves, the poor, and so m MORNING AND EVENING PARTIES. fortL of the village, as country people are soniewhai g;iven to making these subjects matters for serious differ^ cQce, and it is a rare case for the squire and the clergy Vi)n\\ to be perfectly agreed on all points where their snp jA)sed rights can possibly clash. I have known a village ilivid('xl into a deadly feud for ten years by nothing but the pews in the church — one party wishing to keep them, Sind another to pull them down ; and, though these re- ligious-minded people met perhaps once a month at vari- ous tea-parties and dinners, the church was never spoken of, and a stranger who might have unconsciously mention- -h 1 the pews therein, would have thrown in a firebrand Finch would have lit up the whole parish. On entering a country party, you at once seek out the lady of the house, and shake hands with her. The same process is then performed with those members of the family whom you know, and any other of your acquain- tance present. In taking leave the same process is repeat- ed, and a simple bow would generally be considered as an impoliteness. The invitations to these parties partake of the same sociable character, and are made by friendly notes sent a few days beforehand, or even on the very day itself. You have not the same liberty of declining them as in town, nor can you have recourse to the polite formu la of a previous engagement, since everybody knows what is going on in the neighborhood, and who is to l:;6 at any party. You must theref )re find a good excuse or go. For my part, I think we should be better Chris- tians, and just as friendly, if we stated our real reasons^ ^ I regret that I have not the time to spare,’’ I dc not foe', inclined for society,” or, I have no dress for me WJcasioD.” Such replies might create a little surprise IN THE COUNTRY. 40 & but people must admire their candor, and everybody could sympathize with the writer’s feelings. At any rate, you must avoid a sneer such as that given by a toe candid 1 1 dy to a clergyman’s wife who had invited her to a auiui little discussion of muffins on Shreve Tuesday. I re- gret,” she wrote that I shall be unable to accept joui xivitation-; as the near approach of Lent would preclude aiy joining in any festivities.” Country hours, again, are much earlier than those in town. Except at great houses, where the dinner hour is seven, eight o’clock is the usual time for a tea-party to begin, and before twelve the last guest departs. It is iie cessary to be punctual in the country, whatever you may be in town ; and it would be considered as an unAvarrant- able assumption of fashion to arrive an hour after the time stated in the invitation. Tea is handed in the drawing-room, or, if the party be a small one, so arranged that all may sit round. In the latter case the tea-table must be plenteously spread with cakes, fruit, &c. &c. Appetites flourish in the free air of hills and meadows, and as a rule, country parties have more of the feeding system about them than those of tOAvn. Thus, unless dinner has been at a late hour, it is usual to have a supper laid out, or at least sandAAUches, jellies, and i^rifle at a side-table. This, I must say i» a more agreea- ble feature of country entertainments than that of round Shames. At these, however, you must not look bored ; yf)U must really for the time believe yourself a child again, alloAV yourself to be amused, and enter heart and soul into. it. Endeavor by every means in your poAvei to add to the general hilarity ; talk Avithout restraint, em into innocent rivalry with the young ladies; or if 18 110 MORNING AND EVENING PARTIES. one of them yourself, challenge the most youth ful^ esj^ cially the shy, of the other sex. You must find some- thing to laugh at in the merest trifle, but never roar oi shriek. Never claim your winnings, but if^they are offered you must take them, except from a young lady »nd from her on no consideration. While w^e are melting here under the dog-star, and crushing up crowded staircases, and into ovens of rooms m the tightest dress that is w’orn, our country cousins are really enjoyiug themselves. They are now having tea out on the lawn, wdth hona fide cream to it too, none of our miserable delusions of calves’ brains (beautiful satire on those w^ho credulously swallow them) or chalk and water. Then when tea is done, they are positively going to dance here on the lawn, or there in that large empty out-house, resolved that nothing shall induce them to go into that house again till night ; and if they do not nee, they bring out every chair that is in it, and sitting round, play at hunt-the-ring, post, turning the trencher, or Blind Man’s Buff. What dear children they are ! how pleasant to see the old gentlemen dragged in by the young girls, and made to play iiolentes volentes ! how charming the laughter of these merry maidens, and the playful flirta- tion of the sturdy youths, w^ho all day long have been carrying a gun or breaking a new horse in ! Well, w^ell. if there is beauty enough to make us bless the excitement which brings the color to some lovely cheek, — if the fcung men 3an really help looking bored, and the old sham delight (as we old ones can, let me tell you. eir)^ ’^hy, then, these out-door gaieties may be fresh and reviving and cheering to us dusty, withered, smoke-dried townsmen. But then where is conversation ? Swamped pyc-Nics. 411 in badinage which, if I am not a young lover, I cannot possibly pump up. And where is that flow of thought and diversity of imagination which makes one hour wiib a clever man or a fernme d' esprit worth twenty- four ii die presence of a mere beauty and animal spirits? Urre. So, then, they are matters of taste, these little parties but not so the etiquette they require. You must be gay, you must laugh and chuckle and all that, but you must not overdo it ; you must not let your merriment carry you away. In out-door games especially, you must be careful not to romp, not to rush and tear about, nor be boister- ously merry. It may be difficult to steer between the Scylla of dullness and the Charybdis of romping, but you must always remember what dear fragile things the ladies are, and treat them tenderly. These games are, in fact, a severe