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Title: The Laws of Etiquette

Author:  A Gentleman

Release Date: May, 2004  [EBook #5681]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on August 7, 2002]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE LAWS OF ETIQUETTE ***




This eBook was produced by Holly Ingraham

Summary: A short book on manners and proper behavior for a
gentleman, as opposed to a man of fashion. The mood is cool and
self-serving, with the self-restraint, even two-facedness, of the
time (1836). Notable for the funny short chapter on travelling in
a public coach and a very large chapter mostly of Beau Brummel
stories.


THE

LAWS OF ETIQUETTE;

or,

Short Rules and Reflections

for

CONDUCT IN SOCIETY.

BY A GENTLEMAN.

PHILADELPHIA:

CAREY, LEA, AND BLANCHARD.

1836.



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1836,

By Carey, Lea, and Blanchard,

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern

District of Pennsylvania.



Haswell & Barrington, Printers,

St. James Street.



PREFACE

The author of the present volume has endeavoured to embody,

in as short a space as possible, some of the results of his 

own experience and observation in society, and submits the 

work to the public, with the hope that the remarks which are 

contained in it, may prove available for the benefit of 

others. It is, of course, scarcely possible that anything

original should be found in a volume like this: almost all 

that it contains must have fallen under the notice of every 

man of penetration who has been in the habit of frequenting 

good society. Many of the precepts have probably been 

contained in works of a similar character which have appeared 

in England and France since the days of Lord Chesterfield. 

Nothing however has been copied from them in the compilation 

of this work, the author having in fact scarcely any 

acquaintance with books of this description, and many years 

having elapsed since he has opened even the pages of the 

noble oracle. He has drawn entirely from his own resources, 

with the exception of some hints for arrangement, and a few 

brief reflections, which have been derived from the French.

The present volume is almost apart from criticism. It has no 

pretensions to be judged as a literary work--its sole merit 

depending upon its correctness and fitness of application. 

Upon these grounds he ventures to hope for it a favourable 

reception.

INTRODUCTION

The great error into which nearly all foreigners and most 

Americans fall, who write or speak of society in this 

country, arises from confounding the political with the 

social system. In most other countries, in England, France, 

and all those nations whose government is monarchical or 

aristocratic, these systems are indeed similar. Society is 

there intimately connected with the government, and the 

distinctions in one are the origin of gradations in the 

other. The chief part of the society of the kingdom is 

assembled in the capital, and the same persons who legislate 

for the country legislate also for it. But in America the two 

systems are totally unconnected, and altogether different in 

character. In remodelling the form of the administration, 

society remained unrepublican. There is perfect freedom of 

political privilege, all are the same upon the hustings, or 

at a political meeting; but this equality does not extend to 

the drawing-room or the parlour. None are excluded from the 

highest councils of the nation, but it does not follow that 

all can enter into the highest ranks, of society. In point of 

fact, we think that there is more exclusiveness in the 

society of this country, than there is in that even of 

England--far more than there is in France. And the 

explanation may perhaps be found in the fact which we hate 

mentioned above. There being there less danger of permanent 

disarrangement or confusion of ranks by the occasional 

admission of the low-born aspirant, there does not exist the 

same necessity for a jealous guarding of the barriers as 

there does here. The distinction of classes, also, after the 

first or second, is actually more clearly defined, and more 

rigidly observed in America, than in any country of Europe. 

Persons unaccustomed to look searchingly at these matters, 

may be surprised to hear it; but we know from observation, 

that there are among the respectable, in any city of the 

United States, at least ten distinct ranks. We cannot, of 

course, here point them out, because we could not do it 

without mentioning names.

Every man is naturally desirous of finding entrance into the

best society of his country, and it becomes therefore a

matter of importance to ascertain what qualifications are

demanded for admittance.

A writer who is popularly unpopular, has remarked, that the

test of standing in Boston, is literary eminence; in New

York, wealth; and in Philadelphia, purity of blood.

To this remark, we can only oppose our opinion, that none of

these are indispensable, and none of them sufficient. The

society of this country, unlike that of England, does not

court literary talent. We have cases in our recollection,

which prove the remark, in relation to the highest ranks,

even of Boston. Wealth has no pretensions to be the standard

anywhere. In New York, the Liverpool of America, although the

rich may make greater display and _bruit,_ yet all of the

merely rich, will find that there does exist a small and

unchanging circle, whether above or below them, 'it is not

ours to say,' yet completely apart from them, into which they

would rejoice to find entrance, and from which they would be

glad to receive emigrants.

Whatever may be the accomplishments necessary to render one

capable of reaching the highest platform of social eminence,

and it is not easy to define clearly what they are, there is

one thing, and one alone, which will enable any man to

_retain_ his station there; and that is, GOOD BREEDING.

Without it, we believe that literature, wealth, and even

blood, will be unsuccessful. By it, if it co-exist with a

certain capacity of affording pleasure by conversation, any

one, we imagine, could frequent the very best society in

every city of America, and _perhaps the very best alone._ To

obtain, then, the manners of a gentleman is a matter of no

small importance.

We do not pretend that a man will be metamorphosed into a

gentleman by reading this book, or any other book. Refined

manners are like refined style which Cicero compares to the

colour of the cheeks, which is not acquired by sudden or

violent exposure to heat, but by continual walking in the

sun. Good manners can certainly only be acquired by much

usage in good company. But there are a number of little

forms, imperiously enacted by custom, which may be taught in

this manner, and the conscious ignorance of which often

prevents persons from going into company at all.

These forms may be abundantly absurd, but still they _must_

be attended to; for one half the world does and always will

observe them, and the other half is at a great disadvantage

if it does not. Intercourse is constantly taking place, and

an awkward man of letters, in the society of a polished man

of the world, is like a strong man contending with a skilful

fencer. Mr. Addison says, that he once saw the ablest

mathematician in the kingdom utterly embarrassed, from not

knowing whether he ought to stand or sit when my lord duke

drank his health.

Some of the many errors which are liable to be committed

through ignorance of usage, are pleasantly pointed out in the

following story, which is related by a French writer.

The Abbé Cosson, professor in the _College Mazarin,_

thoroughly accomplished in the art of teaching, saturated

with Greek, Latin, and literature, considered himself a

perfect well of science: he had no conception that a man who

knew all Persius and Horace by heart could possibly commit an

error--above all, an error at table. But it was not long

before he discovered his mistake. One day, after dining with

the Abbé de Radonvillers at Versailles, in company with

several courtiers and marshals of France, he was boasting of

the rare acquaintance with etiquette and custom which he had

exhibited at dinner. The Abbé Delille, who heard this eulogy

upon his own conduct, interrupted his harangue, by offering

to wager that he had committed at least a hundred

improprieties at the table. "How is it possible!" exclaimed

Cosson. "I did exactly like the rest of the company."

"What absurdity!" said the other. "You did a thousand things

which no one else did. First, when you sat down at the table,

what did you do with your napkin?" "My napkin? Why just what

every body else did with theirs. I unfolded it entire]y, and

fastened it to my buttonhole." "Well, my dear friend," said

Delille, "you were the only one that did _that,_ at all

events. No one hangs up his napkin in that style; they are

contented with placing it on their knees. And what did you,

do when you took your soup?" "Like the others, I believe. I

took my spoon in one hand, and my fork in the other--" "Your

fork! Who ever eat soup with a fork?--But to proceed; after

your soup, what did you eat?" "A fresh egg." "And what did

you do with the shell?" "Handed it to the servant who stood

behind my chair." "With out breaking it?" "Without breaking

it, of course." "Well, my dear Abbé, nobody ever eats an egg

without breaking the shell. And after your egg--?" "I asked

the Abbé Radonvillers to send me a piece of the hen near

him." "Bless my soul! a piece of the _hen_? You never speak

of hens excepting in the barn-yard. You should have asked for

fowl or chicken. But you say nothing of your mode of

drinking." "Like all the rest, I asked for _claret_ and

_champagne._" "Let me inform you, then, that persons always

ask for _claret wine_ and _champagne wine._ But, tell me, how

did you eat your bread?" "Surely I did that properly. I cut

it with my knife, in the most regular manner possible."

"Bread should always be broken, not cut. But the coffee, how

did you manage it?" "It was rather too hot, and I poured a

little of it into my saucer." "Well, you committed here the

greatest fault of all. You should never pour  your coffee

into the saucer, but always drink it from the cup." The poor

Abbé was confounded. He felt that though one might be master

of the seven sciences, yet that there was another species of

knowledge which, if less dignified, was equally important.

This occurred many years ago, but there is not one of the

observances neglected by the Abbé Cosson, which is not

enforced with equal rigidness in the present day.

CHAPTER I. GOOD BREEDING.

The formalities of refined society were at first established

for the purpose of facilitating the intercourse of persons of

the same standing, and increasing the happiness of all to

whom they apply. They are now kept up, both to assist the

convenience of intercourse and to prevent too great

familiarity. If they are carried too far, and escape from the

control of good sense, they become impediments to enjoyment.

Among the Chinese they serve only the purpose of annoying to

an incalculable degree. "The government," says De Marcy, in

writing of China, "constantly applies itself to preserve, not

only in the court and among the great, but among the people

themselves, a constant habit of civility and courtesy. The

Chinese have an infinity of books upon such subjects; one of

these treatises contains more than three thousand articles.--

Everything is pointed out with the most minute detail; the

manner of saluting, of visiting, of making presents, of

writing letters, of eating, etc.: and these customs have the

force of laws--no one can dispense with them. There is a

special tribunal at Peking, of which it is one of the chief

duties, to ensure the observance of these civil ordinances?"

One would think that one was here reading an account of the

capital of France. It depends, then, upon the spirit in which

these forms are observed, whether their result shall be

beneficial or not. The French and the Chinese are the most

formal of all the nations. Yet the one is the stiffest and

most distant; the other, the easiest and most social.

"We may define politeness," says La Bruyére, "though we

cannot tell where to fix it in practice. It observes received

usages and customs, is bound to times and places, and is not

the same thing in the two sexes or in different conditions.

Wit alone cannot obtain it: it is acquired and brought to

perfection by emulation. Some dispositions alone are

susceptible of politeness, as others are only capable of

great talents or solid virtues. It is true politeness puts

merit forward, and renders it agreeable, and a man must have

eminent qualifications to support himself without it."

Perhaps even the greatest merit cannot successfully straggle

against unfortunate and disagreeable manners. Lord

Chesterfield says that the Duke of Marlborough owed his first

promotions to the suavity of his manners, and that without it

he could not have risen.

La Bruyére has elsewhere given this happy definition of

politeness, the other passage being rather a description of

it. "Politeness seems to be a certain care, by the manner of

our words and actions, to make others pleased with us and

themselves."

We must here stop to point out an error which is often

committed both in practice and opinion, and which consists in

confounding together the gentleman and the man of fashion. No

two characters can be more distinct than these. Good sense

and self-respect are the foundations of the one--notoriety

and influence the objects of the other. Men of fashion are to

be seen everywhere: a pure and mere gentleman is the rarest

thing alive. Brummel was a man of fashion; but it would be a

perversion of terms to apply to him "a very expressive word

in our language,--a word, denoting an assemblage of many real

virtues and of many qualities approaching to virtues, and an

union of manners at once pleasing and commanding respect,--

the word gentleman."* The requisites to compose this last

character are natural ease of manner, and an acquaintance

with the "outward habit of encounter"--dignity and self-

possession--a respect for all the decencies of life, and

perfect freedom from all affectation. Dr. Johnson's bearing

during his interview with the king showed him to be a

thorough gentleman, and demonstrates how rare and elevated

that character is. When his majesty expressed in the language

of compliment his high opinion of Johnson's merits, the

latter bowed in silence. If Chesterfield could have retained

sufficient presence of mind to have done the same on such an

occasion, he would have applauded himself to the end of his

days. So delicate is the nature of those qualities that

constitute a gentleman, that there is but one exhibition of

this description of persons in all the literary and dramatic

fictions from Shakespeare downward. Scott has not attempted

it. Bulwer, in "Pelham," has shot wide of the mark. It was

reserved for the author of two very singular productions,

"Sydenham" and its continuation "Alice Paulet"--works of

extraordinary merits and extraordinary faults--to portray

this character completely, in the person of Mr. Paulet

* Charles Butler's Reminiscences

CHAPTER II. DRESS.

First impressions are apt to be permanent; it is therefore of

importance that they should be favourable. The dress of an

individual is that circumstance from which you first form

your opinion of him. It is even more prominent than manner,

It is indeed the only thing which is remarked in a casual

encounter, or during the first interview. It, therefore,

should be the first care.

