The Project Gutenberg eBook of Manners for Men, by Mrs. Humphry.

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Manners
FOR MEN

BY MRS. HUMPHRY
(“MADGE” OF “TRUTH”)

London
JAMES BOWDEN
10, HENRIETTA STREET
COVENT GARDEN, W.C.
1897

MANNERS FOR MEN.

CONTENTS.

MANNERS FOR MEN.

WOMAN’S IDEAL MAN.

I suppose there was never yet a woman who had not somewhere set up on a pedestal in her brain an ideal of manhood. He is by no means immutable, this paragon. On the contrary, he changes very often.

If, however, the woman whose ideal he is grows upward in every way as she grows older, then these changes all go to improve him, and by the time he is finished he is a very fine creature. He never is finished till the brain of his creator ceases to work, till she has added her last touch to him, and has laid down the burden of life and gone elsewhere, perhaps to some happy land where ideals are more frequently realised than ever happens here.

Like every other woman, I have my ideal of manhood. The difficulty is to describe it. First of all, he must be a gentleman; but that means so much that it, in its turn, requires explanation.{2} Gentleness and moral strength combined must be the salient characteristics of the “gentleman,” together with that polish that is never acquired but in one way: constant association with those so happily placed that they have enjoyed the influences of education and refinement all through their lives. He must be thoughtful for others, kind to women and children and all helpless things, tender-hearted to the old and the poor and the unhappy, but never foolishly weak in giving where gifts do

A man’s brain should be as fine as his heart.

harm instead of good—his brain must be as fine as his heart, in fact. There are few such men; but they do exist. I know one or two. Reliable as rocks, judicious in every action, dependable in trifles as well as the large affairs of life, full of mercy and kindness to others, affectionate and well-loved in their homes, their lives are pure and kindly.

It was once said by a clever man that no one could be a gentleman all round who had not

knocked about the world and associated with all sorts and conditions of men, high and low, rich and poor, good and bad. Experiences like these are like the processes for refining gold. The man who emerges unharmed from the fire of poverty and its associations, and who retains his independent manliness{3} in relations with those high-placed, must have within him a fibre of strength that is the true essence of manliness. So many, alas! go down, down, when “puirtith cauld” touches them with her terrible, chilly finger. And so many become obsequious and subservient, false to themselves, in dealings with those above them.

Well! my ideal does neither. He is always true to himself, and “cannot then be false to any man.” And he must have a sense of humour, too, otherwise he would be far

from perfect. How life is brightened by a sense of fun! Think of what breakfast, lunch, and dinner would be if all were to be as solemn and as serious as some folk would have it!

If good manners are not practised at home, but are allowed to lie by until occasion calls upon their wearer to assume them, they are

sure to be a bad fit when donned. It may be a trifle of the smallest to acquire a habit of saying “if you please” and “thank you” readily, but it is no trifling defect in a young man to fail to do so. If he does not jump up to open the door for his mother or sister, he may omit to do so some day when the neglect will tell against him in the estimation of those to please whom he would gladly give much. Carelessness in dress and personal appearance{4} amount to bad manners. In the home there is sometimes a disagreeable negligence in this respect. At the breakfast-table unkempt hair, untended finger-nails, and a far from immaculate collar are occasionally to be seen, especially on late-comers who do not practise the ingratiating politeness of punctuality. Lounging, untidy habits are another form of bad manners. The ill-bred young man smokes

all over the house, upstairs and downstairs, and even in his mother’s drawing-room. He may be traced from room to room by the litter of newspapers and magazines he leaves behind him. The present fashion of taking one’s reading in pills, so to speak, snatching it in scrappy paragraphs from weekly miscellanies, is but too favourable to this lack of order. In this young man’s own room there is chaos. The maids have endless trouble in clearing up after him. His tobacco is spilled over tables, chairs, and carpets. His handkerchiefs, ties, socks, and collars are lying about in every corner of the room. He is too indolent even to put his boots outside the door at night that they may be cleaned in the morning. To save himself trouble he bangs all the doors instead of gently latching them. And yet, perhaps, if he could but realise that all this is “bad manners,” he would become as neat as he is now the reverse, and would be as decorative{5} at table as he is, at the present moment, unornamental.

It is not only young men whose standard of behaviour in the home is a low one. Masters of the

house, fathers of families, men of middle age, who are terribly put out if any one fails in duty to them, are sometimes conspicuously ill-bred in everyday matters. They are late for every meal, to the discomfort of the other members of the family and the great inconvenience of the servants. Polite to the world outside, they are brusque and disagreeable in their manner at home: rough to the servants, rude to their wives, and irritable with their children. Sometimes a good heart and considerable family affection are hidden away behind all this, but the families of such men would be very glad to compound for a little less affection and hidden goodness and rather more gentleness and outward polish.

Apart from faults of temper, men fall into careless habits of speech and manner at home, and one form of this, viz., habitually using strong language in the presence

of women and children, is particularly offensive. Besides, it defeats itself; for if the forcible expressions are intended to express disapprobation, they soon become weak and powerless to do so, because they are used on every possible occasion.{6} After a time they lose all meaning.

I know a family where there are sons and daughters, the latter charming and in every respect young gentlewomen. But the sons fall far below their level.

They come to the door with thundering knocks that make every one in the house start disagreeably with surprise, walk through the hall without introducing their muddy boots to either scraper or doormat, sit down to meals without the usual preliminary of hand-washing and hair-brushing, and are altogether rough and unpresentable. If friends call at the house these young men rush away from the chance of encountering them; or, if they cannot help meeting them, they blush scarlet, look very gauche and uncomfortable, and feel miserable. They knock things over out of pure awkwardness, and never realise that the secret of the whole matter is the want of self-training.

Girls are animated by a greater wish to please, an amiable desire that need not be confounded with vanity, and this wish has led the sisters of these young men to practise those small acts of daily self-denial which after awhile produce the highest self-culture so far as manners go.

What is habitual neatness but constant coercion of human nature’s innate indolence? What is politeness{7} in the home but the outcome of affection and self-respect, and the suppression of all those natural instincts of self-seeking that, allowed their way, produce the worst manners in the world?

If any young man desires to be a perfect gentleman, he must begin in his own home.

It is delightful to see some young men unobtrusively attentive to their sisters, watchful of every need of their father and mother, cheerful and pleasant in their manner, full of fun and brightness, yet never losing the gentleness that denotes the fine nature, and so beloved in the home for all these endearing qualities, that when they leave it they are sadly missed. The father misses them for the pleasant companionship; the sisters miss them for the boyish spirits and the exuberant fun that never exceeds the bounds of good taste and refinement; and the mother misses them more than any one else, for no one better than she knows how many times a day her boys have set aside their own wishes in deference to hers, quietly, silently, unostentatiously—in a word, out of pure good manners, in the deepest, highest, truest sense of the words.

Such gentle, virile natures look out at the world through the countenance, which is a letter of recommendation to them wherever they go.

I have but faintly sketched my ideal.{8} The following pages may fill in the remaining touches.

Many men who go out into the world while still very young to earn their living have few opportunities of acquiring a knowledge of social observances.

Leaving home when boys, at an age when they are utterly careless of such things as etiquette and the “nice conduct of a cane,” they live in lodgings or at boarding-houses of the cheaper sort, where the amenities of existence have to yield to its practicalities.

“Where amenities yield to practicalities.”

Meals are served in a fashion that means despatch rather than elegance, economy rather than taste, and very few hints can be picked up for the guidance of young fellows when they enter the homes of friends and acquaintances.

Their anxiety to fall in accurately and easily with the observances of those they meet on such occasions is as great as it is natural. They know well that to fail in these trifling acts of omission and commission is tacitly to acknowledge that they are unversed in the ways of good society.

There is not necessarily any snobbishness in this. A man may be perfectly manly and yet most unwilling to show himself inferior in any way to others of the class to which he belongs by birth and education. Even should{9} those with whom he occasionally associates be his superiors, is he not right to try to rise?

Culture may mean little or nothing to the uncultured. Polish may be an empty word to the unpolished. But they are realities, and go far to produce an inward and corresponding refinement of mind and spirit.

There are thousands of young men in London alone at this very moment who are longing to acquire the ease and aplomb of good society.

The desire is worthy of all encouragement. Only those with real good in them can feel it. The men who are destitute of it are those who associate with their inferiors, contentedly accept a low moral standard, adopt a mode of speech and action that is coarse and rough, and finally let themselves down to the frequenting of public-houses and places of amusement, where the entertainment has been carefully planned to suit the uneducated, the low-born, and others whose vitiated taste leads them to dislike what is lovely and of good report, and to revel in the reverse.