test of politeness, grace, and delicacy, and if I wanted to discover your title to the name of gentleman or lady, I should set you to play at post or hunt-the-ring or what not of child’s sport. Lastly, as to pic-nics, they are no longer the cheerj gatherings of other days, when each person brought his quantum, and when on opening the baskets there were found to be three pigeon-pies but no bread, four contribu- tions of mustard but no salt, dozens of wine but no beer, and so on. The only thing you are asked to bring in the present day is your very best spirits ; and everybody ii expected to contribute these, for you cannot have ouch of them. A castle, a church, or something to see about which tc create an interest, is necessary to a sue cessful pic-nic, much more so than champagne, which it ia perhaps safer not to have, th )ugh it is always expected 412 MORNING AND EVENINJ PARTIES. Servants ought, if possible, to be dispensed with, and 8 free flow of the easiest merriment, not fi'ee in itself, it i7ill be understood, should be allowed and encouraged. The collation, cold of course, is generally the first ob- ject after arriving at the rendezvous. It is of necessity rimowliat rough, for these same pic-nics are the hapi # i^casions when people ti^y to forget that, they are higlii}* C'vilized, but are scarcely ever allowed to do so. How- i\'er, nothing is more justly ridiculous than that people whe come out to play the rustic should be accompanied by a bevy of Mercuries, and that while we attempt to imitate the simplicity of rural dryad life, spreading our viands beneath the shady trees, we should have some half-dozen stately acolytes of fish ion moving about us with all the solemnity of a London dinner-party. The servants then should be driven away a force d’armes^ and the gentle- men take their place. Then see how immensely it in- creases the general hilarity to watch FitzboOts of the Muffineers sent about by the pretty misses, made of use hr the first time in his life, and with his hands so full :ljat he cannot even stroke out his splendid whiskers. Certainly the barriers of society ought to be broken 3own on these occasions. Everybody should be perfectly his ease, and if the people are really well-bred, the liberty thus given will not be the least abused. A man «ho drinks too much champagne^ or a young lady whe rolls away for a couple of hours with a young mau 3 .inong the ruins or in the wood, should scarcely be asked lo join a second pic-nic. Then, too, free as they are, gay laughing, and careless, they should not descend to noisj romping. There ought to be a fair sprinkling of chape rons and elderly people, rot to damp the gaiety but t< ric-Nics. 413 restrain the carelessness of the young^^r ones. After all let youth be youth, and let it have its fling. If it be really innocent and well brought up, Miss Etiquette, pi in} old maid, will have nothing to say ; if otherwise, then she may preach in vain at a carnival. If our spirits are good (and I feel quite young again in talking of these things) let us enjoy them to the fullest, and be as silly and as wild as the youngest. Never shoot a sky lari while soaring : never curb young mirth in its proper CHAPTER XV. MARRIAGE. Ax a dn;e when our feelings are or ought to be most sus* ceptiMe, when the happiness or misery of a condition in wliich there is no medium begins, we are surrounded with forms and etiquettes which rise before the unwary like spectres, and which even the most rigid ceremonialists regard with a sort of dread. Were it not, however, for these forms, and for this necessity of being en ngle^ there might, on the solemni- zation of marriage, be confusion, forgetfulness, and even — speak it not aloud — irritation among the parties most in- timately concerned. Excitement might ruin all. With- out a definite programme, the old maids of the family would be thrusting in advice. The aged chronicler oi past events, or grandmother by the fireside, would have it all her way ; the venerable bachelor in tights, with his blue coat and metal buttons, might throw everything into confusion by his suggestions. It is well that we are in- dependent of all these interfering advisers ; that there is no necessity to appeal to them. Precedent has arranged It all ; we haye only to put in or understand what tliat stern authority has laid down ; how it has been varied by modern changes ; and we must just shape our cours«^ boldly. Boldly But there is much to be done be- fore we ccme to that. First, there is the offer to be ^ 414 ^ 416 aiale. Well may a man who contemplates such a stoj* iay to himself, with Dryden, “ These are the realms of everlasting fate for. in truth, on marriage one’s wellbeing not only her but even hereafter mainly depends. But it is not on thii healing of the subject that we wish to enter, contenting ourselves with a quotation from the Spectator : “ .It requires more virtues to make a good husband or wife, than what go to the finishing any the most shining cnaracter whatsc*ever.^’ England is distinguished from most of the continental countries by the system of forming engagements, and the mode in which they are carried on until terminated by marriage. In France, an engagement is an affair of negotiation and business ; and the system in this respect greatly re- sembles the practice in England, on similar occasions, a hundred and fifty or two hundred years ago, or even la- ter. France is the most unchanging country in the world in her habits and domestic institutions, and foremosl among these is her ‘‘ Marriage de convenance^'^ oi Marriage de raison P It is thus brought about. So soon as a 3’oung girl quits the school or convent where she has been educated, her friends cast about for a suitable parti. Most parents in France take care, so soon as a daughter is born, to put aside a sum of money for her rfof,” as they well Snow that whatever may be her attractions, that is indis- pensable in order to be married. They are ever on the look out for a youth with at least an equal fortune, or more ; or, it they are rich, for title, which is deemed m MARRIAGE tantamount to fortune ; even the power of writing those two little letters De before your name has some value in the marriage contract. Having satisfied tliemselves thcv ilius address the young lady : — It is now time fir yov. to be married; I know of an eligible match ; you can soe the gentleman, either at such a ball or (if he is serious) at church. I do not ask you to take him if his appearv ance is positively disagreeable to you ; if so. we will look out for some one else.