What style is to our thoughts, dress is to our persons. It

may supply the place of more solid  qualities, and without it

the most solid are of little avail. Numbers have owed their

elevation to their attention to the toilet. Place, fortune,

marriage have all been lost by neglecting it. A man need not

mingle long with the world to find occasion to exclaim with

Sedaine, "Ah! mon habit, que je vous remercie!" In spite of

the proverb, the dress often _does_ make the monk.

Your dress should always be consistent with your age and your

natural exterior. That which looks outré on one man, will be

agreeable on another. As success in this respect depends

almost entirely upon particular circumstances and personal

peculiarities, it is impossible to give general directions of

much importance. We can only point out the field for study

and research; it belongs to each one's own genius and

industry to deduce the results. However ugly you may be, rest

assured that there is some style of habiliment which will

make you passable.

If, for example, you have a stain upon your cheek which

rivals in brilliancy the best Chateau-Margout; or, are

afflicted with a nose whose lustre dims the ruby, you may

employ such hues of dress, that the eye, instead of being

shocked by the strangeness of the defect, will be charmed by

the graceful harmony of the colours. Every one cannot indeed

be an Adonis, but it is his own fault if he is an Esop.

If you have bad, squinting eyes, which have lost their lashes

and are bordered with red, you should wear spectacles. If the

defect be great, your glasses should be coloured. In such

cases emulate the sky rather than the sea: green spectacles

are an abomination, fitted only for students in divinity,--

blue ones are respectable and even _distingue._

Almost every defect of face may be concealed by a judicious

use and arrangement of hair. Take care, however, that your

hair be not of one colour and your whiskers of another; and

let your wig be large enough to cover the _whole_ of your red

or white hair.

It is evident, therefore, that though a man may be ugly,

there is no necessity for his being shocking. Would that all

men were convinced of this! I verily believe that if Mr. --

in his walking-dress, and Mr. -- in his evening costume were

to meet alone, in some solitary place, where there was

nothing to divert their attention from one another, they

would expire of mutual hideousness.

If you have any defect, so striking and so ridiculous as to

procure you a _nickname_ then indeed there is but one

remedy,--renounce society.

In the morning, before eleven o'clock even if you go out, you

should not be dressed. You would be stamped a _parvenu_ if

you were seen in anything better than a reputable old frock

coat. If you remain at home, and are a bachelor, it is

permitted to receive visitors in a morning gown. In summer,

calico; in winter, figured cloth, faced with fur. At dinner,

a coat, of course, is indispensable.

The effect of a frock coat is to conceal the height. If,

therefore, you are beneath the ordinary statue, or much above

it, you should affect frock coats on all occasions that

etiquette permits.

Before going to a ball or party it is not sufficient that you

consult your mirror twenty times. You must be personally

inspected by your servant or a friend. Through defect of

this, I once saw a gentleman enter a ball-room, attired with

scrupulous elegance, but with one of his suspenders curling

in graceful festoons about his feet. His glass could not show

what was behind.

If you are about to present yourself in a company composed

only of men, you may wear boots. If there be but one lady

present, pumps and silk-stockings are indispensable.

There is a common proverb which says, that if a man be well

dressed as to head and feet, he may present himself

everywhere. The assertion is as false as Mr. Kemble's voice.

Happy indeed if it were necessary to perfect only the

extremities. The coat, the waistcoat, the gloves, and, above

all, the cravat, must be alike ignorant of blemish.

Upon the subject of the cravat--(for heaven's sake and

Brummel's, never appear in a stock after twelve o'clock)--We

cannot at present say anything. If we were to say anything,

we could not be content without saying all, and to say all

would require a folio. A book has been published upon the

subject, entitled "The Cravat considered in its moral,

literary, political, military, and religious attributes."

This and a clever, though less profound, treatise on "The art

of tying the Cravat," are as indispensable to a gentleman as

an ice at twelve o'clock.

When we speak of excellence in dress we do not mean richness

of clothing, nor manifested elaboration. Faultless propriety,

perfect harmony, and a refined simplicity,--these are the

charms which fascinate here.

It is as great a sin to be finical in dress as to be

negligent.

Upon this subject the ladies are the only infallible oracles.

Apart from the perfection to which they must of necessity

arrive, from devoting their entire existence to such

considerations, they seem to be endued with an inexpressible

tact, a sort of sixth sense, which reveals intuitively the

proper distinctions. That your dress is approved by a man is

nothing;--you cannot enjoy the high satisfaction of being

perfectly comme il faut, until your performance has received

the seal of a woman's approbation.

If the benefits to be derived from cultivating your exterior

do not appear sufficiently powerful to induce attention, the

inconveniences arising from too great disregard may perhaps

prevail. Sir Matthew Hale, in the earlier part of his life,

dressed so badly that he was once seized by the press-gang.

Not long since, as I entered the hall of a public hotel, I

saw a person so villainously habited, that supposing him to

be one of the servants, I desired him to take my luggage

upstairs, and was on the point of offering him a shilling,

when I discovered that I was addressing the Honorable Mr. * *

*, one of the most eminent American statesmen.

CHAPTER III. SALUTATIONS.

The salutation, says a French writer, is the touchstone of

good breeding. According to circumstances, it should be

respectful, cordial, civil, affectionate or familiar:--an

inclination of the head, a gesture with the hand, the

touching or doffing of the hat.

If you remove your hat you need not at the same time bend the

dorsal vertebræ of your body, unless you wish to be very

reverential, as in saluting a bishop.

It is a mark of high breeding not to speak to  a lady in the

street, until you perceive that she has noticed you by an

inclination of the head.

Some ladies _courtesy_ in the street, a movement not

gracefully consistent with locomotion. They should always

_bow._

If an individual of the lowest rank, or without any rank at

all, takes off his hat to you, you should do the same in

return. A bow, says La Fontaine, is a note drawn at sight. If

you acknowledge it, you must pay the full amount. The two

best-bred men in England, Charles the Second and George the

Fourth, never failed to take off their hats to the meanest of

their subjects.

Avoid condescending bows to your friends and equals. If you

meet a rich parvenu, whose consequence you wish to reprove,

you may salute him in a very patronizing manner: or else, in

acknowledging his bow, look somewhat surprised and say,

"Mister--eh--eh?"

If you have remarkably fine teeth, you may smile

affectionately upon the bowee, without speaking.

In passing ladies of rank, whom you meet in society, bow, but

do not speak.

If you have anything to say to any one in the street,

especially a lady, however intimate you may be, do not stop

the person, but turn round and walk in company; you can take

leave at the end of the street.

If there is any one of your acquaintance, with whom you have

a difference, do not avoid looking at him, unless from the

nature of things the quarrel is necessarily for life. It is

almost always better to bow with cold civility, though

without speaking.

As a general rule never _cut_ any one in the street. Even

political and steamboat acquaintances should be noticed by

the slightest movement in the world. If they presume to

converse with you, or stop you to introduce their companion,

it is then time to use your eye-glass, and say, "I never knew

you."

If you address a lady in the open air, you remain uncovered

until she has desired you _twice_ to put on your hat. In

general, if you are in any place where _etiquette_ requires

you to remain uncovered or standing, and a lady, or one much

your superior, requests you to be covered or to sit, you may

how off the command. If it is repeated, you should comply.

You thereby pay the person a marked, but delicate,

compliment, by allowing their will to be superior to the

general obligations of etiquette.

When two Americans, who "have not been introduced," meet in

some public place, as in a theatre, a stagecoach, or a

steamboat, they will sit for an hour staring in one another's

faces, but without a word of conversation. This form of

unpoliteness has been adopted from the English, and it is as

little worthy of imitation as the form of their government.

Good sense and convenience are the foundations of good

breeding; and it is assuredly vastly more reasonable and more

agreeable to enjoy a passing gratification, when no sequent

evil is to be apprehended, than to be rendered uncomfortable

by an ill-founded pride. It is therefore better to carry on

an easy and civil conversation. A snuff-box, or some polite

accommodation rendered, may serve for an opening. Talk only

about generalities,--the play, the roads, the weather. Avoid

speaking of persons or politics, for, if the individual is of

the opposite party to yourself, you will be engaged in a

controversy: if he holds the same opinions, you will be

overwhelmed with a flood of vulgar intelligence, which may

soil your mind. Be reservedly civil while the colloquy lasts,

and let the acquaintance cease with the occasion.

When you are introduced to a gentleman do not give your hand,

but merely bow with politeness: and if you have requested the

introduction, or know the person by reputation, you may make

a speech. I am aware that high authority might easily be

found in this country to sanction the custom of giving the

hand upon a first meeting, but it is undoubtedly a solecism

in manners. The habit has been adopted by us, with some

improvement for the worse, from France. When two Frenchmen

are presented to one another, each _presses_ the other's hand

with delicate affection. The English, however, never do so:

and the practice, if abstractly correct, is altogether

inconsistent with the caution of manner which is

characteristic of their nation and our own. If we are to

follow the French, in shaking hands with one whom we have

never before seen, we should certainly imitate them also in

kissing our _intimate_ male acquaintances. If, however, you

ought only to bow to a new acquaintance, you surely should do

more to old ones. If you meet an intimate friend fifty times

in a morning, give your hand every time,--an observance of

propriety, which, though worthy of universal adoption, is in

this country only followed by the purists in politeness. The

requisitions of etiquette, if they should be obeyed at all,

should be obeyed fully. This decent formality prevents

acquaintance from being too distant, while, at the same time,

it preserves the "familiar" from becoming "vulgar." They may

be little things, but

"These little things are great to little men."

Goldsmith.

CHAPTER IV. THE DRAWING-ROOM. COMPANY. CONVERSATION.

The grand object for which a gentleman exists, is to excel in

company. Conversation is the mean of his distinction,--the

drawing-room the scene of his glory.

When you enter a drawing-room, where there is a ball or a

party, you salute the lady of the house before speaking to

any one else. Even your most intimate friends are enveloped

in an opaque atmosphere until you have made your bow to your

entertainer. We must take occasion here to obelize a custom

which prevails too generally in this country. The company

enter the back door of the back parlour, and the mistress of

the house is seated at the other extremity of the front

parlour. It is therefore necessary to traverse the length of

two rooms in order to reach her. A voyage of this kind is by

no means an easy undertaking, when there are Circes and

Calypsos assailing one on every side; and when one has

reached the conclusion, one cannot perhaps distinguish the

object of one's search at a _coup d'oeil._ It would be in

every point of view more appropriate if the lady were to

stand directly opposite to the door of the back parlour. Such

is the custom in the best companies abroad. Upon a single

gentleman entering at a late hour, it is not so obligatory to

speak first to the mistress of the ceremonies. He may be

allowed to converge his way up to her. When you leave a room

before the others, go without speaking to any one, and, if

possible, unseen.

Never permit the sanctity of the drawing-room to be violated

by a boot.

Fashionable society is divided into _sets,_ in all of which

there is some peculiarity of manner, or some dominant tone of

feeling. It is necessary to study these peculiarities before

entering the circle.

In each of these sets there is generally some _gentleman,_

who rules, and gives it its character, or, rather, who is not

ruler, but the first and most favoured subject, and the prime

minister of the ladies' will. Him you must endeavour to

imitate, taking care not to imitate him so well as to excel

him. To differ in manner or opinion from him is to render

yourself unfit for that circle. To speak disrespectfully of

him is to insult personally every lady who composes it.

In company, though none are "free," yet all are "equal." All

therefore whom you meet, should be treated with equal

respect, although interest may dictate toward each different

degrees of attention. It is disrespectful to the inviter to

shun any of her guests. Those whom she has honoured by asking

to her house, you should sanction by admitting to your

acquaintance.

If you meet any one whom you have never heard of before at

the table of a gentleman, or in the drawing-room of a lady,

you may converse with him with entire propriety. The form of

"introduction" is nothing more than a statement by a mutual

friend that two gentlemen are by rank and manners fit

acquaintances for one another. All this may be presumed from

the fact, that both meet at a respectable house. This is the

theory of the matter. Custom, however, requires that you

should take the earliest opportunity afterwards to be

regularly presented to such an one.

Men of all sorts of occupations meet in society. As they go

there to unbend their minds and escape from the fetters of

business, you should never, in an evening, speak to a man

about his professions. Do not talk of politics with a

journalist, of fevers to a physician, of stocks to a broker,--

nor, unless you wish to enrage him to the utmost, of

education to a collegian. The error which is here condemned

is often committed from mere good nature and a desire to be

affable. But it betrays to a gentleman, ignorance of the

world--to a philosopher, ignorance of human nature. The one

considers that "Tous les hommes sont égaux devant la

politesse:" the other remembers that though it may be

agreeable to be patronised and assisted, yet it is still more

agreeable to be treated as if you needed no patronage, and

were above assistance.