But, unfortunately, many a good fellow has been driven to seek companionship with those beneath him by the very difficulty he experiences in getting on in society.

He fancies that his small solecisms are the subject of{10} observation and comment, and he suffers agonies of mauvaise honte.

Girls often laugh very unkindly at shy youths, when they might find opportunities of acting the good angel to them, and by the exercise of tact screening from observation those failures in good manners which are inevitable to the inexperienced. When he finds himself the butt of a few giggling girls, a young man feels miserably uncomfortable and humiliated, and he vows to himself that he will never again put himself in the way of such annoyance. Consequently he cuts good society, not realising that he would very soon overcome these initial difficulties and feel at home in it.

He must find amusement somewhere. It is only natural to youth to crave it. At first his taste is jarred by those inferior to him, and his fastidiousness offended by their manners.

“We first endure, then pity, then embrace.”

But, such is the fatal adaptability of human nature to what is bad for it, he soon becomes accustomed to all that he at first objected to, and even forgets that he had ever found anything disagreeable in it. After a few months his speech begins to assimilate the errors of those about him in his leisure hours. He uses the very expressions that jarred upon him at first. His dress and carriage deteriorate, and he is well on his way{11} downhill in life long before he realises that he has quitted his own level, probably for ever.

And if only he had held his own at a few gatherings, and acquired experience, even at the cost of a little present pain and mortification, he would in the same interval of time be enjoying society, educating himself in its customs, and acquiring that exterior polish which comes of intimate acquaintance with its rules and ease in practising them.

Should this little manual of manners be of use to any such in enabling them to master the theory, as it were, of social customs in the educated classes, it will have attained its aim.

I have always felt the greatest compassion for young men when first introduced, after school and college life, to the routine of dinner, dance, and ball.

I have not forgotten the days when shyness made my own heart sink at the prospect of a dinner-party and when the hardest task on earth was the finding of nothings to say to a partner at a ball. It is a miserable feeling of confusion and gaucherie, and if I can in any way avert it from others it will be a source of great gratification to me.{12}

IN THE STREET.

The rule of the road is a simple one, though it is often forgotten or neglected—“Keep to the right.”

Easy enough for women, it is complicated in the case of men by the necessity of always remaining on the kerb side of any lady they may be accompanying. Should the lady keep to the right in meeting or in passing other persons, her escort may either keep by her or go out in the road. He will be able to judge for himself which course will be advisable.

His first duty is always to his companion, but that need not make him wanting in courtesy to other women. If remaining by the side of his companion should involve any inconvenience to the ladies of the other party, then he must give up his position, and go out into the roadway to let the latter pass. Should these be men, no consideration is necessary. He keeps close by his lady’s side.

In crowded streets he may often have to fall behind, but he should never allow any one to interpose{13} between her and him. Should the pressure from the crowd become extreme, his duty is to protect her from it as much as possible, but never by putting his arm round her waist. A hand on either side the lady’s shoulders is usually sufficient.

In meeting acquaintances a nod is sufficient for a male friend, unless his age or position is such as to render it advisable to raise the hat. Should a lady be with the acquaintance, any man meeting them must raise his hat. So must the individual walking with the lady. The etiquette of bowing is a simple one.

The right of acknowledgment rests with the lady.

Male acquaintances always wait for acknowledgement on the part of female, as well as from those men who are their superiors in age or position. But this does not mean that they are shyly to look away from them and to ignore them. On the contrary, they must show clearly by their manner that they are on the look-out for some sign of recognition and are ready to reply to it.

Shyness often interferes with this and makes a young man look away, and this is occasionally misconstrued as indifference and resented as such. The calm, quiet, collected expression of face that suits the occasion is not achieved at once. Sometimes the over-anxiety to make a good impression defeats itself, producing a{14} blushing eagerness better suited to a girlish than a manly countenance. This, however, is a youthful fault that is not without its ingratiating side, though young men view it in themselves and in each other with unbounded scorn.

This sentiment of self-contempt is a frequent one in young people of both sexes. Their valuation of themselves varies as much as the barometer, and is as much affected by outward causes. After a “snub,” real or fancied, it goes down to zero, but as a rule it speedily recovers itself, and in most young men enjoys an agreeable thermometer of 85° or so in the shade!

The well-mannered man never puts out his hand in greeting until a lady extends hers.

This is a test of good breeding that is constantly applied. To those uninitiated in the ways of society, it would naturally appear the right thing to give as cordial a greeting as possible. Therefore the hand is held out, even on introduction to a perfect stranger. This is wrong. The first move in the direction of cordiality must come from the lady, the whole code of behaviour being based on the assumption that she is the social superior. The same holds good with elders and men of higher rank. When a man is introduced to these he raises his hat and bows, though slightly. It is only to kings and princes that a low bow is{15} made, or to those whose character and eminent position render an introduction to them a very high honour.

In introducing two men to each other the name of the inferior is mentioned first. By the inferior I mean the younger, the less important, or of lower rank. Suppose one of the two to be a familiar friend, and another a comparatively new acquaintance, then formality requires that the familiar friend shall be introduced to the other, being named first. The reason for this is that one naturally stands more on ceremony with the man one knows least. There may be counteracting circumstances, however, which would tend to reverse this order of things, but as a general rule, the social rank of both being equal, the above holds good.

Never introduce a lady to a gentleman; but always the gentleman to the lady. That is, mention the man’s name first, addressing yourself to the woman—thus: “Allow me to introduce my friend Mr. Smith, Miss Jones.” And follow this up immediately by saying, “Miss Jones,” addressing Mr. Smith as you do so. It is a grave solecism to begin by introducing the lady. Tyros very naturally conclude that the lady’s name should be first mentioned; but on thinking it over they will soon perceive that to do so would infer that she is the lesser consideration of the two.{16}

It must always be borne in mind that the assumption of woman’s social superiority lies at the root of these rules of conduct.

Nor must this permission be asked in the hearing of the second party. If Mr. A. wishes to know Miss B., the lady’s leave must be obtained before he can be presented to her. The only exception to this rule is at a dance or ball, where introductions need not be regarded as leading to acquaintanceship. They are only for the dance, and may be ignored next day.

Here, again, it is the lady’s privilege to ignore her partner, if she choose. But if she should bow to him he must raise his hat, whether he desires to follow up the acquaintanceship or not. Objections more frequently arise on the woman’s side; but should a man prefer to drop the matter he can manage to convey in his manner a disinclination to do so, and yet behave with perfect politeness. A man I knew was once introduced at a ball to a girl, with whom he had danced two or three times. Before he met her again he heard that she had been actively concerned in circulating a slander about another girl whom circumstances had misrepresented. I{17} happened to see the next meeting between the two.

The girl bowed, smiled, and showed some sign of an intention to stop and talk. The man raised his hat, looked extremely solemn and unsociable, and passed on. It was enough. The girl understood that he did not wish to resume the ball-room acquaintanceship, and very probably guessed why. He did it beautifully.

Before leaving the subject of the promenade, I must clearly explain that the hat must be raised even in saluting a very familiar friend, if (a) that friend is accompanied by a lady, and (b) when one is oneself accompanied by a lady, even if she be only a mother or sister. It is one of the signs of caste that a man is equally polite to his relatives as he is to the relatives of others.

We all know what to think of a man who omits small social duties where his wife is concerned. Even when he proves by paying them duly to other women that he is aware of what he ought to do, he is at once set down as ill-bred—a “cad,” in fact.

I once saw a Lord Mayor of London enter his carriage before his wife, who scrambled in after him as though well accustomed to do so. One does not expect the refinement of good manners from{18} civic dignitaries, as a rule, but this little action told the spectators more about the man than they would ever have found out in the newspapers. They at once perceived that he was unversed in the ways of good society.

But some one may suggest that this may have been on some state occasion, when his mayoral dignity obliged him to precede his wife.

No. It was after a wedding. And besides, can any one fancy the Prince of Wales in any circumstances entering his carriage without having previously handed in the Princess, should she be his companion?

If accompanied by a dog, or dogs, their owner must hold himself responsible for their good behaviour. If his pets trespass in any way he must apologise for them, and do his best to repair any damage they have done. Should one of his dogs jump on a lady and make her gown muddy, he must offer his services and endeavour to get rid of the traces of the accident, if the lady wishes. Should she show a disinclination to accept his aid, he must at once withdraw, raising his hat as he does so. Should his dog attack another dog he must immediately call him off, administer correction, and apologise to the owner of the dog assaulted. I saw a young man once, in these circumstances,{19} beat the other dog, after his own had jumped on it and bitten its ear! He was dressed like a gentleman, but his behaviour gave a truer indication of him than did his garments.

