Chapter 10

Deplorable as a heedless curtness of speech is, it is hardly more unpleasant than the artificial mincing of words that some children are drilled into (or learn by imitation of their elders). This superficial effusiveness, supposed to be "pretty" manners, is related more to subjective vanity than to objective courtesy. Not allowed to say "Sir," they substitute the name or title of the person addressed,--which, when introduced occasionally and unobtrusively, is a graceful personal recognition; but when overdone, as too often observed, the constant iteration of "Yes, Mr. Brown,"--"No, Mrs. Black," etc., grows to be a maddening exposition of precocious affectation.

Having observed the vagaries of this fashion in phrasing for several years, I have come to the conclusion that the plain "Sir" of former times,--which, to the "well-brought-up" child, was a practical application of the Fifth Commandment,--is much to be preferred to the fussy elaboration of personal address that has superseded it. Indications at present are, that the old-fashioned "Sir" and "Madam" are coming into their own again, among truly courteous people.

But whatever the fickle fashion of the hour may be, it is important to enforce the truth that the spirit of words and deeds is the essence of good manners. If this right spirit be lacking, no words can fill the blank. If an ugly spirit dwells within, no word of compliment can veil its evil face.

But though the good spirit be there, with all its generous impulses and kindly feeling, it needs the concrete expression; otherwise, its very existence may remain unknown. "A man that hath friends must show himself friendly." Pose, bearing, facial expression, the winning smile,--all these are silently eloquent; but, to convey the perfect message from soul to soul, there must be added the "word fitly spoken."

SELF-COMMAND

A theme for a volume! Briefly, it is the mark of a well-disciplined mind to be able to meet all emergencies calmly. Though china break, and gravy spill, the hostess and the guest must not allow the accident to ruffle their perfect serenity of manner. Nor is it merely a point of etiquette to be thus self-controlled. Serious accidents sometimes happen, like the igniting of fancy lamp-shades or filmy curtains, and then the calm poise of a well-bred man becomes of practical value to himself and others. A habit of keeping cool--formed originally for good manners' sake--may save one's life in some crisis of danger.

Control of temper is one of the most valuable results of training in the etiquette of calm behavior. Manifestations of ill-temper may be the occasional outburst of a spirit that dwells under the shadow of an ancestral curse, but which in its better moments grieves in sackcloth and ashes over its yielding to wild, ungovernable impulse. Such people are often generous and self-sacrificing in the main, though causing so much sorrow and disaster to others by these occasional whirlwinds of passion. In all that delicacy of feeling and usual regard for "the amenities" indicate, they are "well-bred." To say that they are not is as ungenerous as to criticise the conduct of the insane. But habitual, cold-blooded, and willful ill-temper--the trade-mark of unmitigated selfishness--is indisputably ill-bred. Whatever the tendency, temperament, or temptation, good form requires the cultivation and the exhibition of good humor and a disposition to take a cheerful and generous view of people and things.

This calm serenity does not mean weakness or moral cowardice. The dignity that forbids one to be rude also forbids one to endure insolence. A gentleman may scathe a liar in plain unvarnished terms, and yet not lose a particle of his own repose of manner; and the higher his own standards are, the more merciless will be his denunciation of what he holds to be deserving of rebuke. But through it all, he has his own spirit well in hand, under curb and rein. The ominous calm of a well-bred man is a terror to the garrulous bully. It is "the triumph of mind over matter."

Next to the etiquette of self-control--and, if anything, harder to comply with--is the etiquette of forbearance, which is often overlooked; for people who have high standards themselves are apt to be intolerant of gross offenders against social rules. Those who by inheritance or by culture are blessed with a logical mind and an equable temper, should be lenient in judging cruder people, whose dense ignorance aggravating their malicious intent, causes them to do astounding violence to the principles of morality and etiquette alike, by exhibitions of ugly temper. Only by making allowances can the conduct of some people be accounted less than criminal.