Sir Joshua Reynolds once received from two noblemen

invitations to visit them on Sunday morning. The first, whom

he waited upon, welcomed him with the most obsequious

condescension, treated him with all the attention in the

world, professed that he was so desirous of seeing him, that

he had mentioned Sunday as the time for his visit, supposing

him to be too much engaged during the week, to spare time

enough for the purpose, concluded his compliments by an

eulogy on painting, and smiled him affectionately to the

door. Sir Joshua left him, to call upon the other. That one

received him with respectful civility, and behaved to him as

he would have behaved to an equal in the peerage:--said

nothing about Raphael nor Correggio, but conversed with ease

about literature and men. This nobleman was the Earl of

Chesterfield. Sir Joshua felt, that though the one had said

that he respected him, the other had proved that he did, and

went away from this one gratified rather than from the first.

Reader, there is wisdom in this anecdote. Mark, learn, and

inwardly digest it: and let this be the moral which you

deduce,--that there is distinction in society, but that there

are no distinctions.

The great business in company is conversation. It should be

studied as art. Style in conversation is as important, and as

capable of cultivation as style in writing. The manner of

saying things is what gives them their value.

The most important requisite for succeeding here, is constant

and unfaltering attention. That which Churchill has noted as

the greatest virtue on the stage, is also the most necessary

in company,--to be "always attentive to the business of the

scene." Your understanding should, like your person, be armed

at all points. Never go into society with your mind _en

deshabille._ It is fatal to success to be all absent or

_distrait._ The secret of conversation has been said to

consist in building upon the remark of your companion. Men of

the strongest minds, who have solitary habits and bookish

dispositions, rarely excel in sprightly colloquy, because

they seize upon the _thing_ itself,--the subject abstractly,--

instead of attending to the _language_ of other speakers,

and do not cultivate _verbal_ pleasantries and refinements.

He who does otherwise gains a reputation for quickness, and

pleases by showing that he has regarded the observation of

others.

It is an error to suppose that conversation consists in

talking. A more important thing is to listen discreetly.

Mirabeau said, that to succeed in the world, it is necessary

to submit to be taught many things which you understand, by

persons who know nothing about them. Flattery is the

smoothest path to success; and the most refined and

gratifying compliment you can pay, is to listen. "The wit of

conversation consists more in finding it in others," says La

Bruyére, "than in showing a great deal yourself: he who goes

from your conversation pleased with himself and his own wit,

is perfectly well pleased with you. Most men had rather

please than admire you, and seek less to be instructed,--nay,

delighted,--than to be approved and applauded. The most

delicate pleasure is to please another."

It is certainly proper enough to convince others of your

merits. But the highest idea which you can give a man of your

own penetration, is to be thoroughly impressed with his.

Patience is a social engine, as well as a Christian virtue.

To listen, to wait, and to he wearied are the certain

elements of good fortune.

If there be any foreigner present at a dinner party, or small

evening party, who does not understand the language which is

spoken, good breeding requires that the conversation should

be carried on entirely in his language. Even among your most

intimate friends, never address any one in a language not

understood by all the others. It is as bad as whispering.

Never speak to any one in company about a private affair

which is not understood by others, as asking how _tha_t

matter is coming on, &c. In so doing you indicate your

opinion that the rest are _de trop._ If you wish to make any

such inquiries, always explain to others the business about

which you inquire, if the subject admit of it.

If upon the entrance of a visitor you continue a conversation

begun before, you should always explain the subject to the

new-comer.

If there is any one in the company whom you do not know, be

careful how you let off any epigrams or pleasant little

sarcasms. You might be very witty upon halters to a man whose

father had been hanged. The first requisite for successful

conversation is to know your company well.

We have spoken above of the necessity of relinquishing the

prerogative of our race, and being contented with recipient

silence. There is another precept of a kindred nature to be

observed, namely, not to talk too well when you do talk. You

do not raise yourself much in the opinion of another, if at

the same time that you amuse him, you wound him in the nicest

point,--his self-love. Besides irritating vanity, a constant

flow of wit is excessively fatiguing to the listeners. A

witty man is an agreeable acquaintance, but a tiresome

friend. "The wit of the company, next to the butt of the

company," says Mrs. Montagu, "is the meanest person in it.

The great duty of conversation is to follow suit, as you do

at whist: if the eldest hand plays the deuce of diamonds, let

not his next neighbour dash down the king of hearts, because

his hand is full of honours. I do not love to see a man of

wit win all the tricks in conversation."

In addressing any one, always look at him; and if there are

several present, you will please more by directing some

portion of your conversation, as an anecdote or statement, to

each one individually in turn. This was the great secret of

Sheridan's charming manner. His bon-mots were not numerous.

Never ask a question under any circumstances. In the first

place it is too proud; in the second place, it may be very

inconvenient or very awkward to give a reply. A lady lately

inquired of what branch of medical practice a certain

gentleman was professor. He held the chair of _midwifery_!

It is indispensable for conversation to be well acquainted

with the current news and the historical events of the last

few years. It is not convenient to be quite so far behind the

rest of the world in such matters, as the Courier des Etats-

Unis. That sapient journal lately announced the dethronement

of Charles X. We may expect soon to hear of the accession of

Louis Philippe.

In society never quote. If you get entangled in a dispute

with some learned blockhead, you may silence him with a few

extemporary quotations. Select the author for whom he has the

greatest admiration, and give him a passage in the style of

that writer, which most pointedly condemns the opinion he

supports. If it does not convince him, he will be so much

stunned with amazement that you can make your escape, and

avoid the unpleasant necessity of knocking him down.

The ordinary weapons which one employs in social encounter,

are, whether dignified or not, always at least honourable.

There are some, however, who habitually prefer to bribe the

judge, rather than strengthen their cause. The instrument of

such is flattery. There are, indeed, cases in which a man of

honour may use the same weapon; as there are cases in which a

poisoned sword may be employed for self-defence.

Flattery prevails over all, always, and in all places; it

conquers the conqueror of Danäe: few are beneath it, none

above it: the court, the camp, the church, are the scenes of

its victories, and all mankind the subjects of its triumphs.

It will be acknowledged, then, that a man possesses no very

contemptible power who can flatter skillfully.

The power of flattery may be derived from several sources. It

may be, that the person flattered, finding himself gratified,

and conscious that it is to the flatterer that he is indebted

for this gratification, feels an obligation to him, without

inquiring the reason; or it may be, that imagining ourselves

to stand high in the good opinion of the one that praises us,

We comply with what he desires, rather than forfeit that

esteem: or, finally, flattery may be only a marked

politeness, and we submit ourselves to the control of the

flatterer rather than be guilty of the rudeness of opposing

him.

Flattery never should be direct. It should not be stated, but

inferred. It is better acted than uttered. Flattery should

seem to be the unwitting and even unwilling expression of

genuine admiration. Some very weak persons do not require

that expressions of praise and esteem toward them should be

sincere. They are pleased with the incense, although they

perceive whence it arises: they are pleased that they are of

importance enough to have their favour courted. But in most

eases it is necessary that the flattery should appear to be

the honest offspring of the feelings. _Such_ flattery _must_

succeed; for, it is founded upon a principle in our nature

which is as deep as life; namely, that we always love those

who we think love us.

It is sometimes flattery to accept praises.

Never flatter one person in the presence of another.

Never commend a lady's musical skill to another lady who

herself plays.

It has often, however, a good effect to praise one man to his

particular friend, if it be for something to which that

friend has himself no pretensions.

It is an error to imagine that men are less intoxicated with

flattery than women. The only difference is that esteem must

be expressed to women, but proved to men.

Flattery is of course efficacious to obtain positive

benefits. It is of, more constant use, however, for purposes

of defence. You conquer an attack of rudeness by courtesy:

you avert an attack of accusation by flattery. Every:one

remembers the anecdote of Dr. Johnson and Mr. Ewing.

"Prince," said Napoleon to Talleyrand, "they tell me that you

sometimes speculate improperly in the funds. "They do me

wrong then," said Talleyrand. "But how did you acquire so

much money!" "I bought stock the day before you were

proclaimed First Consul," replied the ex-bishop, "and I sold

it the day after."

Compliments are light skirmishes in the war of flattery, for

the purpose of obtaining an occasional object. They are

little false coins that you receive with one hand and pay

away with the other. To flatter requires a profound knowledge

of human nature and of the character of your subject; to

compliment skillfully, it is sufficient that you are a pupil

of Spurzheim.

It is a common practice with men to abstain from grave

conversation with women. And the habit is in general

judicious. If the woman is  young, gay and trifling, talk to

her only of the latest fashions, the gossip of the day, etc.

But this in other cases is not to be done. Most women who are

a little old, particularly married women -- and even some who

are young -- wish to obtain a reputation for intellect and an

acquaintance With science. You therefore pay them a real

compliment, and gratify their self-love, by conversing

occasionally upon grave matters, which they do not

understand, and do not really relish. You may interrupt a

discussion on the beauty of a dahlia, by observing that as

you know that they take an interest in such things you

mention the discovery of a new method of analyzing curves of

double curvature. Men who talk only of trifles will rarely be

popular with women past twenty-five.

Talk to a mother about her children. Women are never tired of

hearing of themselves and their children.

If you go to a house where there are children you should take

especial care to conciliate their good will by a little manly

_tete-a-tete,_ otherwise you may get a ball against your

skins, or be tumbled from a three-legged chair.

To be able to converse with women you must study their

vocabulary. You would make a great mistake in interpreting

_never, forever,_ as they are explained in Johnson.

Do not be for ever telling a woman that she is handsome,

witty, etc. She knows that a vast deal better than you do.

Do not allow your love for one woman to prevent your paying

attention to others. The object of your love is the only one

who ought to perceive it.

A little pride, which reminds you what is due to yourself,

and a little good nature, which suggests what is due to

others, are the pre-requisites for the moral constitution of

a gentleman.

Too much vivacity and too much inertness are both fatal to

politeness. By the former we are hurried too far, by the

latter we are kept too much back.

_Nil admirari,_ the precept of stoicism, is the precept for

conduct among gentlemen. All excitement must be studiously

avoided. When you are with ladies the case is different.

Among them, wonder, astonishment, ecstacy, and enthusiasm,

are necessary in order to be believed.

Never dispute in the presence of other persons. If a man

states an opinion which you cannot adopt, say nothing. If he

states a fact which is of little importance, you may

carelessly assent. When you differ let it be indirectly;

rather a want of assent than actual dissent.

If you wish to inquire about anything, do not do it by asking

a question; but introduce the subject, and give the person an

opportunity of saying as much as he finds it agreeable to

impart. Do not even say, "How is your brother to-day?" but "I

hope your brother is quite well."

Never ask a lady a question about anything whatever.

It is a point of courtly etiquette which is observed

rigorously by every one who draws nigh, that a question must

never be put to a king.

Never ask a question about the price of a thing. This

horrible error is often committed by a _nouveau riche._

If you have accepted an invitation to a party never fail to

keep your promise. It is cruel to the lady of the house to

accept, and then send an apology at the last moment.

Especially do not break your word on account of bad weather.

You may be certain that many others will, and the inciter

will be mortified by the paucity of her guests. A cloak and a

carriage will secure you from all inconvenience, and you will

be conferring a real benefit.

CHAPTER V. THE ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY.

Women, particularly women a little on the decline, are those

who make the reputation of a young man. When the lustre of

their distinction begins to fade, a slight feeling of less

wonted leisure, perhaps a little spite, makes them observe

attentively those who surround them. Eager to gain new

admirers, they encourage the first steps of a _debutant_ in

the career of society, and exert themselves to fit him to do

honour to their patronage.

A young man, therefore, in entering the world, cannot be too

attentive to conciliate the goodwill of women. Their

approbation and support will serve him instead of a thousand

good qualities. Their judgment dispenses with fortune,

talent, and even intelligence. "Les hommes font les lois: les

femmes font les reputations."

The desire of pleasing is, of course, the basis of social

connexion. Persons who enter society with the intention of

producing an effect, and of being distinguished, however

clever they may be, are never agreeable. They are always

tiresome, and often ridiculous. Persons, who enter life with

such pretensions, have no opportunity for improving

themselves and profiting by experience. They are not in a

proper state to _observe_: indeed, they look only for the

effect which they produce, and with that they are not often

gratified. They thrust themselves into all conversations,

indulge in continual anecdotes, which are varied only by dull

disquisitions, listen to others with impatience and

heedlessness, and are angry that they seem to be attending to

themselves. Such men go through scenes of pleasure, enjoying

nothing. They are equally disagreeable to themselves and

others. Young men should, therefore, content themselves with

being natural. Let them present themselves with a modest

assurance: let them observe, hear, and examine, and before

long they will rival their models.