Whistling and singing are incompatible with the conduct of a gentleman in the street, though this by no means applies to a quiet country road, where ceremonious bearing is not required.

Nor is it permitted to wear the hands in the pockets when walking in the Park, or the streets of a town or city. This is probably one of the reasons that the cane or stick is still carried, though the original cause, that of self-defence in an age that was destitute of law and order, fortunately exists no longer. There are men who would not know what to do with their hands if they had not a cane or umbrella.

This is partly the fault of those who have charge of boys when they are growing and who allow them to lounge about in slovenly attitudes with their hands for ever in their pockets. Then when they begin to enter society they are quite at a loss.

At schools where boys are regularly drilled the whole effect of the drilling is done away with by the way in which the boys are allowed to sit and stand in the most remarkable attitudes of slouching awkwardness.{20} It is only when they are at drill or out walking with the masters that any notice is taken of their carriage. And yet it is an important point with regard to health that the shoulders should be held well back, the chest forward, and the head up.

Should a man be so fortunate as to be of some service to any lady in the street, such as picking up a parcel or sunshade she may have dropped, or helping her out of any small difficulty, he must raise his hat and withdraw at once. Such trifling acts as these do not by any means constitute an acquaintanceship, and to remain by her side when the incident is over would look like presuming on what he had done, as though it gave him a right to her continued acknowledgments. This would be ungentlemanly.

At the same time, these occurrences are sometimes deliberately planned by girls and women with a direct view to scraping acquaintance with young men.

It is scarcely necessary to say that girls who stoop to this kind of manœuvring are hardly ever gentlewomen. Members of good families have been known to do such things in the wild exuberance of youth and high spirits, but they cannot hope to retain the respect of those who know them when they deliberately lower themselves in{21} such ways as these.

Picking up promiscuous male acquaintances is a practice fraught with danger. It cannot be denied that girls of the lower middle classes are often prone to it; and there are thousands of young men who have no feminine belongings in the great towns and cities where they live, and who are found responsive to this indiscriminating mode of making acquaintances.

But they must often hesitate before choosing as wife a girl who shows so little discretion as to walk and talk with young men of whom she knows nothing beyond what they choose to tell her.

The seaside season is prolific in these chance acquaintanceships—“flirtations,” as they may perhaps be called. Bicycling is well known to favour them. But as they are far removed from the practices of the class of society to which belong those gentlemen of whom this little book treats, they may be dismissed with a few words of advice. Should any young man become acquainted with a girl in this manner, let him show his innate chivalry by treating her in every way as he would wish his own sister to be treated in similar circumstances.

If he becomes attached to her, let him first find out all about her that he possibly{22} can, and should what he hears be encouraging, then let him ask her to introduce him to her family as a suitor for her hand. Should the girl fall in love with him, let him protect her against herself like a preux chevalier, like an honourable and high-minded English gentleman.

If he feels that he cannot reciprocate her sentiment, he should give up seeing her. Should she, as some girls of the kind have been known to do, pursue him with letters making appointments, she makes his task of renunciation a difficult one, but he should fulfil it nevertheless.

It is difficult in this way. Suppose a girl writes to a young man: “Meet me at the tea-rooms, No. 440, Bond Street, to-morrow afternoon.” There is no chance of replying in time to prevent her going there, and to absent himself would be to administer a severe snub to a girl whom he likes very well, and who has flattered his self-love in many ways during their acquaintanceship. What can he do?

It is a point that he must decide for himself, taking all the circumstances into consideration, and not forgetting to regard her ultimate welfare in the matter at least as much as his own actual wishes.

This may seem to some young men a very “high-falutin’” view to take of such a small matter as meeting a young woman and having tea together. Most{23} of them, finding that a girl was growing fond of them, would encourage the feeling by every means in their power, regardless of whether it could ever end in marriage, and careless of everything beyond the gratification of their own vanity.

But there are bright exceptions to these who do not allow themselves to be carried away by the flattery implied in a girl’s attentions, and who can consider her welfare in selfless fashion. Sometimes fastidious taste comes to their aid and makes withdrawal from an interesting companionship comparatively easy.

For, after all, the manly young man has a prejudice in favour of doing his own wooing!

It is not at all necessary that a man should accept invitations from a girl to meet her at restaurants, subscription dances, bazaars, or any other place. If a girl so far forgets herself, and is so lacking in modesty and propriety as to make appointments with young men in such ways as these, she cannot be worth much, and may lead the young man into a very serious scrape. A public horse-whipping is an extremely disagreeable thing, and yet cases have been known when such have been administered by irate brothers or fathers, when the only fault committed by the young man had been to obey{24} the commands of a forward and bold young woman—one of the sort to whom Hamlet would have said, “Get thee to a nunnery.”

Such invitations are better ignored, though it is difficult for the average young man to resist the temptation of being courted and flattered, and of seeking the society of girls who administer these pleasant attentions. But if their standard is a high one, they would say to themselves: “What should I like another fellow to do, supposing the girl were my sister?” (Almost always he mentally adds, “God forbid!”) This clears up the question for him at once. If he is high-minded and honourable he keeps away. If he is unscrupulous and self-indulgent he meets the girl and lets the acquaintanceship drift on to dangerous ground.

Such girls as these can never tell if a man whose past and present and surrounding circumstances are unknown to her is a scoundrel or otherwise. Fortunately, the code of manners obtaining amongst the educated and well-brought-up forbids all such indiscriminate acquaintance-making.

Girls who stoop to it are usually those who have failed to secure attention in their own circle, and belong, as a rule, to the sort of girl who marries a groom or{25} runs away with a good-looking footman.

A young man once asked me if it would be etiquette to offer an unknown lady an umbrella in the street, supposing she stood in need of one. I replied: “No lady would accept the offer from a stranger, and the other sort of person might never return the umbrella.” In large towns women of breeding soon learn to view casual attentions from well-dressed men with the deepest distrust. They would suffer any amount of inconvenience rather than accept a favour from a stranger, knowing that so many men make it their amusement to prowl about the streets, looking after pretty faces and graceful figures, and forcing their attentions on the owners.

Contemptible curs they are, whether young or old, and they are of all ages. Very young girls have sometimes extremely unpleasant experiences with such men, not only in the streets but in omnibuses, trams, and trains. Cultivating a gentlemanly exterior, they can yet never be gentlemen, and a good, pure woman finds something hateful in the look of their eyes, the whole expression of their faces.

It cannot be denied, however, that there is a corresponding class of women and girls who make promiscuous male acquaintances in the{26} streets, and the young man learns to distinguish these from respectable members of the community almost as soon as the young girl learns to dread and fear the prowling man.

Offers of service from strangers not therefore allowable.

The existence of such a state of things makes self-respecting women most careful to accept no advances from a stranger, and the true gentleman, understanding this, refrains from offers of assistance that he would gladly make were society so constituted as to be free from such pests as the above.

In passing ladies on the promenade, in the street or Park, if a man chance to be smoking, he always takes his cigar from his mouth, replacing it when the lady or ladies have passed on. In the crowded streets of great cities this, if carried out in full entirety, would be too much. Therefore it is observed only with reference to such ladies as pass the smoker quite closely. “I know he is a gentleman,” said a girl once of a good-looking young fellow whose appearance had pleased her—“I know he is a gentleman, for he stopped smoking directly he saw us.” It is in the observance of little things of this kind that one shows clearly one’s breeding or lack of it.

When a young man is walking with a lady, and happens to meet another lady with whom he is on more intimate terms than with his companion, he must{27} ask pardon of the latter if he should stop to speak.

Meeting a more intimate acquaintance when with a lady.

“Excuse me for one moment,” he would say, and his companion, if a gentlewoman, would walk some yards on, and then slowly stroll along until he joined her again. The strict rule is that when walking with a lady a man should never leave her side.

Suppose a young man were to meet his mother or sister while he was in the company of a lady unknown to them, he must not introduce her to them or them to her without having previously obtained special permission on both sides. There are young men who make acquaintance with girls in a lower walk of life than their own. It would be an insult to mother or sister to introduce a milliner’s apprentice or an assistant in a shop, or, in fact, any one whom he had picked up without a regular introduction.

No respectable young woman would walk with or talk with any man to whom she had not had a proper introduction. The inference is that those who do so are not respectable, and must not, therefore, be introduced to those who are.

The old rule was that when a gentleman stopped to speak to a lady in the street he walked a little way with her in the direction in which she{28} had been going.

But now this is less observed than it used to be. The lady herself, if she wishes the conversation to be a short one, stops at once, knowing that it will be easier for a man to terminate it in these circumstances than if he were sauntering by her side.{29}

IN A CARRIAGE.