^’ 3 a matter of custom, the young lady answers that the Will of her parents is hers ; she consents to take a survey >f him to whom her destiny is to be entrusted ; and let us presume that he is accepted, though it does not follow^ and sometimes it takes several months to ' :k out, as it does for other matters, a house, or a place, or a pair of horses. However, she consents ; a formal introduction takes place ; the promis calls in full dress to see his fu- ture wife ; they are only just to speak to each other, and those few unmeaning words are spoken in the presence of the bride-elect’s mother; for the French think it most indiscreet to allow the affections of a girl to be interested before marriage, lest during the arrangements for the contract all should be broken off. If she has no dislike, it is enough ; never for an instant are the engaged couple left alone, and in very few cases do they go up to the altar with more than a few weeks’ acquaintance, and usual Iv with less. The whole matter is then arrange 1 by ncta- ies, who squabble over the marriage-contract, and get al they can for their clients. The contract is usually signed in France on the day before the marriage, when all is considered safe ; the reli- gious portion of their bond takes place in the church, and THE PROPOSAL. 411 then the two young creatures are left together to uiulor* stand each other if they can, and to love each o:hev il they will ; if not they must content themselves with whal is teimed, im menage de Paris. In England formerly much the same system prevailed A boy of fourteen, before going on his travels, w^as ccii' tfcicted to a girl of eleven, selected as his future wife by parents or guardians; he came back after the grande, tour to fulfil the engagement. But by law it was imper« ative that forty days should at least pass between the contract and the marriage ; during which dreary interval the couple, leashed together like two young greyhounds would have time to think of the future. In France, the perilous period of reflection is not allowed. I reallyam BO glad we are to take a journey,’’ said a young Frencb lady to her friends ; I shall thus get to know something about my husband; he is quite a stranger to me.” Some striking instances of the Marriage de convenance being infringed on, have lately occurred in France. The late Monsieur de Tocqueville maried for love, after a five years’ engagement. Guizot, probably influenced by hi^ acquaintance with England, gave his daughterb liberty tc choose for themselves, and they married for lovc ^ — a very indelicate proceeding,” remarked a French com- tesse of the old regime.^ when speaking of this arrange* mcnt. Kothing can be more opposed to all this than our Eng fish system. We are so tenacious of the freedom of choice, that even persuasion is thought criminal. In France negotiations are often commenced on the la • Two brothers, named De TVitU* 18 * 418 MAERIAGE. dy’s side ; in England, never. Even too encouraging a manner, even the ordinary attentions of civility, are occa- sionally a matter of reproach. We English are jealous of the delicacy of that sacred bond, which we presume to liope is to spring out of mutual affection. It is not here our province to inquire what are the causes that have so sullied the marriage tie in England; what are the reasons that it seldom holds out all that it promises; we have only to treat of the rules and etiquettes which preface the union. A gentleman who, from whatever motives, has made up his mind to marry, may set about it in two ways. He may propose by letter or in words. The customs of English society imply the necessity of a sufficient knowl- edge of the lady to be addressed. This, even in this country, is a difficult point to be attained ; and, after all, cannot be calculated by time, since, in large cities, you may know people a year, and yet be comparative stran- gers ; and, meeting them in the country, may become intimate in a week. Having made up his mind, the gentleman offers — wise- ly if he can, in speech. Letters are seldom expressive of what really passes in the mind of man ; or, if expressive, seem foolish, sin ce deep feelings are liabl e to exaggeration . Every written word may be the theme of cavil. Study, care, which avail in every other species of composition are death to the lover’s effusion. A few sentences, spoken in earnest, and broken by emotion, are more eloquent than pages of sentiment, both to parent and daughter. Let him, however, speak and be accepted. He is in that case instantly taken into the intimacy of his adopted relatives. Such is the notion of English honor, that the engaged couple are henceforth allowed to be frequently alone to- THE ENGAGEMENT. 419 gether, in walking and at home If there be no knowi obstacle to the engagement, the gentlemen and lady arc mutually introduced to the respective relatives of each.. It is for the gentleman’s family to call first ; for him to make the first present ; and this should be done as soon as pos.uMe after the offer has been accepted. It is a sort of seal put upon the affair. The absence of presents ia thought to imply want of earnestness in the matter. This present generally consists of some personal ornament, say, a ring, and should be handsome, but not so handsome as that made for the wedding-day. During the period that elapses before the marriage, the betrothed man should conduct himself with peculiar deference to the lady’s family and friends, even if beneath his own station. It is often said : ‘'I marry such a lady, but I do not mean to marry her whole family.” This disrespectful pleasant- ry has something in it so cold, so selfish, that even if the lady’s family be disagreeable, there is a total absence of delicate feeling to her in thus speaking of those near- est to her. To her parents especially, the conduct of the betrothed man should be respectful ; to her sisters kind, without familiarity ; to her