Let all reflect that it is impossible to be a _lady_, or a _gentleman_, without _gentle_ manners.

A FEW POINTS ON DRESS

Perfect congruity is the secret of successful dressing.

The first harmony to be observed is that between the dress and the wearer's purse. Good form considers not merely what can be _paid for_ without "going in debt," but what can be purchased without cramping the resources in some other direction and destroying the proper balance of one's expenditures. The girl who uses a month's salary to buy one fine gown, and denies herself in the matter of needed hosiery to make up for the extravagance, is "dressing beyond her means," and is violating good form in so doing. A simple gown that allows for all _suitable accessories_ is always lady-like.

The second point of harmony is the appropriateness of dress to the occasion when it is worn.

Dinners, balls, and formal receptions are occasions that call for handsome dress. This may range in cost to include some very inexpensive but artistic costumes, the quality of good style not being confined to the richest fabrics. But the inexpensive gown should have a character of its own, and not be suspected of any attempt to imitate its priceless rivals.

The degree of full-dress worn at dinner varies with the formality of the occasion and the fashions prevailing in the social circle represented. On very grand occasions a very rich and stylish costume may be required. In general, a lady wears her choicest silk or velvet gown at a dinner. The intrinsic value of the fabric is more important in dinner dress than in dress worn on other occasions, since the company are few in number and thrown into close proximity, where leisurely observation and criticism are inevitable. A gown that would pass muster in a crowd, may not stand the calm scrutiny of the dinner-table fourteen. The style of cut and the trimmings of a dinner gown may be as severely plain or as voluminously dressy as the character of the occasion and the _personnel_ of the company may indicate and the wearer's instinctive sense of propriety may suggest.

A ball or a formal reception in the evening is a time to display one's prettiest gowns and all the jewels which one possesses. Fabrics of infinite variety, from velvet and brocade to diaphanous tissues, are suitable; and the possibilities in trimmings, in lace and flowers and jeweled ornaments, are unlimited. In the fancy costumes suitable for these showy occasions there is wide opportunity for the ingenious girl to make herself bewitching without greatly depleting her purse. The most becomingly dressed woman is not always the most expensively dressed. General effect strikes the eye of the observer who has not time to study special quality in the kaleidoscopic scene presented by the ball-room or reception throng.

At an afternoon tea, the hostess should dress richly enough for dignity, but without ostentation. As on all occasions, a woman should never be over-dressed in her own house. Her gown should not be so gorgeous that any one of her guests, even the poorest, need feel embarrassed by the contrast.

If several ladies join the hostess in receiving, they wear handsome reception toilets. Other guests come in ordinary walking dress, but it should be stylish and well-kept. A "second-best" gown, though neat enough for informal calls, may not be elegant enough for a tea or for formal visiting. But if a lady's means are limited, and her well-preserved old gown is the best that she can command, perfect neatness and a delicate disposal of _lingerie_ will disguise the ravages of time, and make the "auld cla'es look a'maist as weel's the new."

Indeed, effective dressing, ultimately resolved, is a matter of refined ingenuity. As David, subtly endued with power, with a smooth stone from the brook vanquished the armor-clad Philistine giant, so the woman with a genius for the artistic details of dress, even though it be a last-year's gown, may triumph over another who has blindly clad herself according to the latest conventional pattern, but without regard to what is becoming to herself.

Happy the woman whose bank account permits her to give perfect expression to her taste. Not so happy, but still happy, the woman whose taste meets the emergency, despite a slender purse. But oh! most miserable the woman of stolid, unimaginative nature, whose luxurious wardrobe suggests nothing but the dollar-mark.

Not that I advance the poetical idea of "sweet simplicity" always and everywhere. Not that the rich gown is in itself objectionable, or the inexpensive dress intrinsically beautiful. It is not invariably true that "beauty unadorned is most adorned." It is not true that a "simple calico" is more charming than a sheeny silk, nor is cotton edging to be compared with point or duchess lace.