In handing ladies to their carriage a man offers his right arm to the senior of the party and walks with her to the door, opening it with his left hand. The others will probably follow without escort, but if not, he must offer it to each in turn, holding an umbrella over them should it be raining. He closes the door and conveys their orders to the footman or coachman.

Should he be invited to enter the carriage with them, he always takes the back seat—that is, with his back to the horses—unless specially invited to the front one. He must not either raise or lower the windows unless requested to do so.

Should he be smoking, he throws away his cigar or cigarette at once. If he should be a very intimate acquaintance of the lady, he may ask her permission to smoke, but never otherwise, since it is disagreeable for a woman to refuse such permission, and consequently she often gives it when she really dislikes the smell of tobacco,{30} especially in the limited space of a carriage, should it be a closed one.

It may be as well to mention here that the proper pronunciation of the word “brougham” is as though it were spelled “broom,” quite short and monosyllabic. This is a trifle, of course, but, like many another equally small matter, it is indicative of those accustomed to good society.{31}

IN A HANSOM.

In handing a lady into a hansom care must be taken to protect her dress from the muddy wheel. The gentleman asks if she would like the glasses down, and conveys her instructions to the driver, then raises his hat as she drives away.

Should he be accompanying her in the hansom, she seats herself at the nearest side to the pavement, so that when he enters he will not have to go round a corner, as it were. In this case he gives the cabman instructions across the roof of the cab, and if his companion wishes the glasses to be lowered, he asks for them through the trap-door at the top of the cab. He must never smoke when the glasses are let down—to do so would render the atmosphere unbearable to almost any woman. But if he knows his partner in the drive sufficiently well, he can ask permission to smoke, should the glasses not be required.{32}

SMOKING.

The etiquette in this, as in many other matters, has quite altered during the last few years. At one time it was considered a sign of infamously bad taste to smoke in the presence of women in any circumstances. But it is now no longer so.

So many women smoke themselves, that in some houses even the drawing-room is thrown open to Princess Nicotine.

The example of the Prince of Wales has been largely instrumental in sweeping away the old restrictions. He smokes almost incessantly. On one occasion, at the Ranelagh Club, I noticed that he consumed four cigars in rapid succession, almost without five minutes’ interval between them. The only time that he left off smoking, during the three hours that he remained in the Pavilion with the Princess and other ladies, was for ten minutes when tea was handed round.

It is now no uncommon thing to see a man in evening dress smoking in a brougham with a lady on their way to opera, theatre, or dinner engagement. This is going rather far, for a woman’s evening dress implies shut{33} windows, except in the height of summer, and her garments become as much impregnated with the odour of tobacco as if she had herself been smoking.

Some men have a knack of ridding their clothes and themselves of the fumes of smoke in a wonderful way. Perhaps one reason of this is that the tobacco they use is of a mild sort.

Perhaps the diligent use of the clothes-brush is another. But there are also men round whom cling the odours of stale tobacco with a very disagreeable constancy. Why it should be so I cannot pretend to say. It must be due to carelessness of some kind, and carelessness in such matters amounts to bad manners. Even to men who smoke—and much more to those who do not—the smell of stale tobacco is revolting. Fancy, then, how it must offend the olfactory nerves of women. Such men suggest the stableyard while they are yet several yards away!

Personal cleanliness a hall-mark of the English gentleman.

A very delicate, even exquisite, personal cleanliness is characteristic of the true gentleman, and more particularly the English gentleman, who is noted all the world over for his devotion to his “tub” and his immaculate propriety in all matters of the toilette. This is not claiming too much for my countrymen.{34} It is acknowledged by other nations that ours is superior in this respect. Once, indeed, I heard a curious inversion of this. At a foreign hotel one waiter said to the other in their mutual language: “What dirty fellows these English must be to want such a lot of washing! I’ve carried up four cans of water to No. 47 this morning!”

Sauntering up the street of a small German town one day, two English ladies saw, a couple of hundred yards away, a party of men standing admiring an ancient gateway.

“They must be English,” said one of the ladies; and before she could finish her sentence the other finished it for her in the very words she had been about to utter: “They are so beautifully clean!”

This characteristic is carried to an extreme in the close clipping of the hair; but as fashion ordains that it must be worn very short, its behests must be obeyed by all who wish to be in society and of it.

“Who is that long-haired fellow?” is the question invariably asked about any man whose visits to the barber are infrequent. “Must be an artist or a music man,” is the frequent commentary. Sometimes he is merely careless of conventionalities, and by being so proves that he is rather “out of it” where good society is concerned. The rule appears{35} to be that directly a man finds that he has any hair worth brushing, he must immediately go and have it cut. It would be much more becoming if allowed to grow a little longer, but things being as they are, only the few can afford to defy the ordinary custom.{36}

IN OR ON AN OMNIBUS.

The humble omnibus may be thought by some readers too democratic a kind of conveyance to be considered in a book on Manners. Not at all! There are several reasons why it should have a place in such a volume.

The first is, that during the last ten years or so the omnibus has been largely used by women of the educated, cultured, and well-dressed classes. Another and stronger reason is that no considerations of the kind should affect a man’s manners. If he can behave like a gentleman in a carriage, he is almost certain to do so in an omnibus, and vice versâ. It is even more difficult in the humbler vehicle. In a carriage one is seldom crowded up to the degree that often occurs in the plebeian “’bus.” In fact, there are far more opportunities for the display of good manners in the latter than in the former. Many of them are of a negative character.

True courtesy, for instance, will prevent a man from infringing the rights of his neighbours on either side by occupying more than his{37} own allotted space.

Very stout men are obliged to do so, but at least they need not spread out their knees in a way that is calculated to aggravate the evil. Nor need they arrange themselves in a comfortable oblique position, with the result of enhancing the inconvenience they must necessarily cause to those near them. Even a thin man can take up a quantity of room by thus disposing himself at an angle of forty-five with the other occupants of an omnibus.

The morning paper may be converted into an offensive weapon in the hands of the rude and careless, who open it out to its fullest width, regardless of the comfort of those sitting next them.

Newspapers are rather unwieldy things to turn and twist about in a limited space, but this very circumstance affords a man an opportunity of displaying his skill in manipulating the large, wide sheets, without dashing them in the face of his nearest neighbour, or knocking up against anybody in a series of awkward movements that a little care could easily convert into leisurely, graceful ones.

There is another way in which men are apt to be careless, and that is in the disposal of a wet umbrella. Women are even more so, but these remarks are intended particularly for men, and beyond acknowledging that members{38} of my own sex are equal sinners, I must leave them out of the question. When any one takes a dripping umbrella into an omnibus, he must charge himself with the task of seeing that it annoys no one but himself. If he can, at the same time, protect himself, well and good; but he must be altruistic in the matter and care for others first; the alternative being to prove himself lacking in one form of good manners. He must not even let his wet umbrella lean up against a vacant part of the cushioned seat, rendering it damp for the next comer.

His social conscience cannot be up to its work if he permits himself to ignore the right of the absent to consideration, merely because they are absent.

Allowing umbrellas and sticks to protrude so as to trip up unwary passengers is another thing to be avoided.

Carrying a stick or umbrella under the arm with the ferule protruding at the back and threatening the eyes of those who walk behind, is always a reprehensible practice, and one that is fraught with danger, and it is perhaps more than ever dangerous when the proprietor is ascending or descending the steps of an omnibus. At such moments passengers are liable to sudden checks from various causes, and the resultant backward jerk can be quite annoying enough to those behind{39} without the aggravation of a pointed stick assaulting them. I have seen a girl’s hat torn off her head in this way, its numerous securing pins making havoc in her coiffure and eliciting lively expressions of pain.

It might appear hardly necessary to advocate care in walking up past other passengers inside an omnibus, for fear of treading on their feet, and to recommend a word of apology in case of any such transgression. But there have been cases which point to the desirability of a word of advice on such points.

The ready apology covers a multitude of social sins. From some men it comes with an expression of such earnest solicitude that, anxious to reassure them, one quite willingly makes light of the damage done.

In escorting a lady a man hands her into the omnibus before entering it himself; and if she prefers the top, he lets her mount the staircase in front of him. There seems to be an idea in the lowly classes that it is correct to precede a lady in ascending steps or stairs. This is not in accordance with the practice of good society. If circumstances do not admit of the two walking abreast, then the lady goes first, both in ascending and descending any stairs.

It is by no means necessary that any{40} man should resign his seat in or on an omnibus simply because a woman wishes for it.