brothers, every evidence of good-will should be testified. In making every provi- sion for the future, in regard to settlements, allowance for dress, &c.; the of liberality convenient should be the spirit of all arrangements. Perfect candor as to hi? own affairs, respectful consideration for those of the fami- ly he is about to enter, mark a true gentleman. In France, however gay and even blameable a man may have been before his betrothal, he conducts himself with tlie utmost propriety after that event. A sense of what ia due to a lady should repress all habits unpleasant to 120 MARRIAGE. aer : smoking, if disagreeable ; frequenting places of amusement without her ; or paying attention to otln.M women. In this respect, indeed, the sense of honor should lead a man to be as scrupulous when his future wife is absent as when she is present, if not moie so. These rules of conduct apply in some respects to ladies also. Nothing is so disgusting or unpromising for the future as the flirtations which engaged young ladies permit them* selves to carry on after they have pledged themselves to one person alone. This display of bad taste and vanity often leads to serious unhappiness, and the impropriety, if not folly, should be strongly pointed out to the young lady herself. The attitude assumed by a flirt is often the impulse of folly more than of boldness. It is agreeable to her vanity, she finds, to excite jealousy, and to show her power. Even if the rash and transient triumph produce no lasting ef- fect on the peace of mind before marriage, it is often re- tailed with bitterness after marriage by him who was then slave, but is now a master. In equally bad taste is exclusiveness. The devotions two engaged persons should be reserved for the ttte-d Cie, and women are generally in fault when it is other- ^"uie. They like to exhibit their conquest ; they cannot dispense wdth attentions ; they forget that the demonstra- tion of any peculiar condition of things in society musl ^ake some one uncomfortable ; the young lady is un- e^3mfortable because she is not equally happy ; the young man detests what he calls nonsense ; the old think there Hi a time for all things. All sitting apart, therefore, and peculiar displays, are in bad taste ; I am inclined to think that they often accompany insincerity, and that the truest PECUNIARY MATTERS. 421 affections are those which are reserved for the genuine ’uid heartfelt intimacy of private interviews. At the same Sme, the airs of indifference and avoidance should be ^|ually guarded against ; since, however strong a mutual ittachment may be, such a line of conduct is apt nee^l Isssly to mislead others, and so produce mischief. Tru'^j feeling, and a ladylike consideration for others, a point in which the present generation essentially fails, are the best (guides for steering between the extremes of demonstra- tion. on the one hand, and of frigidity on the other. During the arrangement of pecuniary matters, a young lady should endeavor to understand what is going on, re- ceiving it in a right spirit. If she has fortune, she should, in all points left to her, be generous and confiding, at the same time prudent. Many a man, she should re- member, may abound in excellent qualities, and yet be improvident. He may mean to do well, yet have a pas- sion for building ; he may be the very soul of good na ture, yet fond of the gaming-table ; he may have no wrong propensities of that sort, and yet have a confused notion of accounts, and be one of those men who muddh away a great deal of money no one knows how ; or he may be a too^ strict economist, a man who takes too good care of the pence, till he tires your very life out about an extra queen’s-head ; or he may be facile or weakly gcod*^ natured, and have a friend who preys on him, and for whom he is disposed to become security. Finally, th^ btdoved Charles, Henry, or Reginald may have none oi these propensities, but may chance to be an honest mer- chant, or a tradesman, with all his floating capital in business, and a consequent risk of bemg ^n^ da; Vicb, thf next h pauper. 422 Makhiaiie. Upon every account, therefore, it is iesirable for a young lady to have a settlement on her ; and she should not, from a weak spirit of romance, oppose her friends who advise it, since it is for her husband's advantage well as her own. By making a settlement there is always a fund which cannot be touched — a something, however amall. as a provision for a wife and children ; and whether she have fortune or not, this ought to be made. An aU lowance for dress should also be arranged ; and this should be administered in such a way that a wife should not have to ask for it at inconvenient hours, and thus irritate her husband Every preliminary being settled, there remains nothing except to fix the marriage day, a point always left to the lady to advance ; and next to settle how the ceremonial is to be performed is the subject of consideration. Marriage by banns is confined to the poorer classes ; and a license is generally obtained by those who aspire to the “ habits of good society It is within the recollection of many, even middle-aged persons, that the higher clasvses were, some twenty years ago, married only by special license — a process costing about £50 instead of £5 : and therefore supposed by our commercial country especially to denote good society. Special licenses have, however, be- come unfashionable. They were obtained chiefly on ac- count of their enabling persons to be married at any hour whereas the canon prescribes the forenoon : aftei mid-daj t is illegal to celebrate a marriage. In some instances, during the Crimean war, special licenses were resorted t' to unite couples-— when the bridegroom-elect had beer, ordered off, and felt, with his bride, that it were happier for both to belong to each other even in death. But tlw THE JLICBNSS AND THE TROUSSEAU. 