The conversation of those women who are not the most lavishly

supplied with personal beauty, will be of the most advantage

to the young aspirant. Such persons have cultivated their

manners and conversation more than those who can rely upon

their natural endowments. The absence of pride and pretension

has improved their good nature and their affability. They are

not too much occupied in contemplating their own charms, to

be disposed to indulge in gentle criticism on others. One

acquires from them an elegance in one's manners as well as

one's expressions. Their kindness pardons every error, and to

instruct or reprove, their acts are so delicate that the

lesson which they give, always without offending, is sure to

be profitable, though it may be often unperceived.

Women observe all the delicacies of propriety in manners, and

all the shades of impropriety, much better than men; not only

because they attend to them earlier and longer, but because

their perceptions are more refined than those of the other

sex, who are habitually employed about greater things. Women

divine, rather than arrive at, proper conclusions.

The whims and caprices of women in society should of course

be tolerated by men, who themselves require toleration for

greater inconveniences. But this must not be carried too far.

There are certain limits to empire which, if they themselves

forget, should be pointed out to them with delicacy and

politeness. You should be the slave of women, but not of all

their fancies.

Compliment is the language of intercourse from men to women.

But be careful to avoid elaborate and common-place forms of

gallant speech. Do not strive to make those long eulogies on

a woman, which have the regularity and nice dependency of a

proposition in Euclid, and might be fittingly concluded by Q.

E. D. Do not be always undervaluing her rival in a woman's

presence, nor mistaking a woman's daughter for her sister.

These antiquated and exploded attempts denote a person who

has learned the world more from books than men.

The quality which a young man should most affect in

intercourse with gentlemen, is a decent modesty: but he must

avoid all bashfulness or timidity. His flights must not go

too far; but, so far as they go, let them be marked by

perfect assurance.

Among persons who are much your seniors behave with the

utmost respectful deference. As they find themselves sliding

out of importance they may be easily conciliated by a little

respect.

By far the most important thing to be attended to, is ease of

manner. Grace may be added afterwards, or be omitted

altogether: it is of much less moment than is commonly

believed. Perfect propriety and entire ease are sufficient

qualifications for standing in society, and abundant

prerequisites for distinction.

There is the most delicate shade of difference between

civility and intrusiveness, familiarity and common-place,

pleasantry and sharpness, the natural and the rude, gaiety

and carelessness; hence the inconveniences of society, and

the errors of its members. To define well in conduct these

distinctions, is the great art of a man of the world. It is

easy to know what to do; the difficulty is to know what to

avoid.

Long usage--a sort of moral magnetism, a tact acquired by

frequent and long associating with others--alone give those

qualities which keep one always from error, and entitle him

to the name of a thorough gentleman.

A young man upon first entering into society should select

those persons who are most celebrated for the propriety and

elegance of their manners. He should frequent their company

and imitate their conduct. There is a disposition inherent,

in all, which has been noticed by Horace and by Dr. Johnson,

to imitate faults, because they are more readily observed and

more easily followed. There are, also, many foibles of manner

and many refinements of affectation, which sit agreeably upon

one man, which if adopted by another would become unpleasant.

There are even some excellences of deportment which would not

suit another whose character is different. For successful

imitation in anything, good sense is indispensable. It is

requisite correctly to appreciate the natural differences

between your model and yourself, and to introduce such

modifications in the copy as may be consistent with it.

Let not any man imagine, that he shall easily acquire these

qualities which will constitute him a gentleman. It is

necessary not only to exert the highest degree of art, but to

attain also that higher accomplishment of concealing art. The

serene and elevated dignity which mark that character, are

the result of untiring and arduous effort. After the

sculpture has attained the shape of propriety, it remains to

smooth off all the marks of the chisel. "A gentleman," says a

celebrated French author, "is one who has reflected deeply

upon all the obligations which belong to his station, and who

has applied himself ardently to fulfil them with grace."

Polite without importunity, gallant without being offensive,

attentive to the comfort of all; employing a well-regulated

kindness, witty at the proper times, discreet, indulgent,

generous, he exercises, in his sphere, a high degree of moral

authority; he it is, and he alone, that one should imitate.

CHAPTER VI. LETTERS.

Always remember that the terms of compliment at the close of

a letter--"I have the honour to be your very obedient

servant," etc. are merely forms--"signifying nothing." Do not

therefore avoid them on account of pride, or a dislike to the

person addressed. Do not presume, as some do, to found

expectations of favour or promotion from great men who

profess themselves your obliged servant.

In writing a letter of business it is extremely vulgar to use

satin or glazed gold-edged paper. Always employ, on such

occasions, plain American paper. Place the date at the top of

the page, and if you please, the name of the person at the

top also, just above the 'Sir;' though this last is

indifferent.

In letters to gentlemen always place the date at the end of

the letter, below his name. Use the best paper, but not

figured, and never fail to enclose it in an envelope.

Attention to these matters is indispensable.

To a person whom you do not know well, say Sir, not 'Dear

Sir.' It formerly was usual in writing to a distinguished man

to employ the form 'Respected Sir,' or something of the kind.

This is now out of fashion.

There are a great many forms observed by the French in their

letters, which are necessary to be known before addressing

one of that nation. You will find them in their books upon

such subjects, or learn them from your French master. One

custom of theirs is worthy of adoption among us: to

proportion the distance between the 'Sir' and the first line

of the letter, to the rank of the person to whom you write.

Among the French to neglect attending to this would give

mortal offence. It obtains also in other European nations.

When the Duke of Buckingham was at the court of Spain, some

letters passed between the Spanish minister Olivez and

himself,--the two proudest men on earth. The Spaniard wrote a

letter to the Englishman, and put the 'Monsieur' on a line

with the beginning of his letter. The other, in his reply,

placed the 'Monsieur' a little below it.

A note of invitation or reply is always to be enclosed in an

envelope.

Wafers are now entirely exploded. A letter of business is

sealed with red wax, and marked with some common stamp.

Letters to gentlemen demand red wax sealed with your arms. In

notes to ladies employ coloured wax, but not perfumed.

CHAPTER VII. VISITS.

Of visits there are various sorts; visits of congratulation,

visits of condolence, visits of ceremony, visits of

friendship. To each belong different customs.

A visit and an insult must be always returned.

Visits of ceremony should be very short. Go at some time when

business demands the employment of every moment. In visits of

friendship adopt a different course.

If you call to see an acquaintance at lodgings, and cannot

find any one to announce you, you knock very lightly at the

door, and wait some time before entering. If you are in too

great a hurry, you might find the person drawing off a night-

cap.

Respectable visitors should be received and treated with the

utmost courtesy. But if a tiresome fellow, after wearying all

his friends, becomes weary of himself, and arrives to bestow

his tediousness upon you, pull out your watch with

restlessness, talk about your great occupations and the value

of time. Politeness is one thing; to be made a convenience of

is another.

The style of your conversation should always be in keeping

with the character of the visit. You must not talk about

literature in a visit of condolence, nor about political

economy in a visit of ceremony.

When a lady visits you, upon her retiring, you offer her your

arm, and conduct her to her carriage. If you are visiting at

the same time with another lady, you should take leave at the

same time, and hand her into her carriage.

After a hall, a dinner, or a concert, you visit during the

week.

Pay the first visit to a friend just returned from a voyage.

Annual visits are paid to persons with whom you have a cool

acquaintance, They visit you in the autumn, you return a card

in the spring.

In paying a visit under ordinary circumstances, you leave a

single card. If there be residing in the family, a married

daughter, an unmarried sister, a transient guest, or any

person in a distinct situation from the mistress of the

house, you leave two cards, one for each party. If you are

acquainted with only one member of a family, as the husband,

or the wife, and you wish to indicate that your visit is to

both, you leave two cards. Ladies have a fashion of pinching

down one corner of a card to denote that the visit is to only

one of two parties in a house, and two corners, or one side

of the card, when the visit is to both; but this is a

transient mode, and of dubious respectability.

If, in paying a morning visit, you are not recognized when

you enter, mention your name immediately. If you call to

visit one member, and you find others only in the parlour,

introduce yourself to them. Much awkwardness may occur

through defect of attention to this point.

When a gentleman is about to be married, he sends cards, a

day or two before the event, to all whom he is in the habit

of visiting. These visits are never paid in person, but the

cards sent by a servant, at any hour in the morning; or the

gentleman goes in a carriage, and sends them in. After

marriage, some day is appointed and made known to all, as the

day on which he receives company. His friends then all call

upon him. Would that this also were performed by cards!

CHAPTER VIII. APPOINTMENTS AND PUNCTUALITY.

When you make an appointment, always be exact in observing

it. In some places, and on some occasions, a quarter of an

hour's _grace_ is given. This depends on custom, and it is

always better not to avail yourself of it. In Philadelphia it

is necessary to be punctual to a second, for there everybody

breathes by the State-house clock If you make an appointment

to meet anywhere, your body must be in a right line with the

frame of the door at the instant the first stroke of the

great clock sounds. If you are a moment later, your character

is gone. It is useless to plead the evidence of your watch,

or detention by a friend. You read your condemnation in the

action of the old fellows who, with polite regard to your

feelings, simultaneously pull out their vast chronometers, as

you enter. The tardy man is worse off than the murderer. _He_

may be pardoned by one person, (the Governor); the unpunctual

is pardoned by none. _Haud inexpectus loquor._

If you make an appointment with another at your own house,

you should be invisible to the rest of the world, and

consecrate your time solely to him.

If you make an appointment with a lady, especially if it be

upon a promenade, or other public place, you must be there a

little before the time.

If you accept an appointment at the house of a public

officer, or a man of business, be very punctual, transact the

affair with despatch, and retire the moment it is finished.

CHAPTER IX. DINNER.

The hour of dinner has been said, by Dr. Johnson, to be the

most important hour in civilized life. The etiquette of the

dinner-table has a prominence commensurate with the dignity

of the ceremony. Like the historian of Peter Bell, we

commence at the commencement, and thence proceed to the

moment when you take leave officially, or vanish unseen.

In order to dine, the first requisite is--to be invited. The

length of time which the invitation precedes the dinner is

always proportioned to the grandeur of the occasion, and

varies from two days to two weeks. To an invitation received

less than two days in advance, you will lose little by

replying in the negative, for as it was probably sent as soon

as the preparations of the host commenced, you may be sure

that there will be little on the table fit to eat. Those

abominations, y'clept "plain family dinners," eschew like the

plague.

You reply to a note of invitation immediately, and in the

most direct and unequivocal terms. If you accept, you arrive

at the house rigorously at the hour specified. It is equally

inconvenient to be too late and to be too early. If you fall

into the latter error, you find every thing in disorder; the

master of the house is in his dressing-room, changing his

waistcoat; the lady is still in the pantry; the fire not yet

lighted in the parlour. If by accident or thoughtlessness you

arrive too soon, you may pretend that you called to inquire

the exact hour at which they dine, having mislaid the note,

and then retire to walk for an appetite. If you are too late,

the evil is still greater, and indeed almost without a

remedy. Your delay spoils the dinner and destroys the

appetite and temper of the guests; and you yourself are so

much embarrassed at the inconvenience you have occasioned,

that you commit a thousand errors at table. If you do not

reach the house until dinner is served, you had better retire

to a restaurateurs, and thence send an apology, and not

interrupt the harmony of the courses by awkward excuses and

cold acceptances.

When the guests have all entered, and been presented to one

another, if any delay occurs, the conversation should be of

the lightest and least exciting kind; mere common-places

about the weather and late arrivals. You should not amuse the

company by animated relations of one person who has just cut

his throat from ear to ear, or of another who, the evening

before, was choked by a tough beef-steak and was buried that

morning.

When dinner is announced, the inviter rises and requests all

to walk to the dining-room. He then leads the way, that they

may not be at a loss to know whither they should proceed.

Each gentleman offers his arm to a lady, and they follow in

solemn order.

The great distinction now becomes evident between the host

and the guests, which distinction it is the chief effort of

good breeding to remove. To perform faultlessly the honours

of the table, is one of the most difficult things in society:

it might indeed be asserted without much fear of

contradiction, that no man has as yet ever reached exact

propriety in his office as host, has hit the mean between

exerting himself too much and too little. His great business

is to put every one entirely at his ease, to gratify all his

desires, and make him, in a word, absolutely contented with

men and things. To accomplish this, he must have the genius

of tact to perceive, and the genius of finesse to execute;

ease and frankness of manner; a knowledge of the world that

nothing can surprise; a calmness of temper that nothing can

disturb, and a kindness of disposition that can never be

exhausted. When he receives others, he must be content to

forget himself; he must relinquish all desire to shine, and

even all attempts to please his guests by conversation, and

rather, do all in his power to let them please one another.

He behaves to them without agitation, without affectation; he

pays attention without an air of protection; he encourages

the timid, draws out the silent, and directs conversation

without Sustaining it himself. He who does not do all this,

is wanting in his duty as host; he who does, is more than

mortal.