The conductor has no right to ask “if any gentleman will go outside to oblige a lady”; and no gentlewoman would allow him to ask such a favour on her behalf. The inside passengers have selected inside seats, thereby testifying to their preference for them, and they should be allowed to retain them without interference.

I have seen a delicate-looking boy, racked with a hacking cough, induced to ride outside on a cold and rainy night in order that a fat, rosy, healthy woman might have his inside seat. I felt all the more indignant on his behalf because the woman never even thanked him. It was no business of mine, but I was rejoiced to hear a man’s voice mutter in the darkness, “She looks better able to face it than that pale-faced lad.” But the woman wore a smug, well-pleased air, little knowing that her fellow-passengers were almost all regarding her with a feeling of dislike.

I repeat that no lady, in the highest sense of the term, would ever permit the conductor of an omnibus to ask such a favour for her. She would not ask it for herself; unlike a woman whom I saw, one day, mount on the step of an omnibus and inquire of the{41} “insides,” “Won’t any genelman ride outside to oblige a lydy?” the “lydy” being herself.

It can never be out of place for a man to give up his seat in favour of the old and infirm, or for a woman with a baby in her arms.

But such matters as these belong to a region of heart and mind beyond mere manners, and it is useless to suggest any line of action on such subjects. The impulse must come from within.

There have been women so unreasonable as to complain of men smoking on the top of an omnibus. Could anything be more illogical? First, they invade the seats that have been claimed by man as his right (though perhaps unjustly) for many long years, and then they feel annoyed because he smokes in their presence. Or, to speak accurately, they are petulant because his tobacco is often rank, strong, and consequently evil-smelling.

But no man need feel it necessary to put out his pipe or throw away his cigar in these circumstances. Should he find himself so placed that the wind blows his smoke in the face of a woman, he may propose to change seats with her, in order that she may be spared the inconvenience. But no woman could rationally expect him to do more.{42}

ON HORSEBACK.

A great change has taken place during the last few years in the character of riding costume for the Park. The subject may scarcely be a suitable one for a little book intended for those unaccustomed to the usages of the society of the wealthy. But there are almost always exceptional cases in which such information may be found of use.

Only quite old-fashioned people ride in black coats, the usual gear consisting of knickerbocker suits with Norfolk, or other country jacket, brown tops and bowler hats. It must be admitted that this is a distinct gain in picturesqueness. Straw hats are often seen on riders in the Park, but these have not quite so good an effect. The old formalities in dress are rapidly disappearing.

The scope and limitations of the tweed suit.

A man may ride in town in a tweed suit, which once would have been considered highly heterodox. He may even walk about London in the height of the season in a tweed suit, but it is not considered correct for him to join his friends in the Park{43} without reverting to the black coat and high hat. Many an old statesman is still to be seen in the Park riding in frock-coat and tall hat, just as John Leech depicted the men of his day.

There are certain rules of etiquette connected with riding on horseback, which no one can afford to ignore. It is extremely ill-mannered to gallop noisily past a mounted lady, the risk being of startling her horse and inconveniencing her, if not subjecting her to an accident.

The rule of the road for equestrians is to keep to the left, exactly the opposite to that for pedestrians. In passing others in front a detour is made to the right; in meeting other riders or wheel traffic of any sort the rider keeps close to the left. In accompanying a lady the gentleman keeps on her right hand, whether in town or on country roads.

At a meet of hounds, where ladies in carriages often assemble, it is not polite to keep too near them if mounted on a fidgety horse. When the hounds throw off, the inexperienced in such matters has a disagreeable way of getting in front in his eagerness, and sometimes overriding the hounds.

This, in the eyes of the huntsman, is not a fault; it is a crime of the blackest dye. If commissioned to take charge of a lady in the hunting-field a man{44} must sacrifice his sporting instincts to a certain extent in order to see her safe over her fences, giving her a lead, or following her lead as circumstances may dictate. His desire to be in at the death may be as great as hers, but he must not indulge it at the expense of his politeness.

If he should perceive that she is really uncomfortable about keeping him back he may possibly yield to her persuasion, but in the case of any accident happening to her he would be certainly called to account by those who had placed her in his charge.

One of the mistakes made by novices in the hunting-field is that of getting themselves up in “pink,” though they may not be a member of any hunt. This is more particularly the case when the packs are near town. Good West End tailors would never allow their clients to make such mistakes as these.

They are the best authorities on all the minutiæ of country riding costume, and it is well for the customer to put himself unreservedly in the hands of the long-experienced in such matters. Of course this means high charges. Experience and skill are commercial commodities, just as much as fine cloth and silk linings,{45} but if a man can afford to go a-hunting he ought to be able to afford the advice of a good tailor.

In mounting a lady on horseback the gentleman takes her left foot in his right hand, and when she springs he helps her in this manner to reach the saddle, afterwards adjusting her left foot in the stirrup and arranging her habit for her.{46}

DRIVING

The same rule of the road applies to driving as to riding. In the crowded traffic of large towns and cities it would be difficult, if not impossible, to observe the good old rule of courtesy that prohibits the driver of any private carriage from overtaking and passing that of a friend or neighbour on the road. The members of the Four-in-Hand and Coaching Clubs still observe it, and seldom pass each other without an apologetic wave of the hand or raising of the hat.

A gentleman driving a mail phaeton in the Park with a lady by his side must, of course, acknowledge all salutes by raising his hat, if he is sufficiently expert to admit of his doing so without risk. It is not every one who can emulate the Prince of Wales, who, when driving a coach, can take a cigar from his lips and raise his hat with the whip-hand, the reins, of course, being in the left. It is not unusual, nowadays, to see a man driven by a lady.

In such a case he must be on the alert to afford her every {47}assistance in his power. In handing a lady up to her place on a coach some expertness is required, especially where the usual short ladder is not available, and she has to mount first on the wheel and then on to the coach itself.

The box-seat of a coach to the left of the driver is considered the place of honour, and the lady invited to occupy it is very appreciative, as a rule, of this mark of attention. It is scarcely necessary to remark that a man must be as careful about the invitations for a drive on his four-in-hand as he would be in other circumstances. A lady would resent being asked to meet any one unsuitable in a drive, even though the latter may be relegated to a back seat.

Sometimes ladies are very anxious to take the reins and drive themselves, a circumstance which has often occasioned agonies of nervousness to other women on the coach. It is quite possible to refuse such a request in a polite and gentlemanly way, partly by seeming to ignore it or laughing it off. It is not a bad plan when some such request is supposed to be imminent to bind oneself beforehand by a promise to one of the timid ladies. This promise can be produced with great effect when occasion arises.

A man usually dismounts when calling for a lady to take her for a ride,{48} if she is to be mounted. Sometimes, however, this rule is remitted, as in the case of a restive and very fresh animal; the groom then assists the lady to mount. The driver of a four-in-hand very seldom dismounts in such circumstances, though, of course, there are exceptions to this as to almost all other rules.

It used to be considered bad manners to smoke when driving with a lady. This is now quite antediluvian, so to speak. Permission must, of course, always be asked of the lady. It is scarcely ever refused, and it is almost an exceptional thing to see a man driving without a cigar between his teeth.

Should the lady driven meet some acquaintances unknown to her charioteer, and wish to stop and converse with them, he raises his hat and awaits her pleasure. She will probably introduce him, but if not he takes no part in the conversation. The only thing he can do is to remain passive, but unless the lady feels justified in introducing him it is an error of taste on her part to enter into conversation with her friends.

Some ladies have a great disinclination to mount a four-in-hand or mail phaeton until the driver is seated with the reins in his hand and in full command of the horses. There is nothing surprising in this, for, after all, the groom who stands at the head of{49} the horses before the start has very little control over them, and one or two disagreeable accidents have occurred in this way, the horses taking fright and escaping from his grasp. Consequently it would be no breach of good manners for the gentleman driving to take his seat and thus reassure his nervous companion.{50}

GAMES AND RECREATIONS.

A man who can play a good game of chess, or even an excellent rubber of whist, must be aware that the acquirement involves an education in itself. Neither is ever likely to become unpopular among the best classes of society. Chess and whist clubs increase in number as time goes on; but for the purposes of everyday life less exigent games are found more useful.

Billiards, backgammon, poker, bézique, baccarat, écarté, draughts, vingt-et-un, and loo may be mentioned among the minor accomplishments with which the modern young man finds it convenient to be equipped. That a bad use has been made of some of these by converting them into media for gambling is not to be denied. At the same time there is no reason why those who play them in moderation should refrain from doing so because others abuse rather than use these means of recreation.

A round game affords a very innocent mode of spending an enjoyable evening, and country-house life especially is often{51} enlivened in this way.