But the really beautiful in dress, as before stated, lies in its perfect congruity. According to this standard, the calico is sometimes more effective than the silk, and _vice versa_; and neither is effective if worn at inappropriate times, or under unsuitable conditions.

Fashion is _daring_, and every now and then announces some startling innovation in the way of gay street-dress. But the public sentiment of refined people is so definitely fixed in favor of quiet dress for public thoroughfares that these "daring" fashions soon become the sole property of the ignorant class.

Dress for church, or for business, should be plain in design, and subdued in color; and for most occasions when a lady walks to pay visits or calls, a plain tailor-made costume is most suitable. Carriage dress may be gayer in colors, and more dressy in style of cut and trimmings.

When a party of ladies attend the theatre, unaccompanied by a male escort, or with no conveyance but the street-car, ordinary walking costume, with quiet bonnets or hats, is correct style. Box parties, presumably arriving in carriages, may dress as prettily as they choose, subject to the general laws of taste.

A woman should not mix up her wardrobe, and wear a theatre bonnet to church, or carry a coaching parasol to a funeral.

Black, or very subdued colors, should be worn to a funeral.

Any color, _except black_, may be worn by a guest at a wedding. Black lace may be used in the trimmings of rich-colored gowns (though white lace is preferable); but solid black is not allowable. Women who are wearing mourning sometimes lay it aside to attend a wedding, substituting a lavender or violet gown, or, in some places, a deep red, usually in some rich fabric, as velvet or plush.

The etiquette of wearing mourning is less rigorous than formerly. The tendency is more and more to leave the matter to individual feeling. When the mourning garb is adopted, the periods of wearing are shorter, and the phases of change from heaviest to lightest are fewer and less punctilious.

Whether a full mourning dress of _crepe_ be worn, or not, it is generally conceded that it is more respectful to wear plain black than to appear in colors during the months immediately following the death of a near relative. The length of time that mourning dress should be worn is a matter of taste; but it should not be laid aside too soon, as though the wearing were an unpleasant duty; nor should it be worn too long, for the sombre robe has a depressing effect on others, especially invalids and children.

Those who prefer to follow a strict law of etiquette in mourning will observe the following rules:

A widow wears deep mourning of woolen stuffs and _crepe_ for two years.

Similar mourning is worn one year for a parent, or a brother or sister.

For other near relatives, from three to six months, according to degrees of relationship, is considered a respectful period for mourning.

A man's wife wears the same degrees of mourning for his near relatives that she would wear for members of her own family.

In all cases, the mourning should be "lightened" by degrees. Plain black silk, without _crepe_, and trimmed with jet, belongs to a secondary period. Changes are made gradually through black and white combinations, before colors are again worn.

During the period of heavy mourning, it is not proper to attend the theatre or opera, or other gay place of amusement; nor to pay formal visits, or attend receptions, except it may be the marriage of a near friend, for which occasion the mourning dress is temporarily laid aside.

As a matter of respect, no invitations of a gay social character are sent to the recently afflicted. After three months, such invitations may be sent; of course, not with any expectation that they will be accepted, but merely to show that, though temporarily in seclusion, the bereaved ones are kindly remembered.

For men the etiquette of mourning is less conspicuous but equally formal as far as it goes. The periods of wearing mourning are usually shorter than those observed by women in similar cases, probably because the life of business men is not confined to the social world, and its restrictions are less binding upon them in details.

At the funeral of a near relative, a man wears black, including gloves, and a mourning band around his hat. Subsequently he may continue to wear black for several months, or, if this is not feasible, the hat-band of bombazine is accounted a sufficient mark of respect. The width of the band may be graduated, sometimes covering the surface to within an inch of the top, sometimes being only two or three inches wide.