When all are seated, the gentleman at the head of the table

sends soup to every one, from the pile of plates which stand

at his right hand. He helps the person at his right hand

first, and at his left next, and so through the whole.

There are an immensity of petty usages at the dinner table,

such as those mentioned in the story of the Abbé Delille and

the Abbé Cossen in the Introduction to this volume, which it

would be trifling and tedious to enumerate hers, and which

will be learned by an observing man after assisting at two or

three dinners.

You should never ask a gentleman or lady at the table to help

you to any thing, but always apply to the servants.

Your first duty at the table is to attend to the wants of the

lady who sits next to you, the second, to attend to your own.

In performing the first, you should take care that the lady

has all that she wishes, yet without appearing to direct your

attention too much to her plate, for nothing is more ill-bred

than to watch a person eating. If the lady be something of a

_gourmande,_ and in ever-zealous pursuit of the aroma of the

wing of a pigeon, should raise an unmanageable portion to her

mouth, you should cease all conversation with her, and look

steadfastly into the opposite part of the room.

In France, a dish, after having been placed upon the table

for approval, is removed by the servants, and carved at a

sideboard, and after. wards handed to each in succession.

This is extremely convenient, and worthy of acceptation in

this country. But unfortunately it does not as yet prevail

here. Carving therefore becomes an indispensable branch of a

gentleman's education. You should no more think of going to a

dinner without a knowledge of this art, than you should think

of going without your shoes. The gentleman of the house

selects the various dishes in the order in which they should

be cut, and invites some particular one to perform the

office. It is excessively awkward to be obliged to decline,

yet it is a thing too often occurring in,his country. When

you carve, you should never rise from your seat.

Some persons, in helping their guests, or recommending dishes

to their taste, preface every such action with an eulogy on

its merits, and draw every bottle of wine with an account of

its virtues. Others, running into the contrary extreme,

regret or fear that each dish is not exactly as it should be;

that the cook, etc., etc. Both of these habits are grievous

errors. You should leave it to your guests alone to approve,

or suffer one of your intimate friends who is present, to

vaunt your wine. When you draw a bottle, merely state its age

and brand, and of what particular vintage it is.

Do not insist upon your guests partaking of particular

dishes, never ask persons more than once, and never put

anything by force upon their plates. It is extremely ill-

bred, though extremely common, to press one to eat of

anything. You should do all that you can to make your guests

feel themselves at home, which they never can do while you

are so constantly forcing upon their minds the recollection

of the difference between yourself and them. You should never

send away your own plate until all your guests have finished.

Before the cloth is removed you do not drink wine unless with

another. If you are asked to take wine it is uncivil to

refuse. When you drink with another, you catch the person's

eye and bow with politeness. It is not necessary to say

anything, but smile with an air of great kindness.

Some one who sits near the lady of the house, should,

immediately upon the removal of the soup, request the honor

of drinking wine with her, which movement is the signal for

all the others. If this is not done, the master of the house

should select some lady. _He_ never asks gentlemen, but they

ask him; this is a refined custom, attended to in the best

company.

If you have drunk with every one at the table, and wish more

wine, you must wait till the cloth is removed. The decanter

is then sent round from the head of the table, each person

fills his glass, and all the company drinks the Health of all

the company. It is enough if you bow to the master and

mistress of the house, and to your opposite neighbour. After

this the ladies retire. Some one rises to open the door for

them, and they go into the parlour, the gentlemen remaining

to drink more wine.

After the ladies have retired, the service of the decanters

is done. The host draws the bottles which have been standing

in a wine cooler since the commencement of the dinner. The

bottle goes down the left side and up the right, and the same

bottle never passes twice. If you do not drink, always pass

the bottle to your neighbour.

At dinner never call for ale or porter; it is coarse, and

injures the taste for wine.

It was formerly the custom to drink _porter_ with cheese. One

of the few real improvements introduced by the "Napoleon of

the realms of fashion" was to banish this tavern liquor and

substitute _port._ The dictum of Brummell was thus

enunciated: "A gentleman never _malts,_ he _ports._"

A gentleman should always express his preference for some one

sort of wine over others; because, as there is always a

natural preference for one kind, if you say that you are

indifferent, you show that you are not accustomed to drink

wines. Your preference should not of course be guided by your

real disposition; if you are afflicted by nature with a

partiality for port, you should never think of indulging it

except in your closet with your chamber-door locked. The only

index of choice is fashion;--either permanent fashion (if the

phrase may be used), or some temporary fashion created by the

custom of any individual who happens to rule for a season in

society. Port was drunk by our ancestors, but George the

Fourth, upon his accession to the regency, announced his

royal preference for sherry. It has since been fashionable to

like sherry. This is what we call a _permanent_ fashion.

Champagne wine is drunk after the removal of the first cloth;

that is to say, between the meats and the dessert. One

servant goes round and places before each guest a proper-

shaped glass; another follows and fills them, and they are

immediately drunk. Sometimes this is done twice in

succession. The bottle does not again make its appearance,

and it would excite a stare to ask at a later period for a

glass of champagne wine.

If you should happen to be blessed with those rely nuisances,

children, and should be entertaining company, never allow

them to be brought in after dinner, unless they are

particularly asked for, and even then it is better to say

they are at school. Some persons, with the intention of

paying their court to the father, express great desire to see

the sons; but they should have some mercy upon the rest of

the party, particularly  as they know that they themselves

would be the most disturbed of all, if their urgent entreaty

was granted.

Never at any time, whether at a formal or a familiar dinner

party, commit the impropriety of talking to a servant: nor

ever address any remark about one of them to one of the

party. Nothing can be more ill-bred. You merely ask for what

you want in a grave and civil tone, and wait with patience

till your order is obeyed.

It is a piece of refined coarseness to employ the fingers

instead of the fork to effect certain operations at the

dinner table, and on some other similar occasions. To know

how and when to follow the fashion of Eden, and when that of

more civilized life, is one of the many points which

distinguish a gentleman from one not a gentleman; or rather,

in this case, which shows the difference between a man of the

world, and one who has not "the tune of the time."* Cardinal

Richelieu detected an adventurer who passed himself off for a

nobleman, by his helping himself to olives with a fork. He

might have applied the test to a vast many other things. Yet,

on the other hand, a gentleman would lose his reputation, if

he were to take up a piece of sugar with his fingers and not

with the sugar-tongs.

* Shakspeare

It is of course needless to say that your own knife should

never be brought near to the butter, or salt, or to a dish of

any kind. If, however, a gentleman should send his plate for

anything near you, and a knife cannot be obtained

immediately, you may skillfully avoid all censure by using

_his_ knife to procure it.

When you send your plate for anything, you leave your knife

and fork upon it, crossed. When you have done, you lay both

in parallel lines on one side. A render who occupies himself

about greater matters, may smile at this precept. It may,

indeed, be very absurd, yet such is the tyranny of custom,

that if you were to cross your knife and fork when you have

finished, the most reasonable and strong-minded man at the

table could not help setting you down, in his own mind, as a

low-bred person. _Magis sequor quam probo._

The chief matter of consideration at the dinner table, as

indeed everywhere else in the life of a gentleman, is to be

perfectly composed and at his ease. He speaks deliberately,

he performs the most important act of the day as if he were

performing the most ordinary. Yet there is no appearance of

trifling or want of gravity in his manner; he maintains the

dignity which is becoming on so vital an occasion. He

performs all the ceremonies, yet in the style of one who

performs no _ceremony_ at all. He goes through all the

complicated duties of the scene, as if he were "to the manner

born."

Some persons, who cannot draw the nice distinction between

too much and too little, desiring to be particularly

respectable, make a point of appearing unconcerned and quite

indifferent to enjoyment at dinner. Such conduct not only

exhibits a want of sense and a profane levity, but is in the

highest degree rude to your obliging host. He has taken a

great deal of trouble to give you pleasure, and it is your

business to be, or at least to appear, pleased. It is one

thing, indeed, to stare and wonder, and to ask for all the

delicacies on the table in the style of a person who had

lived all his life behind a counter, but it is quite another

to throw into your manner the spirit and gratified air of a

man who is indeed not unused to such matters, but who yet

esteems them at their fall value.

When the Duke of Wellington was at Paris, as commander of the

allied armies, he was invited to dine with Cambaceres, one of

the most distinguished statesmen and _gourmands_ of the time

of Napoleon. In the course of the dinner, his host having

helped him to some particularly _recherche_ dish, expressed a

hope that he found it agreeable. "Very good," said the hero

of Waterloo, who was probably speculating upon what he would

have done if Blucher had not come up: "Very good; but I

really do not care what I eat." "Good God!" exclaimed

Cambaceres,--as he started back and dropped his fork, quite

"frighted from his propriety,"--"Don't care what you eat!

What _did_ you come here for, then?"

After the wine is finished, you retire to the drawing-room,

where the ladies are assembled; the master of the house

rising first from the table, but going out of the room last.

If you wish to go before this, you must vanish unseen.

We conclude this chapter by a word of important counsel to

the host:--Never make an apology.

CHAPTER X. TRAVELLING.

It is an extremely difficult affair to travel in a coach,

with perfect propriety. Ten to one the person next to you is

an English nobleman _incognito_; and a hundred to one, the

man opposite to you is a brute or a knave. To behave so that

you may not be uncivil to the one, nor a dupe to the other,

is an art of some niceness.

As the seats are assigned to passengers in the order in which

they are booked, you should send to have your place taken a

day or two before the journey, so that you may be certain of

a back seat. It is also advisable to arrive at the place of

departure early, so that you assume your place without

dispute.

When women appear at the door of the coach to obtain

admittance, it is a matter of some question to know exactly

what conduct it is necessary to pursue. If the women are

servants, or persons in a low rank of life, I do not see upon

what ground of politeness or decency you are called upon to

yield your seat. _Etiquette,_ and the deference due to ladies

have, of course, no operation in the case of such persons.

Chivalry--(and the gentleman is the legitimate descendant of

the knight of old)--was ever a devotion to rank rather than

to sex. Don Quixotte, or Sir Piercy Shafestone would not

willingly have given place to servant girls. And upon

considerations of humanity and regard to weakness, the case

is no stronger. Such people have nerves considerably more

robust than you have, and are quite as capable of riding

backwards, or the top, as yourself. The only reason for

_politeness_ in the case is, that perhaps the other

passengers are of the same standing with the women, and might

eject you from the window if you refuse to give place.

If _ladies_ enter--and a gentleman distinguishes them in an

instant--the case is altered. The sooner you move the better

is it for yourself, since the rest will in the end have to

concede, and you will give yourself a reputation among the

party and secure a better seat, by rising at once.

The principle that guides you in society is politeness; that

which guides you in a coach is good humour. You lay aside all

attention to form, and all strife after effect, and take

instead, kindness of disposition and a willingness to please.

You pay a constant regard to the comfort of your. fellow-

prisoners. You take care not to lean upon the shoulder of

your neighbour when you sleep. You are attentive not to make

the stage wait for you at the stopping-places. When the

ladies get out, you offer them your arm, and you do the same

when the coachman is driving rapidly over a rough place. You

should make all the accommodations to others, which you can

do consistently with your own convenience; for, after all,

the individuals are each like little nations; and as, in the

one case, the first duty is to your country, so in the other,

the first duty is to yourself.

Some surly creatures, upon entering a coach, wrap about their

persons a great coat of cloth, and about their minds a mantle

of silence, which are not thrown off during the whole

journey. This is doing more harm to themselves than to

others. You should make a point of conversing with an

appearance of entire freedom, though with real reserve, with

all those who are so disposed.

One purpose and pleasure of travelling is to gain

information, and to observe the various characters of

persons. You will be asked by others about the road you

passed over, and it will be awkward if you can give no

account of it. Converse, therefore, with all. Relate amusing

stories, chiefly of other countries, and even of other times,

so as not to offend any one. If engaged in discussion--and a

coach is almost the only place where discussion should _not_

be avoided--state facts and arguments rather than opinions.

Never answer impudent questions-and never ask them.

At the meals which occur during a journey, you see beautiful

exemplification of the _dictum_ of Hobbes, "that war is the

natural state of man." The entire scene is one of

unintermitted war of every person with every other person,

with the viands, and with good manners. You open your mouth

only to admit edibles and to bellow to the waiters. Your sole

object is yourself. You drink wine without asking your

neighbour to join you; and if he should be so silly as to ask

you to hand him some specified dish, you blandly comply; but

in the passage to him, you transfer the whole of its contents

to your own plate. There is no halving in these matters.

Rapacity, roaring, and rapidity are the three requisites for

dining during a journey. When you have resumed your seat in

the coach, you are as bland as a morning in spring.