Home life, whether in town or country, is apt to become monotonous, particularly for the young members of the family, if there is not occasionally an amusing game got up to pass away the evening hours, and anything that adds to the attractions of home must at least have one excellent recommendation.

Apart from other considerations, the demeanour of a young man when playing cards affords a very good test of his manners. Some of them appear to think that the only fun to be had out of the game lies in cheating—very open and transparent cheating, to be sure—but still sufficient to spoil the amusement of others. A curious development of money greed is sometimes observable in players, who will show extreme exasperation at the loss of so simple a coin as a penny.

There are many fairly good-tempered men (and women) who evince extreme irritability over games of any kind. To play with such as these is very disagreeable, and the tendency to irascibility should be firmly checked by those who wish to be popular in society.

The host or hostess always takes the lead in these games, or else deputes some one else to do so. It is a sign{52} of ill-breeding when any outsider assumes the command of a game without having been asked to do so.

An outsider may not take the lead unsolicited.

Unfortunately, gambling games are very popular at some houses, and it is possible for a young man, being unaware of the fact, to be drawn in and lose more than he can afford before he can politely extricate himself.

In such circumstances the only thing he can do is religiously to avoid any such house in future. It is a matter of notoriety that there are men who make good incomes by fleecing the young and inexperienced whom they invite to their houses under the guise of friendship; but even when there is no deliberate dishonesty in question, as in these cases, the host or hostess, out of pure love of gambling, draws in the guests to play for high sums.

Unpardonable, it is true, but such things have to be reckoned with, and avoided, if possible. The matter is not confined to London; country-house life has much to answer for under the same heading.{53}

RULE OF THE ROAD ON THE RIVER.

There is a rule of the road for the river, and those who boat on the Thames on crowded days fervently wish that it were better understood. There does not appear to be any means of acquiring the necessary information. If such means exist they have never come under my notice, and, for at least one summer, I spent many hours daily in that agreeable form of exercise.

Boats coming down with the tide keep the middle of the river; those going against it hug the shore on either side, but in passing other boats coming in the same direction they must go out in a semicircle, leaving the front boat the shore. Tow-boats are always given this advantage.

In meeting other boats coming downstream which really have no right to the shore, but are mistakenly kept near the margin by inexperienced steerers, the boat going up-stream should not go out, but keep towards the land.

The rights of the numerous anglers should be respected; and it is not only courteous but politic to do so, as it is disagreeable to have the lines entangled in the boat.

Row-boats give way to sailing-boats on the river, especially when the latter are tacking to use the breeze. As to steam-launches, their motto too often appears to be that “Might is right.” Occupants of small boats keep a sharp look-out for these.

In passing through the locks the usual politeness of refraining from shooting ahead of boats in front should be observed. Any active emulation of this kind is a very risky business in the same way when pulling a boat over the rollers. A man is bound to yield the pas to ladies or to any boat containing ladies. In fact, the courtesies of the river may be summed up as similar to those on land.{55}

DINNER-PARTIES.

“Mrs. X. requests the pleasure of Mr. L.’s company at dinner on Thursday, the 16th of February, at eight o’clock.”

“Mr. L. accepts with pleasure Mrs. X.’s kind invitation to dinner on Thursday, the 16th of February.”

These are the preliminaries; the lady’s address being on the sheet of paper or card on which her invitation has been written.

Three weeks’ notice is usual, but sometimes, in the season, when many parties are going on, invitations are sent out four, five, or six weeks beforehand, in order to secure the guests. In the case of “lions” even longer invitations have been given; but as one of the first principles of good breeding is never to “corner” anybody, it is scarcely fair to invite those who are in much request without giving them the option of refusal.

An invitation of seven or{56} eight weeks’ length scarcely allows one to plead a pre-engagement, and often defeats the eager hostess’s own end by inducing the “lion” to accept without any intention of being present, writing later on to “renage,” to use a good old whist term.

But as our young man is scarcely yet a “lion,” and probably not over-burdened with engagements for dinner or any other social function, we may imagine him accepting with a free mind.

Should anything intervene to prevent him carrying out his engagement, he is in duty bound to let his hostess know as early as possible that he cannot be present at her dinner-party. This is more especially and particularly necessary with dinners, though it holds good with regard to all invitations.

But with dinner there is a peculiar obligation laid upon the guests. The choice and arrangement of them involves care on the part of the dinner-giver, more so than in the case of any other meal. In fact, dinner stands alone as an institution sacred to the highest rites of hospitality. To be invited is an honour to the young man who is just beginning his social life. To absent himself would be a gross rudeness, unless he could plead circumstances of a pressing nature. It is considered a great infraction of{57} good manners to wire on the very day of the party that one cannot dine as arranged, unless something has occurred to justify such conduct.

The hostess can with difficulty find a substitute at short notice, and the whole plan of her table is destroyed by the absence of one person. There are few people who would not feel offended at being invited to fill a gap of the kind, and this is what makes it so extremely discourteous to disappoint at the last moment, as it were.

The unfortunate hostess thinks, “Is there any one good-natured enough to come and fill the vacant place?” Sometimes this is the raison d’être of a young man’s first invitation. Let him accept it by all means, even though he is perfectly aware that he was not his entertainer’s first choice.

Many a young man feels nervous about his first dinner-party. There are a few puzzling things that trouble him in prospect. He wonders if he should wear gloves, as ladies do, taking them off at the dinner-table. Let me set his mind at rest on this small point, at once.

He need not wear gloves. In fact, he must not. Another little matter to be remembered is that a quarter of an hour’s grace is always understood in dinner invitations. Should the hour{58} indicated be 8 o’clock, then care must be taken to time the arrival at five or ten minutes past the hour.

But it is better to be too early than too late. A want of punctuality at this meal is unpardonable. It is the very height of rudeness, annoying to the host and hostess, displeasing to the guests, and regarded as outrageous by the cook.

When our young man is shown into the drawing-room, he at once goes up to his hostess, no matter whether there is any one he knows nearer to the door than the lady of the house. This is always a fixed rule, whether it be on the occasion of a call or visit, or on having been invited to a party of any kind. When he has been greeted by his hostess he looks round the room to see if there is anyone present whom he knows.

If so, he goes up to the ladies first, if there are any of his acquaintance present, and afterwards greets the gentlemen. His host will probably have shaken hands with him immediately after his wife has done so.

He will then be told what lady he is to take down to dinner, and be introduced to her, if he does not already know her. He must bow, not shake hands, and make small talk for her during the interval between his introduction and the announcement of dinner.{59}

Here is his first real difficulty. To converse with a perfect stranger is always one of the initial social accomplishments to be learned, and it is not at all an easy thing at first. It needs practice.

If possible, avoid talking about the weather.

Ninety men out of every hundred offer a remark upon the weather; but unless there has been something very extraordinary going on in the meteorological line, it is better to avoid this subject if possible. A girl at Ascot said to me one lovely day, “That’s the eighth man who has informed me that it’s a beautiful day.” Up came a ninth with the very same observation, and both she and I felt inclined to titter like very schoolgirls. It is far better to start with something more original.

It is as well to keep the pronoun “I” in the background just at first. If your partner is as nice as she might be, she will soon give you abundant opportunity for talking about yourself.

By the way, a man must not at his very first dinner-party expect to be given a pretty girl to take down. He may possibly be so fortunate, but those prizes are usually reserved for men of more experience in social life. The young man has probably been invited to make up the necessary number of men, and an unmarried{60} lady of uncertain age or an elderly woman without much claim to consideration will probably fall to his share.

However, there is this consolation, she will be excellent for practising upon. He would not mind making small mistakes so much as if his partner were a young and charming girl.

Nor is the art of making small talk so difficult as it would be with a pair of bright and youthful eyes beaming into your own, and confusing you into forgetfulness of all but their own delightful language.

I have known a good beginning made with some such, remark as, “Do you know everybody here?” This leads perhaps to the acquisition of some information as to the other guests.

At table there will be more to suggest topics. The floral decorations often lead up to conversation. The colours of the flowers remind one of pictures, and the lady on one’s right may be asked if she has been to any exhibitions that may be open. If so, what pictures she liked best. Does she paint? Has she read the novel of the hour? What she thinks of it? Does she bike? At this rate our novice gets on swimmingly, and may safely be left to himself.{61}

I must not omit some small details dealing with the guest on his arrival, and on his way afterwards from the drawing-to the dining-room.

The servant who admits him takes his overcoat and hat, either in the hall or in a room set apart for the purpose.

Should he be accompanied by a lady he follows her upstairs, and she enters the room slightly in advance of him, probably about a yard or so. The young man must not have the appearance of hanging back, however. He walks steadily and rather briskly up the room.