As to the etiquette of men's dress in general, the tale is soon told. The "dress-suit" is worn only at dinner and in the evening. At any hour after six o'clock, a man may with propriety appear anywhere in a dress suit, though it is _required_ only on formal occasions. Before dinner, morning dress is worn--the frock coat, or a business suit with its four-buttoned cut-away. As to the minute details of cut and dimensions, the prevailing style of linen and ties, etc.--very appropriately called "notions"--these things vary from season to season. The well-dressed man will consult his tailor and furnisher. Hats, boots, and gloves, the extremes of every perfect costume, are important exponents of good style; and careful attention to their choice and wearing is essential to complete and effective dressing.

PERSONAL HABITS

Neatness in personal habits is the first mark of good breeding that strikes the observer. Not that a dandy is always a gentleman; but an habitual sloven cannot be. The clothing worn at work may be unavoidably soiled; as also the hands, when occupations involve the handling of dirty substances. But "a little water clears us of this deed; how easy is't then!"

The neatly-dressed hair, the fresh clean skin, the well-kept teeth, the smooth polished nails, the spotless linen and the tasteful tie, the well-brushed clothing and the tidy boots, are all points of good form in personal appearance.

The toilet once made should be considered finished. The hands should not stray to the hair to re-adjust hair-pins--an absent-minded habit. The nervous toying with ear-rings or brooches, or dress buttons, is another mannerism to be guarded against. The hands should learn the grace of repose. It is a great triumph of nervous control for a woman _to hold her hands still_ when they are not definitely employed.

If the attitudes of sitting and standing are practiced under the direction of the teacher of "physical culture," one will probably be innocent of such solecisms as thrusting the feet out to display the shoes; sitting sideways, or cross-legged; or slipping half-way down in the chair; or bending over a book in round-shouldered position; rocking violently; beating a noisy tattoo with impatient toes; or standing on one foot with the body thrown out of line, etc., etc.

Scratching the head or ears, and picking the teeth, are operations that are properly attended to in one's own dressing-room. The conspicuous use of the handkerchief is in bad form. Blowing the nose is not a pleasant demonstration at any time, and at the table is simply unpardonable. A person of fastidious taste will take care of the nose in the quietest and most unobtrusive way, and refrain from disgusting other people of fastidious taste.

"Familiarity breeds contempt." Laying the hand upon another's head or shoulder, clinging to the arms or about the waist, is a freedom that only near relationship or close friendship will excuse. Among slight acquaintances it is an unwarrantable liberty. Even at the impulsive "school-girl age" young ladies should be taught to repel such under-bred familiarities.

SOCIAL CO-OPERATION

Those who accept a social invitation virtually pledge themselves to bear a part in making the entertainment an agreeable success. Whether one's talent lies in conversation, or music, or in the rare gift for _commingling_ and promoting harmonies in a social gathering, he or she should feel bound to make some effort to add to the pleasure of the occasion. Young men who attend private balls should be obliging about dancing, and amiably assist the hostess in finding partners for the shy or unattractive girls, who are liable to be neglected by selfish young people.

_Not_ to make an effort to contribute to the success of the affair is a negative fault, perhaps. But what shall we say of those whose influence is positively adverse?--those who attend a party with curious eyes bent upon picking flaws, and who indulge in jealous depreciation; or who, in a spirit of social rivalry, make a note of "points," with a view to outdoing the hostess in the near future. Such a spirit--and its presence is not easily veiled--is a veritable Achan in the camp; and a few such rude people can poison the atmosphere of an otherwise genial reception. Verily, they have their reward, for the stamp of ill-breeding is set on their querulous _little_ faces.

But, if such spirits contribute nothing to the social fund,--because they have nothing to contribute,--you, who have, must do double duty. And nothing is more needed than tactful conversation.