Never assume any unreal importance in a stage-coach, founded

on the ignorance of your fellows, and their inability to

detect it. It is excessively absurd, and can only gratify a

momentary and foolish vanity; for, whenever you might make

use of your importance, you would probably be at once

discovered. There is an admirable paper upon this point in

one of Johnson's Adventurers.

The friendship which has subsisted between travellers

terminates with the journey. When you get out, a word, a bow,

and the most unpleasant act of life is finished and

forgotten.

CHAPTER XI. BALLS.

Invitations to a ball should be issued at least ten days in

advance, in order to give an opportunity to the men to clear

away engagements; and to women, time to prepare the artillery

of their toilet. Cards of invitation should be sent--not

notes.

Upon the entrance of ladies, or persons entitled to

deference, the master of the house precedes them across the

room: he addresses compliments to them, and will lose his

life to procure them seats.

While dancing with a lady whom you have never seen before,

you should not talk to her much.

The master of the ceremonies must take care that every lady

dances, and press into service for that purpose these young

gentlemen who are hanging round the room like fossils. If

desired by him to dance with a particular lady you should

refuse on no account.

If you have no ear, that is, a false one, never dance.

To usurp the seat of a person who is dancing is the height of

incivility.

Never go to a public ball.

CHAPTER XII. FUNERALS.

When any member of a family is dead, it is customary to send

intelligence of the misfortune to all who have been connected

with the deceased in relations of business or friendship. The

letters which are sent contain a special invitation to assist

at the funeral.

An invitation of this sort should never he refused, though,

of course, you do not send a reply, for no other reason that

I know of, excepting the impossibility of framing any formula

of acceptance.

You render yourself at the house an hour or two after the

time specified. If you were to sit long in the mournful

circle you might be rendered unfit for doing any thing for a

week.

Your dress is black, and during the time of waiting you

compose your visage into a "tristful 'haviour," and lean in

silent solemnity upon the top of your cane, thinking about--

last night's party. This is a necessary hypocrisy, and

assists marvellously the sadness of the ceremony. You walk in

a procession with the others, your carriage following in the

street. The first places are yielded to the relations of the

deceased.

The coffins of persons of distinction are carried in the

hands of bearers, who walk with their hats off.

You walk with another, in seemly order, and converse in a low

tone; first upon the property of the defunct, and next upon

the politics of the day. You walk with the others into the

church, where service is said over the body. It is optional

to go to the grave or not. When you go away, you enter your

carriage and return to your business or your pleasures.

A funeral in the morning, a ball in the evening,"--so runs

the world away."

CHAPTER XIII. SERVANTS.

Servants are a necessary evil. He who shall contrive to

obviate their necessity, or remove their inconveniences, will

render to human comfort a greater benefit than has yet been

conferred by all the useful-knowledge societies of the age.

They are domestic spies, who continually embarrass the

intercourse of the members of a family, or possess themselves

of private information that renders their presence hateful,

and their absence dangerous. It is a rare thing to see

persons who are not controlled by their servants. Theirs,

too, is not the only kitchen cabinet which begins by serving

and ends by ruling.

If we judge from the frequency and inconvenience of an

opposite course, we should say that the most important

precept to be observed is, never to be afraid of your

servants. We have known many ladies who, without any reason

in the world, lived in a state of perfect subjugation to

their servants, who were afraid to give a direction, and who

submitted to disobedience and insult, where no danger could

be apprehended from discharging them.

If a servant offends you by any trifling or occasional

omission of duty, reprove the fault with mild severity; if

the error be repeated often, and be of a gross description,

never hesitate, but discharge the servant instantly, without

any altercation of language. You cannot easily find another

who will serve you worse.

As for those precautions which are ordinarily taken, to

secure the procurence of good servants, they are, without

exception, utterly useless. The author of the Rambler has

remarked, that a written _character_ of a servant is worth

about as much as a discharge from the Old Bailey. I never,

but once, took any trouble to inquire what reputation a

servant had held in former situations. On that occasion, I

heard that I had engaged the very Shakespeare of menials,--

Aristides was not more honest,--Zeno more truth-telling,--nor

Abdiel more faithful. This fellow, after insulting me daily

for a week, disappeared with my watch and three pair of

boots.

Those offices which profess to recommend good domestics, are

"bosh,--nothing." In nine cases out of ten, the keepers are

in league with the servants; and in the tenth, ignorance,

dishonesty, or carelessness will prevent any benefit

resulting from,their "intelligence." All that you can do is,

to take the most decent creature who applies; trust in

Providence, and lock every thing up.

Never speak harshly, or superciliously, or hastily to a

servant. There are many little actions which distinguish, to

the eye of the most careless observer, a gentleman from one

not a gentleman; but there is none more striking than the

manner of addressing a servant. Issue your commands with

gravity and gentleness, and in a reserved manner. Let your

voice be composed, but avoid a tone of familiarity or

sympathy with them. It is better in addressing them to use a

higher key of voice, and not to suffer it to fall at the end

of a sentence. The best bred man whom we ever had the

pleasure of meeting, always employed, in addressing servants,

such forms of speech as these--"I'll thank you for so and

so,"--" Such a thing, if you please,"--with a gentle tone,

but very elevated key. The perfection of manner, in this

particular, is, to indicate by your language, that the

performance is a favour, and by your tone that it is a matter

of course.

While, however, you practise the utmost mildness and

forbearance in your language, avoid the dangerous and common

error of exercising too great humanity in action. No servant,

from the time of the first Gibeonite downwards, has ever had

too much labour imposed upon him; while thousands have been

ruined by the mistaken kindness of their masters.

Servants should always be allowed, and indeed directed, to go

to church on Sunday afternoon. For this purpose, dinner is

served earlier on that day than usual. If it can be

accomplished, the servants should be induced to attend the

same church as the family with whom they live; because there

may be reason to fear that if they profess to go elsewhere,

they may not go to church at all; and the habit of wandering

about the streets with idlers, will speedily ruin the best

servant that ever stood behind a chair.

Servants should be directed to announce visitors. This is

always done abroad, and is a convenient custom.

Never allow a female servant to enter a parlour. If all the

male domestics are gone out, it is better that there should

be no attendance at all.

Some ladies are in the habit of amusing their friends with

accounts of the difficulty of getting good servants, etc.

This denotes decided ill breeding. Such subjects should never

be made topics of conversation.

If a servant offends you by any grossness of conduct, never

rebuke the offence upon the spot, nor indeed notice it at all

at the time; for you cannot do it without anger, and without

giving rise to a _scene._ Prince Puckler Muskaw was, very

properly, turned out of the Travellers' Club for throwing a

fork at one of the waiters.

In the house of another, or when there is any company present

in your own, never converse with the servants. This most

vulgar, but not uncommon, habit, is judiciously censured in

that best of novels,--the Zeluco of Dr. Moore.

CHAPTER XIV. FASHION.

Fashion is a tyranny founded only on assumption. The

principle upon which its influence rests, is one deeply based

in the human heart, and one which has long been observed and

long practised upon in every department of life. In the

literary, the religious, and the political world, it has been

an assured and very profitable conclusion, that the public,

"Like women, born to be controlled, Stoops to the forward and

the bold."

"Qui sibi fidit, dux regit examen," is a maxim of universal

truth. Pococurante, in Candide, was admired for despising

Homer and Michel Angelo; he would have gained little

distinction by praising them. The judicious application of

this rule to society, is the origin of fashion. In despair of

attaining greatness of quality, it founds its distinction

only on peculiarity.

We have spoken elsewhere of those complex and very rare

accomplishments, whose union is requisite to constitute a

gentleman. We know of but one quality which is demanded for a

man of fashion,--impudence. An impudence (self-confidence

"the wise it call") as impenetrable as the gates of

Pandemonium--a coolness and imperturbability of self-

admiration, which the boaster in Spencer might envy--a

contempt of every decency, as such, and an utter

imperviousness to ridicule,--these are the amiable and

dignified qualities which serve to rear an empire over the

weakness and cowardice of men.

To define the character of that which is changing even while

we survey it, is a task of no small difficulty. We imagine

that there is only one means by which it may be always

described, viz., that it consists in an entire avoidance of

all that is natural and rational. Its essence is affectation;

effeminacy takes the place of manliness; drawling stupidity,

of wit; stiffness and hauteur, of ease and civility; and

self-illustration, of a decent and respectful regard to

others.

A man of fashion must never allow himself to be pleased.

Nothing is more decidedly _de mauvais ton_ than any

expression of delight. He must never laugh, nor, unless his

penetration is very great, must he even smile; for he might

by ignorance smile at the wrong place or time. All real

emotion is to be avoided; all sympathy with the great or the

beautiful is to be shunned; yet the liveliest feeling may be

exhibited upon the death of a poodle-dog.

At the house of an acquaintance, he must never praise, nor

even look, at the pictures, the carpets, the curtains, or the

ottomans, because if he did, it might be supposed that he was

not accustomed to such things.

About two years ago, it began to be considered improper to

pay compliments to women, because if they are not paid

gracefully they are awkward, and to pay them gracefully is

difficult. At the present time it is considered dangerous to

a man's pretensions to fashion, in England, to speak to women

at all. Women are voted bores, and are to be treated with

refined rudeness.

There is no possible system of manners that will serve to

exhibit at once the uncivility and the high refinement which

should characterize the man of fashion. He must therefore

have no manners at all. He must behave with tame and passive

insolence, never breaking into active effrontery excepting

towards unprotected women and clergymen. Persons of no

importance he does not see, and is not conscious of their

existence; those who have the same standing, he treats with

easy scorn, and he acknowledges the distinction of superiors

only by patronizing and protecting them. A man of fashion

does not despise wealth; he cannot but think _that_ valuable

which procures to others the honour of paying for his

suppers.

Fashion is so completely distinguished from good breeding,

that it is even opposed to it. It is in fact a system of

refined vulgarity. What, for example can be more vulgar than

incessantly _talkin_g about forms and customs? About silver

forks and French soup? A gentleman follows these conventional

habits; but he follows them as matters of course. He looks

upon them as the ordinary and essential customs of refined

society. French forks are to him things as indispensable as a

table-cloth; and he thinks it as unnecessary to insist upon

the one as upon the other. If he sees a person who eats with

his knife, he concludes that that person is ignorant of the

usages of the world, but he does not shriek and faint away

like a Bond-street dandy. If he dines at a table where there

are no silver forks, he eats his dinner in perfect propriety

with steel, and exhibits, neither by manner nor by speech,

that he perceives any error. To be sure, he forms his own

opinion about the rank of his entertainer, but he leaves it

to such new-made gentry as Mr. Theodore Hook, in his vulgar

fashionable novels, to harangue about such delinquencies. The

vulgarity of insisting upon these matters is scarcely less

offensive than the vulgarity of neglecting them. Lady Frances

Pelham is but one remove better than a Brancton.

A man of fashion never goes to the theatre; he is waiting for

the opera.

He, of course, goes out of town in the summer; or, if he

cannot afford to do so, he merely closes his window-shutters,

and appears to be gone.

Fashion makes all great things little, and all little things

great.

It is commonly said, that it requires more wit to perform the

part of the fool in a farce than that of the master. Without

intending any offence to the fool by the comparison, we may

remark, that qualities of an elevated character are required

for the support of the _rol_e of a man of fashion in the

solemn farce of life. He must have invention, to vary his

absurdities when they cease to be striking; he must have wit

enough to obtain the reputation of a great deal more; and he

must possess tact to know when and where to crouch, and where

and when to insult.

Brummel, whose career is one of the most extraordinary on

record, must have exercised, during the period of his social

reign, many qualities of conduct which rank among the highest

endowments of our race. For an obscure individual, without

fortune or rank, to have conceived the idea of placing

himself at the head of society in a country the most

thoroughly aristocratic in Europe, relying too upon no other

weapon than well-directed insolence; for the same individual

to have triumphed splendidly over the highest and the

mightiest--to have maintained a contest with royalty itself,

and to have come off victorious even in that struggle--for

such an one no ordinary faculties must have been demanded. Of

the sayings of Brummel which have been preserved, it is

difficult to distinguish whether they contain real wit, or

are only so sublimely and so absurdly impudent that they look

like witty.

We add here a few anecdotes of Brummel, which will serve to

show, better than any precepts, the style of conduct which a

man of fashion may pursue.

When Brummel was at the height of his power, he was once, in

the company of some gentlemen, speaking of the Prince of

Wales as a very good sort of man, who behaved himself very

decently, _considering circumstances_; some one present

offered a wager that he would not dare to give a direction to

this very good sort of man. Brummel looked astonished at the

remark, and declined accepting a wager upon such point. They

happened to be dining with the regent the next-day, and after

being pretty well fortified. with wine, Brummel interrupted a

remark of the prince's, by exclaiming very mildly and

naturally, "Wales, ring the bell!" His royal highness

immediately obeyed the command, and when the servant entered,

said to him, with the utmost coolness and firmness, "Show Mr.