42S Mdinarj couples walk up to the altars of their respective parish churches. It is to be lamented that previously to so solemn a cer- emony, the thoughts of the lady concerned must neces- sarily be engaged for some time upon her trousseau. The trousseau consists, in this country, of all the habiliments necessary for a lady’s use for the first two or three years of her married life ; like every other outfit there are al- ways a number of articles introduced into it that are next to useless, andf are only calculated for the vain-glory of the ostentatious. A trousseaii may, in quiet life, be form- ed upon so low a sum as £60 or £70; it seldom costs, however, less than £100, and often mounts up to £500. By which useless extravagance a mass of things that soon cease to be fashionable, or that wear out from being laid by, is accumulated. The trousseau being completed, and the day fixed, it becomes necessary to select the bridesmaids and the bride- groom’s man, and to invite the guests. The bridesmaids are from two to eight in number. It IS ridiculous to have many, as the real intention of the bridesmaid is, that she should act as a witness of the mar- riage. It is, however, thought a compliment to include the bride’s sisters and those of the bridegroom’s relations and intimate friends, in case sisters do not exist. When a bride is young the bridesmaids should be young but it is absurd to see a single woman of a certain age,’’ or a widow, surrounded by blooming girls, making her look plain and foolish. For them the discreet woman of thirty- five is more suitable as a bridesmaid. Custom decides that the bridesmaids should be spinsters, but there is no legal objection to a married waman being a bridesmaid i24 MARRIAUifl. should it be necessary, as it might be abroad, or at sea, cn where ladies are few in number. Great care should taken not to give offence in the choice of bridesmaids bj a preference, which is always in bad taste on momeritou? ^jcasions. The guests at the wedding should be selected with sim* ilar attention to what is right and kind, with consideration to those who have a claim on us, not only to what we ourselves prefer. In London, for a great wedding breakfast, it is custom- ary to send out printed cards from the parents or guar- dians from whose house the young lady is to be married. Early in the day, before eleven, the bride should be dressed, taking breakfast in her owm room. In England we load a bride with lace flounces on a rich silk, and even sometimes with ornaments. In France it is alw^ays re- membered, with better taste, that when a young lady goes up to the altar, she is “ encore jeune Jillc her dress, therefore, is exquisitely simple ; a dress of tulle over white silk, a long wide veil of white tulle, going down to the very feet, a wreath of maiden-blush-roses interspersed with orange flowers. This is the usual costume of a French bride of rank^ or in the middle classes equally. In England, however, one must conform to the established custom, although it is much to be wished that in the classes who can set the example, the French usage should be Adopted. A lace dress over silk is generally worn in Eng- land> The lace should be of the finest quality. Brus- icls or Honiton is the most delicate and becoming the veil should be of the same sort of lace as the dress. A wreath of roses and orange flowers is worn round the head, not confining the veil. The silk ought to be plain ; glace. nf the most elegant description, trimmed with flowxrs ji feathers, according to the taste of the wearer. The gentleman’s dress should differ little from his full morning costume. The days are gone by when gentlemen were married — as a recently deceased friend of mine was — in white satin breeches and waistcoat. In these days men show less joy in their attire at the fond consummation of their hopes, and more in their faces. A dark-blue frock-coat — black being superstitiausly considered ominous — a white waistcoat, and a pair of light trousers, suffice for the “ happy man.” The nock-tie also should be light and simple. Polished boots are not amiss, though plain ones are better. The gloves must be as white as the linen. Both are typical — for in these days types are as important as under the Hebrew lawgivers — of the purity of mind and heart which are supposed to exist in their wearer. Eheu ! after all, he cannot be too well dressed, for the more gay he is the greater the compliment to his bride. Flowers in the button-hole and a smile on the face show the bridegroom to be really a happy man.” As soon as the carriages are at the door, those brides- maids, who happen to be in the house, and the other members of the family set off first. The bride goes last, with her father and mother, or with her mother alone, and the brother or relative who is to represent her father in case of death or absence. The bridegroom, his friend, oi bridegroom’s man, and the bridesmaids ought to be waiting m the church. The father of the bride gives her his arn? 126 MARRIAGE and leads her to the altar. Here her bridesmaids stand near her, as arranged by the clerk, and the bridegroom takes his appointed place. It is a good thing for the bridegroom’s man to distribute the different fees to the clergyman or clergymen, the clei k and pew-opener, before the arrival of the bride^ as it pie vents confusion afterwards. The bride stands to the left of the bridegroom, and takes the glove off her right hand, whilst he takes hia glove off his right hand. The bride gives her glove to the bridesmaid to hold, and sometimes to keep, as a good omen. The service then begins. During the recital, it is cer tainly a matter of feeling how the parties concerned should behave ; but if tears can be restrained, and a quiet mod- esty in the lady displayed, and her emotions subdued, it adds much to the gratification of others, and saves a few pangs to the parents from whom she is to part. It should be remembered that this is but the closing scene of a drama of some duration — first the offer, then the consent and engagement. In most cases the marriage has been preceded by acts which have stamped the whole with certainty, although we do not adopt the contract sys- tem of our forefathers, and although no event in this life can be certain. I have omitted the mention of the bouquet, because it seems to me always an awkward addition to the bride, and that it should be presented afterwards on her return to the breakfast. Gardenias, if in season, white azalia, or even camellias, with very little orange flowers, fcrm the . ridal bouquet. The bridesmaids are dressed, on this occasion, BO as to complete the pictura with effect. When there THE BREAKFAST. 