When the move to the dining-room is made, the gentlemen offer to the ladies the arm which will place them on the wall side of the staircase, thus avoiding the contact of their dresses with the balusters. But should the dining-room be, as it very frequently is, on the same floor as the drawing-room, then the right arm is offered.

The lady sits on the right of her escort at table. The servants usually indicate the seats that the guests are to occupy. Sometimes the host, previously instructed by the hostess, comes to the rescue with, “Your seat is here, I believe, Mr. So-and-so,” who immediately takes his lady to the chair on the right of the two the couple are to occupy. The system of name-cards{62} is observed in some circles, but it is not a good one.

It is distressing, in these days of short sight and small rooms, to see several couples wandering about endeavouring to decipher the names on the small cards.

It is much better for the host to have made himself master of the order in which the guests are to be seated, and as he enters the dining-room first with the lady of highest social importance, he is ready to point out their places to each couple as they enter.

The first thing to be done on sitting down is to unfold the table napkin and place it across the knee. The menu is then consulted, and a mental note made of any favourite dish, so that it may not be refused. But all the time a flow of small talk must be kept up with one’s partner of the hour. Sometimes she turns to talk with the man on her right. Then her escort may converse with the lady on his left, if she is disengaged. But he must always remember that his first duty is to her whom he took down.

There will probably be three or four wineglasses on our young friend’s right. One of these—either a long-stemmed, wide-cupped glass or a small tumbler—is for champagne. The coloured glass is for hock, the slenderest and smallest is for sherry,{63} and the claret-glass occupies in dimensions a midway between those of the champagne and claret-glass.

With regard to the knives and forks, everything is now made very easy for the novice by the way in which the table is laid.

The tablespoon is for soup, which must be eaten from the side of the spoon close to the point. The fish knife and fork are placed outside the others, so as to be ready to the hand, the fish course coming directly after the soup.

The dishes are usually all handed round at dinner-parties, the carving being done at the sideboard or in an immediately adjoining room, but sometimes the host carves the joint and game.

There is occasionally a subtle reason for this preference, not wholly unconnected with a taste for those morsels that especially appeal to the gourmand. The host may desire to secure these for some special, appreciative guest—or for himself! In some families the principal dishes are always placed before the master of the house to be carved. Maidservants can rarely carve well, and butlers have gone considerably out of fashion in the upper middle classes of society of late years.

When offered the usual choice of dishes or wines, the guest must decide at once and indicate his choice without delay. Any hesitation gives him the{64} air of being unable to reject either; of being in the position, with regard to food, occupied by the poet who wrote—

“How happy could I be with either,
Were t’other dear charmer away!”

So he must be prompt, and, should the dish be handed round, help himself without delay.

On this very point of helping himself I have seen young men endure excruciating agonies of shyness. Sometimes they take the merest morsel of some excellent dish, though they would like very well to have some more. At other times they help themselves to far too much, because they are so confused that they will not take the necessary time to separate for their own share a moderate quantity. Occasionally they drop the spoon or fork with a clatter into the dish, after which they look intensely miserable for ten minutes or so.

The best way to avoid all this is to preserve absolute self-possession by reflecting that the other guests are all too well occupied to pay any attention to such trifling matters. The self-consciousness of which shyness is the outward and visible sign, makes a young man feel that every one is observing him, especially when he is awkward in handling{65} things. But he may console himself with the conviction that he is of much less importance to them than their own dinner, to say nothing of the ladies who sit beside them.

When asked to choose between claret or hock, he may either mention one or indicate the glass.

“Sherry, sir,” is the first wine handed round. Then comes the choice between claret and hock.

Afterwards “champagne, sir?” usually answered by slightly drawing the champagne-glass forward, or by a nod; sometimes by a shake of the head.

An occasional “Thanks” to the servant is not amiss, but it is unnecessary to keep on expressing gratitude. Some people never dream of saying “Thank you.” Others say it out of pure graciousness of manner and gentleness of mind. So our young man may take his choice.

I have observed that when a neat and pretty parlourmaid waits at table she is more likely to be thanked than a manservant; and this not only by gentlemen, but by ladies as well. I offer no explanation of why this should be so. I merely record the fact as I have noted it.

The perfection of service resolves itself into absolute accuracy of machinery united to the observant watchfulness of long training. One barely{66} discovers that one needs bread when it is presented at one’s elbow.

In the same way, vegetables, wine, aërated waters, or whatever one may be drinking, arrives at exactly the right moment. The mechanism or organisation of such waiting is so good that there is no interruption of conversation. The servants understand that a mere turning away from the dish means rejection. Should any guest find a difficulty in helping himself, they simplify matters for him as much as possible.

As the dishes are not named when they are handed round, it is necessary to study the menu in order to know what they are. Some young people appear to think that it looks “greedy” to pay much attention to the information given on the dainty little bill of fare; but this, of course, is one of youth’s delusions. I have seen a short-sighted young man straining his eyes in the endeavour to read furtively the names of the dishes on his menu. He would have done far better if he had boldly taken it up in his hand to examine it.

However hungry one may be, the duty of keeping up a conversation must not be neglected. The

The viands must never be chosen as a topic, for either praise or blame. If one knows a girl very well, one may ask, “Do you like{67} sweets?” or some such question, but it is safer with strangers to avoid the subject of the food provided.

It is scarcely necessary to remark that drinking too much wine is a very bad phase of ill manners. At one time it was actually fashionable to become intoxicated after dinner, but those days are gone, I am thankful to say. The young man who exceeds in this way is soon made aware of the fact that he has given his hostess dire offence. He is never invited again, or not for a long time.

The wineglass is never drained at a draught in polite society; nor is it considered polite to eat very quickly.

The knife, fork, and spoon are handled as noiselessly as possible. Scraping the edge of the knife against the plate is unpardonable. It produces a grating noise that is excessively unpleasant. In sending a plate away to be replenished, the diner leaves his knife and fork or his spoon, as the case may be, upon it.

It must be broken with the fingers. There is a story of an absent-minded and short-sighted prelate who, with the remark, “My bread, I think?” dug his fork into the white hand of a lady who sat beside him. He had been badly brought up, or he{68} would not have used his fork, and the white hand would have experienced nothing worse than a sudden grasp.

It requires some expertness and practice for a man with a moustache to take soup in a perfectly inoffensive manner. The accomplishment is worth some trouble.

Some men, who should know better (and some women, too), forget that the mouth should be kept closed while mastication is going on. This is a very important matter.

Nature teaches us to keep the mouth open, as any one may see from the way in which children and uncultivated persons eat, but good manners enjoin upon us that to adopt the natural mode is to disgust and annoy those with whom we sit at meat. If these little things have not been learned in childhood, it is difficult to master them afterwards. Mothers should also teach their boys (and girls) never to speak while food is in the mouth, and never to drink until it is quite empty. Who would not be mortified if he were to choke ignominiously at the dinner-table?

The correct way to eat a curry is with a spoon and fork; but this is the only meat dish that is eaten in this way. Sweetbreads and many other entrées are eaten with the fork alone. It is then held in the{69} right hand. Should a knife be found necessary it can, of course, be used. Vegetable entrées are always eaten with a fork, held in the right hand. Fish is eaten with a silver (or plated) knife and fork.

Sauces are never taken very plentifully. The sauce ladle, filled, will be generally sufficient. I once saw a man, in helping himself to oyster sauce, look scrutinisingly in the sauceboat and carefully fish about for as many oysters as he could collect in the ladle. This caused some covert amusement, except, perhaps, to the last persons to whom the sauce was handed. They probably found few oysters.

Bread, biscuits, olives, asparagus, celery, and bonbons are the forms of food that may be touched with the fingers. There used once to be a rule that a bone might be picked, if only the finger and thumb were used in holding it. But that was in the days when table cutlery was far from having been brought to its present condition of perfection. There is now no excuse for handling bones—knives and forks suffice; and it is only in the lowest grades of society that they are found inadequate.

In helping oneself to salad, it must be placed on the crescent-shaped plate laid down for that purpose before it is handed round. This plate is put at the left side of the{70} round plate. Both knife and fork are often necessary with salads, but if they are sent to table as they should be, with the lettuce and other vegetables broken small, the fork is quite sufficient. It is always disagreeable to see a steel knife used with vinegar, and it should be avoided whenever possible to do so.

Oysters served on the shell are eaten with a fish-knife and fork. Other fish hors d’œuvres are eaten with a fish-fork.