Brummel to his carriage." The dandy was not in the least

dejected by his expulsion; but meeting the prince regent,

walking with a gentleman, the next day in the street, he did

not bow to him, but stopping the other, drew him aside and

said, in a loud whisper, "Who is that FAT FRIEND of ours?" It

must be remembered that the object of this sarcasm was at

that time exceedingly annoyed by his increasing corpulency;

so manifestly so, that Sheridan remarked, that "though the

regent professed himself a Whig, he believed that in his

heart he was no friend to _new measures._"

Shortly after this occurrence at Carlton-House, Brummel

remarked to one of his friends, that "he had half a mind to

cut the young one, and bring old George into fashion."

In describing a short visit which he had paid to a nobleman

in the country, he said, that he had only carried with him a

night-cap and a silver basin to spit in, "Because, you know,

it is utterly impossible to spit in clay."

Brummel was once present at a party to which he had not been

invited. After he had been some time in the room, the

gentleman of the house, willing to mortify him, went up to

him and said that he believed that there must be some

mistake, as he did not recollect having had the honour of

sending him an invitation. "What is the name?" said the other

very drawlingly, at the same time affecting to feel in his

waistcoat pocket for a card. "Johnson," replied the

gentleman. "Jauhnson?" said Brummel, "oh! I remember now that

the name was Thaunson (Thompson); and Jauhnson and Thaunson, 

Thaunson and Jauhnson, you know, are so much the same kind of

thing."

Brummel was once asked how much a year he thought would be

required to keep a single man in clothes. "Why, with

tolerable economy," said he, "I think it might be done for

L800."

He once went down to a gentleman's house in the country,

without having been asked to do so. He was given to

understand, the next morning, that his absence would be more

agreeable, and he took his departure. Some one having heard

of his discomfiture, asked him how he liked the

accommodations there. He replied coolly, that "it was a very

decent house to spend a single night in."

We have mentioned that this dreaded arbiter of modes had

threatened that he would put the prince regent out of

fashion. Alas! for the peace of the British monarch, this was

not an idle boast. His dangerous rival resolved in the

unfathomable recesses of a mind capacious of such things, to

commence and to carry on a war whose terror and grandeur

should astound society, to administer to audacious royalty a

lesson which should never be forgotten, and finally to

retire, when retire he must, with mementos of his tremendous

power around him, and with the mightiest of the earth at his

feet. Inventive and deliberate were the counsels which he

meditated; sublime and resolute was the conduct he adopted.

He decided, with an originality of genius to which the

conqueror of Marengo might have vailed, that the _neck_ of

the foe was the point at which the first fatal shaft of his

excommunicating ire should be hurled. With rapid and decisive

energy he concentrated all his powers for instantaneous

action. He retired for a day to the seclusion of solitude, to

summon and to spur the energies of the most self-reliant mind

in Europe, as the lion draws back to gather courage for the

leap. As, like the lion, he drew back; so, like the lion, did

he spring forward upon his prey. At a ball given by the

Duchess of Devonshire, when the whole assembly were

conversing upon his supposed disgrace, and insulting by their

malevolence one whom they had disgusted by their adulation,

Brummel suddenly stood in the midst of them. Could it be

indeed Brummel? Could it be mortal who thus appeared with

such an encincture of radiant glory about his neck? Every eye

was upon him, fixed in stupid admiration; every tongue, as it

slowly recovered from its speechless paralysis, faltered

forth "what a cravat!" What a cravat indeed! Hundreds that

had, a moment before, exulted in unwonted freedom, bowed

before it with the homage of servile adoration. What a

cravat! There it stood; there was no doubting its entity, no

believing it an illusion. There it stood, smooth and stiff,

yet light and almost transparent; delicate as the music of

Ariel, yet firm as the spirit of Regulus; bending with the

grace of Apollo's locks, yet erect with the majesty of the

Olympian Jove: without a wrinkle, without an indentation.

What a cravat! The regent "saw and shook;" and uttering a

faint gurgle from beneath the wadded bag which surrounded his

royal thorax, he was heard to whisper with dismay, "D--n him!

what a cravat!" The triumph was complete.

It is stated, upon what authority we know not, that his royal

highness, after passing a sleepless night in vain

conjectures, despatched at an early hour, one of his privy-

counsellors to Brummel, offering _carte blanche_ if he would

disclose the secret of that mysterious cravat. But the

"_atrox animus Catonis_" disdained the bribe. He preferred

being supplicated, to being bought, by kings. "Go," said he

to the messenger, with the spirit of Marius mantling in his

veins, "Go, and tell _you_r master that you have seen _his_

master."

For the truth of another anecdote, connected with this

cravat, we have indisputable evidence. A young nobleman of

distinguished talents and high pretensions as to fortune and

rank, saw this fatal band, and eager to advance himself in

the rolls of fashion, retired to his chamber to endeavour to

penetrate the method of its construction. He tried every sort

of known, and many sorts of unknown stiffeners to accomplish

the end--paper and pasteboard, and wadding, shavings, and

shingles, and planks,--all were vainly experienced. Gargantua

could not have exhibited a greater invention of expedients

than he did; but vainly. After a fortnight of the closest

application, ardour of study and anxiety of mind combined,

brought him to the brink of the grave. His mother having

ascertained the origin of his complaint, waited upon Brummel,

who was the only living man that could remove it. She

implored him, by every human motive, to say but one word, to

save the life of her son and prevent her own misery. But the

tyrant was immoveable, and the young man expired a victim of

his sternness.

When, at length, yielding to that strong necessity which no

man can control, Brummel was obliged, like Napoleon, to

abdicate, the mystery of that mighty cravat was unfolded.

There was found, after his departure to Calais, written on

sheet of paper upon his table, the following epigram of

scorn: "STARCH IS THE MAN." The cravat of Brummel was merely--

starched! Henceforth starch was introduced into every cravat

in Europe.

Brummel still lives, an obscure consul in a petty European

town.

Physically there is something to command our admiration in

the history of a man who thus lays at his mercy all ranks of

men,--the lofty and the low, the great, the powerful and the

vain: but morally and seriously, no character is more

despicable than that of the mere man of fashion, Seeking

nothing but notoriety, his path to that end is over the ruins

of all that is worthy in our nature. He knows virtue only to

despise it; he makes himself acquainted with human feelings

only to outrage them. He commences his career beyond the

limits of decency, and ends it far in the regions of infamy.

Feared by all and respected by none, hated by his worshippers

and despised by himself, he rules,--an object of pity and

contempt: and when his power is past, his existence is

forgotten; he lives on in an, oblivion which is to him worse

than death, and the stings of memory goad him to the grave.

The devotee of fashion is a trifler unworthy of his race; the

_mere_ gentleman is a character which may in time become

somewhat tiresome; there is a just mean between the two,

where a better conduct than either is to be found. It is that

of a man who, yielding to others, still maintains his self-

respect, and whose concessions to folly are controlled by

good sense; who remembers the value of trifles without

forgetting the importance of duties, and resolves so to

regulate his conduct that neither others may be offended by

his stiffness, nor himself have to regret his levity.

Live therefore among men--to conclude our homily after the

manner of Quarles--live therefore among men, like them, yet

not disliking thyself; and let the hues of fashion be

reflected from thee, but let them not enter and colour thee

within.

CHAPTER VIII. MISCELLANEOUS.

There is nothing more ill bred in the world than continual

talking about good breeding.

You should never employ the word "_genteel_;" the proper word

is "_respectable._"

If you are walking down the street with another person on

your arm, and stop to say something to one of your friends,

do not commit the too common and most awkward error of

introducing such persons to one another. Never introduce

morning visitors, who happen to meet in your parlour without

being acquainted. If _you_ should be so introduced, remember

that the acquaintance afterwards goes for nothing: you have

not the slightest right to expect that the other should ever

speak to you.

If you wish to be introduced to a lady, you must always have

her consent previously asked; this formality it is not

necessary to observe in the case of gentlemen alone.

Presents are the gauge of friendship. They also serve to

increase it, and give it permanence.

Among friends presents ought to be made of things of small

value; or, if valuable, their worth should be derived from

the style of the workmanship, or from some accidental

circumstance, rather than from the inherent and solid

richness. Especially never offer to a lady a gift of great

cost: it is in the highest degree indelicate, and looks as if

you were desirous of placing her under an obligation to you,

and of buying her good will. The gifts made by ladies to

gentlemen are of the most refined nature possible: they

should be little articles not purchased, but deriving a

priceless value as being the offspring of their gentle skill;

a little picture from their pencil, or a trifle from their

needle.

To persons much your superiors, or gentlemen whom you do not

know intimately, there is but one species of appropriate

present--game.

If you make a present, and it is praised by the receiver, you

should not yourself commence undervaluing it. If one is

offered to you, always accept it; and however small it may

be, receive it with civil and expressed thanks, without any

kind of affectation. Avoid all such deprecatory phrases, as

"I fear I rob you," etc.

To children, the only presents which you offer are sugar-

plums and bon-bons.

Avoid the habit of employing French words in English

conversation; it is in extremely bad taste to be always

employing such expressions as _ci-devant,_ _soi-disant,_ _en

masse,_ _couleur de rose,_ etc. Do not salute your

acquaintances with _bon jour,_ nor reply to every

proposition, _volontiers._

In speaking of French cities and towns, it is a mark of

refinement in education to pronounce them rigidly according

to English rules of speech. Mr. Fox, the best French scholar,

and one of the best bred men in England, always sounded the x

in _Bourdeaux,_ and the s in Calais, and on all occasions

pronounced such names just as they are written.

In society, avoid having those peculiar preferences for some

subjects, which are vulgarly denominated. "_hobby horses._"

They make your company a _bore_ to all your friends; and some

kind-hearted creature will take advantage of them and _trot_

you, for the amusement of the company.

A certain degree of reserve, or the appearance of it, should

be maintained in your intercourse with your most intimate

friends. To ordinary acquaintances retain the utmost reserve--

never allowing them to read your feelings, not, on the other

hand, attempting to take any liberties with them. Familiarity

of manner is the greatest vice of society. "Ah! allow me, my

dear fellow," says a rough voice, and at the same moment a

thumb and finger are extended into my snuff-box, which, in

removing their prey drop half of it upon my clothes,--I look

up, and recognize a person to whom I was introduced by

mistake last night at the opera. I would be glad to have less

fellowship with such _fellows._ In former times great

philosophers were said to have demons for familiars,--thereby

indicating that a familiar man is the very devil.

Remember, that all deviations from prescribed forms, on

common occasions, are vulgar; such as sending invitations, or

replies, couched in some unusual forms of speech. Always

adhere to the immemorial phrase,--"Mrs. X. requests the

honour of Mr, Y.'s company," and "Mr. Y. has the honour of

accepting Mrs. X.'s polite invitation." Never introduce

persons with any outlandish or new-coined expressions; but

perform the operation with mathematical precision--"Mr. A.,

Mr. A'; Mr. A', Mr. A."

When two gentlemen are walking with a lady in the street,

they should not be both upon the same side of her, but one of

them should walk upon the outside and the other upon the

inside.

When you walk with a lady, even if the lady be young and

unmarried, offer your arm to her. This is always done in

France, and is practised in this country by the best bred

persons. To be sure, this is done only to married women in

France, because unmarried women never walk alone with

gentlemen, but as in America the latter have the same freedom

as the former, this custom should here be extended to them.

If you are walking with a woman who has your arm, and you

cross the street, it is better not to disengage your arm, and

go round upon the outside. Such effort evinces a palpable

attention to form, and _that_ is always to be avoided.

A woman should never take the arms of two men, one being upon

either side; nor should a man carry a woman upon each arm.

The latter of these iniquities is practised only in Ireland;

the former perhaps in Kamskatcha. There are, to be sure, some

cases in which it is necessary for the protection of the

women, that they should both take his arm, as in coming home

from a concert, or in passing, on any occasion, through a

crowd.

When you receive company in your own house, you should never

be much dressed. This is a circumstance of the first

importance in good breeding.

A gentleman should never use perfumes; they are agreeable,

however, upon ladies.

Avoid the use of proverbs in conversation, and all sorts of

cant phrases. This error is, I believe, censured by Lord

Chesterfield, and is one of the most offensively vulgar

things which a person can commit. We have frequently been

astonished to hear such a slang phrase as "the whole hog"

used by persons who had pretensions to very superior

standing. We would be disposed to apply to such an expression

a criticism of Dr. Johnson's, which rivals it in Coarseness:

"It has not enough salt to keep it from stinking, enough wit

to prevent its being offensive." We do not wish to advocate

any false refinement, or to encourage any cockney delicacy:

but we may be decent without being affected. The stable

language and raft humour of Crockett and Downing may do very

well to amuse one in a morning paper, but it exhibits little

wit and less good sense to adopt them in the drawing-room.