427 are six or eight, it is usual for three of them to dress ic one color, and three in another. At some cf the most fashionable weddings in London, the bridesmaids weai 7eils — these are usually of net or tulle ; white tarlatan Iresses, over muslin or beautifully-worked dresses, an caunh worn, with colors introduced — pink or blue, anl scarves of those colors ; and white bonnets, if bonnets are worn, trimmed with flowers to correspond. These should be simple, but the flowxrs as natural as possible, and of the finest quality. The bouquets of the bridesmaids should be of mixed flowers. These they may have at church, but the present custom is for the gentlemen of the house to present them on their return home, previous to the wedding breakfast. The register is then signed. The bride quits the church first w. -h the bridegroom, and gets into his car- riage, and the father and mother, bridesmaids, and bride- groom’s man, follow in order in their own. The breakfast is arranged on one or more tables, and is generally provided by a confectioner when expense is not an objecr. Flowers skilfully arranged in fine Bohemian g%ss, or in epergnes composed of silver, with glass-dishes, are very ornamental on each side of the wedding-cake, which stands in the centre. When the breakfast is sent from a confec- tioner’s, or is arranged in the house by a professed cx>k the wedding-cake is richly ornamented with flowers, in lugar, and a knot of orange-flowers at tne top. At each end of the table are tea and cofiee. Soup is sometimes handed. Generally the viands are cold, consisting oi poultry or game, lobster-salads, chicken or fish d la May- wjiaisses hams, tongues, potted-meats, prawns, and 428 MAKRIAGE. game-pies ; raisins, savory jellies, sweets of every desciip tion- -all cold. Ice is afterwards handed, and, before the healtlis are drunk, the wedding-cake is cut by the nearest genth man and handed round. The father then proposes the health of the bride and bridegroom. The latter is expected to answer, and to propose the bridegroom’s man. The bridegroom’s man returns thanks, and pledges the bridesmaids, who answer through the bridegroom. All other toasts are optional, but it is de rigiieur that the health of the clergyman or clergymen who tied the knot, if present, should be drunk. After these ceremonials have been duly performed, and ample justice has been done to the breakfast, the bride retires^ and the company usually take leave of her in t)ie drawing room and depart. It must be borne in mind that the wedding-breakhist is not a dinner.^ and that the gentlemen do not stay be- hind to take wine when the party breaks up and the la- dies go up stairs. A few words before this sometimes gay, sometimes sad scene is dismissed. The good sense of several personages in the higher ranks has broken through the customary appearance ol the bride at the breakfast, or indeed if she breakfast at all. In France, the friends assembled to witness a wed- ding do not folbw the bride home. A ball or soiree generally follows in the evening. Most people, one woukt suppose, would be gladly released from the unnatural re • past at an unusual hour ; the headache that makes tha rest of the day miserable ; the hurry of the morning ; the lassitude of the afternoon ; the tearful, stumbling speeches of dear papa” after champagne ; the modest, shy, broken AITEK tub event. 426 ^nicnces of the victimized bridegroom ; the extreme)^’ critical situation of his bachelor friend, expected to be in love with all the bridesmaids; the sighs of the mother, an 3 prognostics of maiden aunts ; the heat, the disgust to those articles which look so well bj candlelight, but do aot bear daylight — creams, whips, jellies, and all tint tribe of poisons; and, worst of all, the vast expense to those who pay, and slight degree of pleasure to those who do not — these are among the miseries of the w^edding breakfast. Then the peculiar situation of the bride, tricked out with finery like the hoeiif-gras on Shrove-Tuesday, t^very one staring at her to see how she looks ; her sensitive na- ture all excited by the past solemnity ; her inmost feelings crushed or raked up, as may be, by congratulations. To subject a lady to such torture seems an act of cruelty in cold blood. Suppose her joy is too great for utterance that there has been opposition in delay, why stick her up on a pedestal, so that all may read the emotions of that throbbing heart beneath its encasement of Brussels lace ? Suppose that heart does not go along with the joy, and the compliments and the hopes of ever-constant felicity ; let the stricken deer go weep do not parade what now had better be forgotten. To some heart in that over- dressed assembly of smiling friends there will be a touch, in whatever is said, to give pain ; on occasions also wliere the feelings form the actual theme, the less said tka better. The bride has, however, retired, and we will follow, flar travelling-dress is now to be assum.ed. This should be good in quality, but plain, like a handsome dress foi morning calls. An elegant bonnet, not too plain, a hand 480 MARRIAGE. some tshawl or mantlej and colored gloves, form the suiU ble costume, of which it is impossible to define the com- ponent parts, but we merely recommend that the colcr* of the dress, and shawl, and bonnet, should as nearly af pcasible assimilate ; that the style shouli be of the ver^ best, BO that the impression left may be suitable, agrcea ble and elegant. One more word about fees to servants. These form a very varying point on a marriage, and depend on the con^ dition in life of the parties. A considerable sum is ex- pected from a nobleman, or a commoner of large fortune, but a much more modest calculation for a professional man, or a son whose father is still living, and who receives merely an allowance to enable him to marry. Presents are usual, first from the bridegroom to the bridesmaids. Tliese generally consist of jewelry, the de- vice of which should be unique or quaint, the article more elegant than massive. The female servants of the family, more especially servants who have lived many years in their place, also expect presents, such as gowns or shawls ; or to a very valued personal attendant or housekeeper, a w^atch. But on such points discretioc must suggest, and liberality measure out the largesse oj thQ gift. 1882. 