The oddest criticism that I have ever encountered from a reviewer was the laconic and cynical remark (commenting upon my rather altruistic belief in the duty of giving one's best thought to the conversational circle), that "Nowadays, people don't _talk_: if they have any good ideas, they save them and write them out and _sell them_." The critic implied that, otherwise, in this age of universal scribbling, some plagiarist would appropriate these ideas and hurry them to the magazine market before the original thinker had time to fix the jewel in a setting of his own.

Of course, the little brain thief is common enough; but it had never occurred to me to be so wary. It struck me "with the full force of novelty," that any one should be deterred from speech by such a consideration. I have since wondered whether that particular phase of serpent-wisdom accounts for the non-committal silences with which some well-known wits entertain the social circle, the while a despairing hostess is making the best of such help as a few lively chatterboxes can give her. Not that I ever saw any notably superior talkers struck dumb in this way; Richard Brinsley Sheridan never was, if I recall correctly. Why should _you_ be? If your bright idea is stolen, you can spare it; if you are truly bright, you have many more where that one came from.

But beware of forced brightness. Wit is nothing if not spontaneous. If nature has not endowed you with the instantaneous perception of contrasts and incongruities, out of which flashes the swift conceit called wit, do not imagine you are "dull" or uninteresting. There are other gifts and graces less superficial, far more rare, and ultimately more influential, than wit.

And though you are witty, do not talk nonsense over-much. Remember that it is the "_little_ nonsense now and then" that is "relished by the best of men." It is perilously easy to weary people with the "smart" style of talk. But let your cheerful sense, grave or gay, be as good an offering to your friends as you know how to make. Your next special occasion--for which you might have "saved" all these things--will lose nothing of value. It may rather gain fourfold, by the reflex inspiration that replenishes every unselfish outpouring of the nobler social spirit.

ON THE WING

Travelers have certain rights guaranteed by their regularly-purchased tickets. Within such bounds they are privileged to claim all comforts and immunities.

But the mannerly tourist will claim no more. He will not take up more room than he is entitled to while other passengers are discommoded. Nor will he persist in keeping his particular window open when the draught and the cinders therefrom are troublesome or dangerous to other people.

If travelers carry a lunch-basket, they should discuss its contents quietly, and be careful not to litter the floor with crumbs, or the _debris_ of fruits and nuts, nor to leave any trace of its presence after the luncheon is finished.

If a lady is traveling under the escort of a gentleman, she will give him as little trouble as possible. She will amuse herself by reading, or studying the landscape, leaving him at liberty to choose similar diversions when conversation grows tedious. She will carry few parcels, and if possible will have arranged for some one to meet her at her station, so that her obliging guardian need not be taxed to look after her beyond the railway journey's end. If the gentleman has attended to the purchase of tickets, and the paying of dining-car fees, etc., the lady will repay those expenditures, as a matter of course, thanking him for the trouble that he has taken to give her "safe conduct."

A gentleman thus traveling as escort will attend to all matters of tickets, the checking of baggage, etc.; and will see that the lady is comfortably settled for her journey, with some thoughtful provision in the way of magazines, and possibly a basket of fine fruit. He will see that the porter and the maid (if there is one) are attentive to her comfort, and will not relinquish his charge until he leaves her, either at her final destination, or in the care of some one authorized to relieve him of the responsibility. He will perform all these duties cheerfully, and endeavor to convey the idea that it is a pleasure to him; and this will be better shown in his manner than by any conventional protestations.

There ought not to be such a thing as "hotel manners." But there is; and it suggests certain important injunctions.

Hotel partitions are usually thin, and sounds are penetrating. Private affairs should not be loudly discussed. Tourists should learn to converse in quiet tones, and to make as little "racket" as possible with furniture, boots, etc., and to be polite enough not to keep other guests awake late at night with the noise of music, laughter, or loud talking. The "manners" at table, in the reading-rooms, and about the corridors should conform to whatever law of etiquette in private or public life the incidents may indicate; since, at a hotel, one is both _at_ home and _not_ at home, in two different aspects.