This matter should be "reformed altogether."

If a plate be sent to you, at dinner, by the master or

mistress of the house, you should always take it, without

offering it to all your neighbours as was in older times

considered necessary. The spirit of antique manners consisted

in exhibiting an attention to ceremony; the spirit of modern

manners consists in avoiding all possible appearance of form.

The old custom of deferring punctiliously to others was

awkward and inconvenient. For, the person, in favor of whom

the courtesy was shown, shocked at the idea of being exceeded

in politeness, of course declined it, and a plate was thus

often kept vibrating between two bowing mandarins, till its

contents were cold, and the victims of ceremony were deprived

of their dinner. In a case like this, to reverse the decision

which the host has made as to the relative standing of his

guests, is but a poor compliment to him, as it seems to

reprove his choice, and may, besides, materially interfere

with his arrangements by rendering _unhelped_ a person whom

he supposes attended to.

The same avoidance of too much attention to yielding place is

proper in most other cases. Shenstone, in some clever verses,

has ridiculed the folly; and Goldsmith, in his "Vicar," has

censured the inconvenience, of such outrageous formality.

These things are now managed better. One person yields and

another accepts without any controversy.

When you are helped to anything at a dinner table, do not

wait, with your plate untouched, until others have begun to

eat. This stiff-piece of mannerism is often occurring in the

country, and indeed among all persons who are not thoroughly

bred. As soon as your plate is placed before you, you should

take up your knife and arrange the table furniture around

you, if you do not actually eat.

As to the instruments by which the operation of dining is

conducted, it is a matter of much consequence that entire

propriety should be observed as to their use. We have said

nothing about the use of silver forks, because we do not

write for savages; and where, excepting among savages, shall

we find any who at present eat with other than a French

fork?. There are occasionally to be found some ancients,

gentlemen of the old school, as it is termed, who persist in

preferring steel, and who will insist on calling for a steel

fork if there is none on the table. They consider the modem

custom an affectation, and deem that all affectation should

be avoided. They tread upon the pride of Plato, with more

pride. There is often affectation in shunning affectation. It

is better in things not material to submit to the established

habits, especially when, as in the present case, the balance

of convenience is decidedly on the part of fashion. The

ordinary custom among well bred persons, is as follows:--soup

is taken with a spoon. Some foolish _fashionables_ employ a

fork! They might as well make use of a broomstick. The fish

which follows is eaten with a fork, a knife not being used at

all. The fork is held in the right hand, and a piece of bread

in the left. For any dish in which cutting is not

indispensable, the same arrangement is correct. When you have

upon your plate, before the dessert, anything partially

liquid, or any sauces, you must not take them up with a

knife, but with a piece of bread, which is to be saturated

with the juices, and then lifted to the mouth. If such an

article forms part of the dessert, you should eat it with a

spoon. In carving, steel instruments alone are employed. For

fowls a peculiar knife is used, having the blade short and

the handle very long. For fish a broad and pierced silver

blade is used.

A dinner--we allude to _dinner-parties_--in this country, is

generally despatched with too much hurry. We do not mean,

that persons commonly eat too fast, but that the courses

succeed one another too precipitately. Dinner is the last

operation of the day, and there is no subsequent business

which demands haste. It is usually intended, especially when

there are no ladies, to sit at the table till nine, ten, or

eleven o'clock, and it is more agreeable that the _eating_

should be prolonged through a considerable portion of the

entire time. The conveniences of digestion also require more

deliberation, and it would therefore not be unpleasant if an

interval of a quarter of an hour or half an hour were allowed

to intervene between the meats and the dessert.

At dinner, avoid taking upon your plate too many things at

once. One variety of meat and one kind of vegetable is the

_maximum._ When you take another sort of meat, or any dish

not properly a vegetable, you always change your plate.

The fashion of dining inordinately late in this country is

foolish. It is borrowed from England without any regard to

the difference in circumstances between the two nations. In

London, the whole system of daily duties is much later. The

fact of parliament's sitting during the evening and not in

the morning, tends to remove the active part of the day to a

much more advanced hour. When persons rise at ten or two

o'clock, it is not to be expected that they should dine till

eight or twelve in the evening. There is nothing of this sort

in France. There they dine at three, or earlier. We have

known some fashionable dinners in different cities in this

country at so late an hour as eight or nine o'clock. This is

absurd, where the persons have all breakfasted at eight in

the morning. From four o'clock till five varies the proper

hour for a dinner party here.

Never talk about politics at a dinner table or in a drawing

room.

When you are going into a company it is of advantage to run

over in your mind, beforehand, the topics of conversation

which you intend to bring up, and to arrange the manner in

which you will introduce them. You may also refresh your

general ideas upon the subjects, and run through the details

of the few very brief and sprightly anecdotes which you are

going to repeat; and also have in readiness one or two

brilliant phrases or striking words which you will use upon

occasion. Further than this it is dangerous to make much

preparation. If you commit to memory long speeches with the

design of delivering them, your conversation will  become

formal, and you will be negligent of the observations of your

company. It will tend also to impair that habit of readiness

and quickness which it is necessary to cultivate in order to

be agreeable.

You must be very careful that you do not repeat the same

anecdotes or let off the same good things twice to the same

person. Richard Sharpe, the "conversationist" as he was

called in London, kept a regular book of entry, in which he

recorded where and before whom he had uttered severally his

choice sayings. The celebrated Bubb Doddington prepared a

manuscript book of original _facetiæ,_ which he was

accustomed to read over when he expected any distinguished

company, trusting to an excellent memory to preserve him from

iteration.

If you accompany your wife to a ball, be very careful not to

dance with her.

The lady who gives a ball dances but little, and always

selects her partners.

If you are visited by any company whom you wish to drive away

forever, or any friends whom you wish to alienate, entertain

them by reading to them your own productions.

If you ask a lady to dance, and she is engaged, do not prefer

a request for her hand at the next set after that, because

she may be engaged for that also, and for many more; and you

would have to run through a long list of interrogatories,

which would be absurd and awkward.

A gentleman must not expect to shine in society, even the

most frivolous, without a considerable stock of knowledge. He

must be acquainted with facts rather than principles. He

needs no very sublime sciences; but a knowledge of biography

and literary history, of the fine arts, as painting,

engraving, music, etc., will be of great service to him.

Some men are always seen in the streets with an umbrella

under their arm. Such a foible may be permitted to such men

as Mr. Southey and the Duke of Wellington: but in ordinary

men it looks like affectation, and the monotony is

exceedingly _boring_ to the sight.

To applaud at a play is not _fashionable_; but it is

_respectable_ to evince by a gentle concurrence of one finger

and a hand that you perceive and enjoy a good stroke in an

actor.

If you are at a concert, or a private musical party, never

beat time with your feet or your cane. Nothing is more

unpleasant.

Few things are more agreeable or more difficult, than to

relate anecdotes with entire propriety. They should be

introduced gracefully, have fit connexion with the previous

remarks, and be in perfect keeping with the company, the

subject and the tone of the conversation; they should be

short, witty and eloquent, and they should be new but not

far-fetched.

In rapid and eager discourse, when persons are excited and

impatient, as at a ball or in a promenade, repeat nothing but

the spirit and soul of a story, leaping over the particulars.

There are however many places and occasions in which you may

bring out the details with advantage, precisely, but not

tediously. When you repeat a true story be always extremely

exact. Mem. Not to forget the point of your story, like most

narrators.

When you are telling a flat anecdote by mistake, laugh

egregiously, that others may do the same: when you repeat a

spirited and striking bon mot, be grave and composed, in

order that others may not be the same.

For one who has travelled much, to hit the proper medium

between too much reserve and too much intrusion, on the

subject of his adventures, is not easy. Such a person is

expected to give amusement by pleasant histories of his

travels, and it is agreeable that he should do so, yet with

moderation; he should not reply to every remark by a memoir,

commencing, "When I was in Japan."

Rampant witticisms which require one to laugh, are apt to

grow fatiguing: it is better to have a sprightly and amusing

vein running through your conversation, which, betraying no

effort, allows one to be grave without offence, or to smile

without pain.

Punning is now decidedly out of date. It is a silly and

displeasing thing, when it becomes a habit. Some one has

called it the wit of fools. It is within the reach of the

most trifling, and is often used by them to puzzle and

degrade the wise. Whatever may be its merits, it is now out

of fashion.

It is respectable to go to church once on Sunday. When you

are there, behave with decency. You should never walk in

fashionable places on Sunday afternoon. It is notoriously

vulgar. If your health requires you to take the air, you

should seek some retired street.

In conversation avoid such phrases as "My _dear_ sir or

madam."

A gentleman is distinguished as much by his composure as by

any other quality. His exertions are always subdued, and his

efforts easy. He is never surprised into an exclamation or

startled by anything. Throughout life he avoids what the

French call _scenes,_ occasions of exhibition, in which the

vulgar delight. He of course has feelings, but he never

exhibits any to the world. He hears of the death of his

pointer or the loss of an estate with entire calmness when

others are present.

It is very difficult for a literary man to preserve the

perfect manners and exact semblance of a gentleman. He must

be able to throw aside all the qualities which authorship

tends to stamp so deeply upon him, and thoroughly to despise

the cant of the profession. Yet this must be done without any

affectation. Upon the whole, unless he has rare tact, he will

please as much by going into company with all the marks of

his employment upon his manners, than by awkwardly attempting

to throw off his load. One would rather see a man with his

fingers inked, than to see him nervously striving to cover

them with a tattered kid glove. As to literary ladies, they

make up their minds to sacrifice all present and personal

admiration for future and abiding renown.

It is not considered fashionable to carry a watch. What has a

fashionable man to do with time? Besides he never goes into

those obscure parts of the town where there are no public

clocks, and his servant will tell him when it is time to

dress for dinner. A gentleman carries his watch in his

pantaloons with a plain black ribbon attached. It is only

worthy of a shop-boy to put it in his waistcoat pocket.

Custom allows to men the privilege of taking snuff, however

unneat this habit may appear. If you affect the "tangible

smell," always take it from a box, and not from your

waistcoat pocket or a paper. The common opinion, that

Napoleon took snuff from his pocket, (which fact, by the way,

is denied by Bourrienne,) has for ever driven this convenient

custom from the practice of gentlemen, for the same reason

that Lord Byron's anti-neckcloth fashion has compelled every

man of sense to bind a cravat religiously about his throat.

As to taking snuff from a paper, it is vile.

Women should abstain most scrupulously from tobacco, for

nothing can be more fatal to their divinity: they should at

least avoid it until past fifty;--that is to say, if a woman

past fifty can anywhere be found. Chewing is permitted only

to galley-slaves and metaphysicians.

It was a favourite maxim of Rivarol, "Do you wish to succeed?

Cite proper names." Rivarol is dead in exile, having left

behind him little property and less reputation. Judging from

all experience, if we were to frame an extreme maxim, it

should be, "If you wish to succeed never cite a proper name."

It will make you agreeable and hated. Your conversation will

be listened to with interest, and your company shunned with

horror. You will obtain the reputation of a gossip and a

scandal-bearer, and you will soon be obliged either to

purchase a razor or apply for a passport. If you are holding

a tete-a-tete with a notorious Mrs. Candour, then, indeed,

your tongue should be as sharp and nimble as the forked

lightning. You must beat her at her own weapons, and convince

her that it would be dangerous to traduce your character to

others.

A bachelor is a person who enjoys everything and pays for

nothing; a married man is one that pays for everything and

enjoys nothing. The one drives a sulky through life, and is

not expected to take care of any one but himself: the other

keeps a carriage, which is always too full to afford him a

comfortable seat. Be cautious then how you exchange your

sulky for a carriage.

In ordinary conversation about persons employ the expressions

_men_ and _women_; _gentleman_ and _lady_ are _distinctive_

appellations, and not to be used upon general occasions.

You should say _forte-piano,_ not _piano-forte_: and the

_street door,_ not the _front door._

"A man may have virtue, capacity, and good conduct," says La

Bruyére, "and yet be insupportable; the air and manner which

we neglect, as little things, are frequently what the world

judges us by, and makes them decide for or against us."

In your intercourse with the world you must take persons as

they are, and society as you find it. You must never oppose

the one, nor attempt to alter the other. Society is a

harlequin stage, upon which you never appear in your own

dress nor without a mask. Keep your real dispositions for

your fireside, and your real character for your private

friend. In public, never differ from anybody, nor from

anything. The _agreeable_ man is one who _agrees._

THE END. 

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