1882. WI^®vlSli^iW«m4f%Lp '^'INEW BOOKSd AND NEW EDITIONS, RECENTLY ISSUED BY G. W. Carleton&Co., Publishers, Madison Square, ITew York. T!ie Publishers, on receipt of price, send any book on this Catalogue hy mal], free. All h-indsomely bound in cloth, with gilt backs suitable for libraries. Mary J. Holmes’ Works. 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Dickens’ Parlor Table Album of Illustrations— with descriptive text $2 50 M. M. Pomeroy Brick”). Sense. A serious book $i 50' Gold Dust. Do I 50 Our Saturday Nights i 50 Brnest Renan’s The Life of Jesus. Translated....^! 75 Lives of the Apostles. Do. ... i 75 G. W. Nonsense. (A conic book) 50 Brick-dust. Do. i 50 Home Harmonies 1 50 French Works. The Life of St. Paul. Translated. 75 The Bible in India — By Jacolliot.. 2 00 Carleton. Our Artist in Cuba, Peru, Spain, and Algiers — 150 Caricatures of travel co Miscellaneous Publications. The Children’s Fairy Geography — With hundreds of beautiful illustrations $2 50 Hawk-eyes — A comic book by “ The Burlington Hawkeye Man.” Illustrated i 50 Among the Thorns — A new novel by Mrs. Mary Lowe Dickinson i 50 Our Daughters — A talk with mothers, by Marion Harland, author jof *‘Alone,”.. 50 Redbirds Christmas Story — An illustrated Juvenile. By Mary J. Holmes 50 Carleton’s Popular Readings — Edited by Mrs. Anna Randall-Diehl r 50 The Culprit Fay — Joseph Rodman Drake's Poem. With 100 illustrations 2 00 L’Assommoir — English Translation from Zola’s famous French novel i co Parlor Amusements — Games, Tricks, and Home Amusements, by F. Bellew... i co Love [L’Amour] — Translation from Michelet’s famous French work i 50 Woman [La Femme]. Do. Do. Do i 50 Verdant Green — A racy English college Story. With 200 comic ilh ..Irations. ... i 00 Solid for Mulhooly — The Sharpest Political Satire of the Day i 00 A Northern Governess at the Sunny South — By Professor J. H. Ingraham., i 50 Laus Veneris, and other Poems — By Algernon Charles Swinburne i 50 Birds of a Feather Flock Together — By Edward A. Sothern, the actor i co Beatrice Cenci — from the Italian novel, with Guido’s celebrated portrait i 50 Morning Glories — A charming collection of Children’s stories. By Louisa Alcot. i 00 Some Women of To-day — A novel by Mrs. Dr. Wm. H. White i 50 From New York to San Francisco — By Mrs. Frank Leslie. Illustrated i 50 Why Wife and I Quarreled — A Poem by author “ Betsey arid I are out.” i 00 West India Pickles — A yacht Cruise in the Tropics. By W. P. Talboys i 00 Threading My Way — The Autobiograpy of Robert Dale Owen i 50 Debatable Land between this Word and Next — Robert Dale Owen 2 00 Lights and Shadows of Spiritualism — By D. D. Home, the Medium 2 00 Yachtman’s Primer — Instructions for Amateur Sailors. By Warren 50 The Fall of Man — A Darwinian Satire, by author of “ New Gospel of Peace.” ... 50 The Chronicles of Gotham — A New York Satire. Do. Do. ... 25 Tales from the Operas — A collection of stories based upon the Opera plots i co Ladies and Gentlemen’s Etiquette Book of the best Fashionable Society. ... i 00 Self Culture in Conversation, Letter-Writing, and Oratory i 00 Love and Marriage — A book for young people. By Frederick Saunders i 00 Under the Rose — A Capital book, by the author of “ East Lynne,” i co So Dear a Dream — A novel by Miss Grant, author of “The Sun Maid ” i 00 Give me thine Heart — A Capital new Love Story by Roe 1 00 Meeting Her Fate — A charming novel by the author of “ Aurora Floyd” i 00 The New York Cook-Book — Book of Domestic Receipts. By Mrs. Astor i 00 G, tv. CARLE TOAT CO:S PUBLICATIONS. Miscellaneous 'Works. Dawn to Noon — By Violet Fane..^i 50 Constance’s Fate. Do. .. i 50 How to Win in Wall Street i 00 Poems — By Mrs. Bloomfield Moore, i 50 A Bad Boy’s First . Reader 10 John Swinton’s Travels 25 Sarah Bernhardt— Her Life 25 Arctic Travel — Isaac I. Hayes.... i 50 College Tramps — F. A. Stokes.... i 50 H. M. S. Pinafore — The Play 10 A Steamer Book — W. T. Helmuth. i 00 Lion Jack — By P. T. Barnum i 50 Jack in the Jungle. Do i 50 Gospels in Poetry — E. H. Kimball, i 50 Southern Woman Story — Pember 75 Madame Le Vert’s — Souvenirs ... 2 00 He and I — Sarah B. Stebbins 50 Annals of a Baby. Do 50 Victor Hugo — Autobiography | Orpheus C. Kerr— 4vols. in one.. Fanny Fern Memorials Parodies — C. H. Webb (John Paul). My Vacation — Do. Do. Sandwiches — Artemus Ward Watchman of the Night Nonsense Rhymes — W.H. Beckett Lord Bateman — Cruikshank’s 111 .. Northern Ballads — E. L. Anderson Beldazzle Bachelor Poems Me — Mrs. Spencer W. Coe. Little Guzzy — John Kabberton. . . . Offenbach in America About Lawyers — Jeffreson. About Doctors — Do Widow Spriggins — Widow Bedott. How to Make Money — Davies... . Sub Rosa — Chas. T. Murray. ..... 50 Hilda and I — E. Bedell Benjamin, i 50 Madame — Frank Lee Benedict 1 50 Hammer and Anvil. Do. .... i 50 Her Friend Lawrence. Do i 50 A College Widow — C. H. Seymour i 50 Shiftless Folks — Fannie Smith. .. . i 50 Peace Pelican. Do. i 50 Prairie Flower— Emerson Bennett, i 50 Rose of Memphis — W. C. Falkner. i 50 Price of a Life — R. Forbes Sturgis, i 50 Hidden Power— T. H. Tibbies.... i 50 Two Brides — Bernard O’Reilly ... i 50 Sorry Her Lot — Miss Grant 1 00 Two of Us— Calista Halsey 75 Spell-Bound — Alexandre Dumas... 75 Cupid on Crutches — A. B. Wood.. 75 Doctor Antonio— G. RufRni i 50 Parson Thorne — Buckingham i 50 Marston Hall — L. Eila Byrd i 50 Ange — Florence Marryatt i 00 Errors — Ruth Carter i 50 Heart’s Delight — Mrs. Alderdice. . i 50 Unmistakable Flirtation — Garner 75 Wild Oats — Florence Marryatt i 50 Widow Cherry — B. L. Farjeon.,. 75 Solomon Isaacs. Do. .... 50 Led Astray — Octave Feuillet i 50 She Loved Him Madly — Borys... i 50 Thick and Thin — Mery 1 50 So Fair yet False— Chavette i 50 A Fatal Passion — C. Bernard i 50 Woman in the Case — B. Turner., i 50 Marguerite’s Journal — For Girls., i 50 Edith Murray — Joanna Mathews., i 00 Doctor Mortimer — Fannie Bean... i 50 Outwitted at Last — S. A. Gardner i 50 Vesta Vane — L. King, R i 50 Louise and I — C. R. Dodge i 50 My Queen — By Sandette i 50 Fallen among Thieves— Rayne... 1 50 San Miniato— Mrs. Hamilton i 00 Miscellaneous Novels. All For Her — A Tale of New York,. ^ All For Him— By All For Her For Each Other. Do Peccavi— Emma WencTer Conquered — By a New Author Janet — An English novel Saint Leger — Richard B. Kimball. Was He Successful ? Do. . Undercurrents of Wall St. Do. . Romance of Student Life. Do. . To-Day. Do. . Life in Gan Domingo. Do. . Henry Powers, Banker. Do. . Baroness of N. Y. -Joaquin Miller One Fair Woman. Do. Another Man’s Wife — Mrs. Hartt Purple and Fine Linen — Fawcett. Pauline’s Trial^L D. Courtney. The Forgiving Kiss — M. Loth. Flirtation — A West Point novel Loyal into Death That Awful' Boy That Bridget of Ours Bitterwood — By M. A. Green. Phemie Frost — Ann S. Stephens Charette — An American novel. Fairfax — John Esten Cooke... Hilt to Hilt. Do. .. Out of the Foam. Do. .. Hammer and Rapier. Do. .. Vv^arwick — By M. T. Walworth Lulu, Do. Hotspur. Do. Stormcliff. Do. Delaplaine. Do. Beverly. Do. Kenneth — Sallle A. Brock.. Heart Hungry — Westmoreland Clifford Troupe — Do. Silcott Mill — Maria D. Deslonde John Maribel. Do. Love’s Vengeance X 50 2 00 2 00 X 50 X 50 25 X 50 I 00 25 I 00 I 00 I 00 X 50 X 50 X 50 X X 75 1 75 1 75 I 75 I 75 X 75 I 50 I 50 X 50 X 50 X 50 X 75 I 00 I 50 50 50 I 50 X 50 X 50 I 50 X 50 X 50 I 50 I 75 1 75 X 75 X 75 X 75 1 75 r 75 X 50 X 50 I 50 I 50 75 CHARLES DiCKENS’ WORKS. A NEW EDITION. I Among the many editions of the works of this greatest oi • English Novelists, there has not been until now one that entirely j satisfies the public demand. — Without exception, they each have ^ some strong distinctive objection, — either the form and dimen- sions of the volumes are unhandy — or, the type is small and indistinct — or, the illustrations are unsatisfactory — or, the bind ing is poor — or, the price is too high. An entirely new edition is now^ however, published by G. W Carleton & Co., of New York, which, in every respect, com- pletely satisfies the popular demand. — It is known as ‘‘Carleton’s New Illustrated Edition.” Complete in 15 Volumes. The size and form is most convenient for holding, — the type is entirely new, and of a clear and open character that has received the approval of the reading community in other works. The illustrations are by the original artists chosen by Charles Dickens himself — and the paper, printing, and binding are of an attractive and substantial character. This beautiful new edition is complete in 15 volumes — at the extremely reasonable price of $1.50 per volume, as follows • — 1. — PICKWICK PAPERS AND CATALOGUE. 2 . — OLIVER TWIST. — UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER. 3. — DAVID COPPERFIELD. 4. — GREAT EXPECTATIONS. — ITALY AND AMERICA 5. — DOMBEY AND SON. 6. — BARNABY RUDGE AND EDVTIN DROOD. 7. — NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 8. — CURIOSITY SHOP AND MISCELLANEOUS. 9. — BLEAK HOUSE. 10 . — LITTLE DORRIT. 11. — MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 1 2 . -^UR MUTUAL FRIEND. 13. — CHRISTMAS BOOKS. — ^TALE OF TWO CITIES. 14. — SKETCHES BY BOZ AND HARD TIMES. 15. — child's ENGLAND AND MISCELLANEOUS. The first volume — Pickwick Papers — contains an alphabetical catalogue of all of Charles Dickens' writings, with their cxjrt positions in the volumes. This edition is sold by Booksellers, everywhere — and single specimen copies will be forwarded by postage free^ on re- ceipt of price, $1.50, by G. W. CARLETON & CO., Publishers, Madison Square, New York. Mrs. Mary J. Holmes* Works» TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE. ENGLISH ORPHANS. HOMESTEAD ON HILLSIDE. »LENA RIVERS. MEADOW BROOK. DORA DEANE. COUSIN MAUDE. MARIAN GREY. EDITH LYLE. . DAISY THORNTON. rJ^e 7 uJ. DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. HUGH WORTHINGTON. CAMERON PRIDE. ROSE MATHER. ETHLLYN’S MISTAKE. MILLBANK. EDNA BROWNING. WEST LAWN. MILDRED. '^FORREST HOUSE. \(Ne 7 v), OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. '•Mrs. Holmes* stories are universally read. Her admirers are numberless. She is in many respects without a rival in the world of fiction. Her characters are always life-like, and she makes them talk and act like human beings, subject to the same emotions, swayed by the same passions, and actuated by the same motives which are common among men and women of every day existence. Mrs. Holmes is very happy in portraying domestic life. Old and young peruse her stories with great delight, for she writes in a style that all can comprehend.’* — Ne 7 u York Weekly. The North American Review, vol. 8i, page 557, says of Mrs. Mary J. Holmes’ novel, “English Orphans”: — “With this novel of Mrs. Holmes’ we have been charmed, and so have a pretty numerous circle of discriminating readers to whom we have lent it. The characterization is exquisite, especially so far as concerns rural and village life, of which there are some pictures that deserve to be hung up in perpetual memory of types of humanity fast becoming extinct The dialogues are generally brief, pointed, and appropriate. The plot seems simple, so easily and naturally is it developed and consummated. Moreover, th«i story thus gracefully constructed and written, inculcates without obtruding, not only pure Christian morality in general, but, with especial point and power, the depen- dence of true success on character, and of true respectability on merit.” “Mrs. Holmes’ stories are all of a domestic character, and their Interest there- fore, is not so intense as if they were more highly seasoned with sensationalism, but it is of a healthy and abiding character. Almost any new book which her publisher might choose to announce from her pen would get an immediate and general reading. The interest in her tales begins at once, and is maintained to the close. Her sentiments are so sound, her sympathies so warm and ready, and her knowledge of manners, character, and the vraried incidents of ordinary life is so thorough, that she would find it difficult to write any other than an txcellent tale if she were to try it .” — Boston Banner. The volumes are all handsomely printed and bound in cloth, sold every where, and sent by mail, postage free^ on receipt of price [$1.50 each], by G. W. CARLETON & CO., Publishers, Madison Square^ New York. mi^eRVATION REVIEW