It is not always possible to tell, either from the appearance or name of the hors d’œuvre, whether it consists of fish or meat. In that case it is safer to use an ordinary fork; and for this reason: the fish-knife has been laid for a fish course, and if it should have been previously unnecessarily used for the hors d’œuvre, it will be needful for the servant to bring another. Fish rissoles may be eaten with a fish-fork only—in fact, any preparation that does not need the knife.

It is a safe rule never to use either knife or spoon if the fork will do. With ice-pudding or ices in any form a small spoon is used.

First, there may be hors d’œuvres, small morsels of various kinds which are found ready to hand when{71} the guests sit down. I have already referred to these.

Next comes soup, generally one thick and one clear. The attendant offers the diner a choice, and he must promptly make it. When it is set before him he begins at once, not waiting till every one is served.

He takes up the tablespoon, placed ready at his right hand, and it is not considered very good form to immediately put some salt into the soup before tasting it. People who pride themselves on the possession of a clever cook sometimes feel annoyed at the distrust of her powers shown in this simple action.

With soup small addenda are often handed. The guest helps himself to these, whether they are croûtons, fried bread-crumbs or other supplementary provision, with the spoon handed round on the dish.

It is a very old-fashioned piece of good manners to wait till every one is served. So old-fashioned is it that it survives at present only among the uncultured classes. The correct thing to do nowadays is to begin eating without reference to others. The old style must not only have been trying in consequence of seeing one’s food grow cold before one’s eyes, but it must{72} also have been responsible for making dinner a very slow and tedious meal. Now the attendants remove the plates from the guests first helped directly the fork is laid down, and this greatly accelerates the service.

The soup-plate, if tilted at all, is raised at the side nearest the eater, so that the soup collects at the furthest point from him. It is generally unnecessary to tilt the plate, however. But the thing to avoid is passing the left hand round it in a half-embrace and tilting it towards the eater. This is highly incorrect; it is also dangerous. The soup has been known to spill on the cloth, and even over the diner.

When the servant is removing your soup-plate he will sometimes ask, “Any more, sir?” to which you must reply in the negative. A shake of the head will suffice.

Soup is never helped twice. Nor is fish. This is the next course. Bread is always eaten with fish. I have already explained that a silver knife and fork are used.

The sauce handed is almost invariably accepted. Sometimes the cruet is handed round, containing some sort of condiment suitable to the fish served. It is, of course, a matter of choice whether this be accepted or not.

The idea of giving so many is that there may be some to suit all tastes. No one is expected to take of all, though it is quite permissible to do so.

After the soup and fish the entrées are handed round. The dishes are presented at the left side of the diner, and he helps himself with his right hand, a tablespoon being placed on the dish for that purpose; or with both hands, using spoon and fork, should the nature of the dish render this necessary.

When slices from a joint, or game, or poultry are handed round, the vegetables, gravies, and sauces accompanying them are handed after. It is usual to wait for these etceteras before beginning upon the meat, fowl, venison, or game. For instance, no one would commence upon a slice of roast beef or mutton without potatoes or gravy, nor upon a piece of pheasant without browned bread-crumbs, or bread sauce, or gravy. I say “no one” would do it, but I have seen it done, whether in absence of mind or from pressure of appetite I cannot pretend to say. It is a mistake, however.

Cheese is handed round after the sweets in order to prepare the palate for the enjoyment of dessert wines. This, at{74} least, was the original meaning of introducing it at this stage of the meal.

But now ice-pudding, when served, follows it, thus contradictorily re-establishing the reign of sweets.

Savouries are handed round with the cheese course. These are eaten with a fork. Even a cheese fondu is eaten with a fork, though the cook occasionally fails to bring it to the requisite firmness of consistency, in which case it looks more suited to a spoon; but the fork must do.

This last-named, by the way, if too much cooked, and consequently very soft and unmanageable, may be eaten with the fork, but must not be touched with the knife. And again, should asparagus be served with the melted butter thrown over it, it must be eaten with a fork. It very seldom is so served, but I have met with this mode in some houses.

Cheese itself is handed round on a dish or plate with the pieces cut ready to one’s hand.

The diner helps himself with the knife laid ready beside the pieces of cheese, not with his own knife. If watercress is handed round, it is taken up in the fingers and eaten in the same way. Cheese is cut in small pieces and conveyed to the mouth on a{75} piece of bread or biscuit. Very few persons continue to eat it in the old-fashioned way by carrying it to the mouth with the knife. I have seen it taken up with the fingers, but as cheese is apt to smell rather strongly it is better to avoid touching it.

With regard to sweets, it is a safe rule to use the fork only when it suffices for the work in hand. With tarts, as a rule, both spoon and fork are necessary, especially when there is syrup. Cold tart can often be comfortably eaten with a fork. Jellies and creams are eaten with a fork only; ice-pudding with an ice-spoon, or, failing that, a teaspoon.

From the moment one has unfolded one’s napkin and placed the bread it contained at one’s left, there is nothing more to do that concerns the “cover,” as the preparation for each diner’s convenience is called, until the dessert-plate, with its d’oyley, finger-glass, silver knife and fork—and perhaps ice-plate and spoon in addition—is set down before one.

Before the or dessert are handed round, one must place the dessert-knife and fork at right and left, respectively, of one’s plate, and, taking up the finger-glass carefully in one hand, with the other place the d’oyley on the cloth to the left of one’s plate, then setting the finger-glass{76} down upon it. I say “carefully,” because these glasses are often of the lightest possible kind, and are occasionally of a costly description. Besides, rough handling might tend to spill the water they contain.

With regard to the dessert fruits, &c., there are a few puzzles to be found among them for the inexperienced.

They are taken up singly, and afterwards the skin and seeds have to be expelled as unobtrusively as possible. It is a matter of great difficulty to accomplish this by any other method than using the hand, therefore this is the accepted custom. The forefinger is curved above the mouth in a manner which serves to conceal the ejectment, and the skin and seeds are in this way conveyed to the plate, the fingers being afterwards wiped with the napkin.

Bananas are peeled with the knife and fork, and the pieces are conveyed to the mouth by means of the fork.

Oranges are cut in two, then in four, and with the aid of knife and fork the contents of each section are extracted in two or more parts, and carried to the lips on the fork.

Apples and pears are peeled with the knife and fork; peaches, apricots, and nectarines in the same way.

Strawberries are taken by the stem,{77} dipped in sugar and cream, and carried to the lips with the fingers.

If the fruit has been picked free of husks and stem, it may be bruised on the plate with sugar and cream, and eaten with a spoon. Preserved ginger is eaten with the knife and fork.

A spoon is necessary with pines, melons, and very juicy strawberries, after they have been prepared with the knife and fork.

Nuts are cracked with the nutcrackers, and then extracted by the fingers. With filberts and Brazil nuts the knife and fork are called into requisition in order to free them from skin, but walnuts are too intricate for anything less wonderful in mechanism than the human hand. In view of this, they are sometimes prepared before being sent to table, and of late years they have been sold ready cracked and peeled for this purpose.

Almonds are never sent to table in their shells, so that they present no difficulties to the novice. At dessert they are usually accompanied by raisins, which, like the almonds, are carried to the mouth in the fingers.

Crystallised fruits are cut with the knife and fork, unless they happen to be of a small size, such as cherries. In that{78} case they are eaten whole, being carried to the lips on the fork.

Liqueurs are handed round at dessert, poured out ready into the small glasses that are called after them. There is generally a choice, such as “Chartreuse or Bénèdictine, sir?” to which it is unnecessary to reply, “Both, please,” as a historic young man did once.

The servants often leave the dining-room when the dessert is placed on the table, and when this is so, the wine is passed round from hand to hand, each gentleman attending first to the lady he has escorted and then helping himself before passing on the decanter, claret jug, or champagne bottle. The good old fashion of using silver decanter-stands has long disappeared, to the detriment of many a good tablecloth. So has the genial and hospitable fashion of drinking wine with one’s guests, and they with each other. But this may be rather a good thing in the interests of temperance.

Apropos to this subject, I may remark that there is now nothing singular in drinking nothing but water. The days are gone when a man was thought a milksop because he could not “drink his bottle,” or if he refused wine or spirits. Should any young man prefer water, he asks for it when the servants offer him wine. He is then offered{79} Apollinaris or distilled water or soda-water, or some other preparation of filtered and distilled water, and may choose some of these in preference to plain water.

Claret is the favourite dessert wine of the day, but port is still seen at some tables, and it is usual to offer champagne, as many prefer to drink only one kind of wine throughout the meal, from start to finish. In fact, this is becoming quite a fashion in some sets.

The host provides cigars and cigarettes for his guests, and it would not be necessary or advisable to produce one’s own supply.

When the ladies rise to leave the dining-room, the gentleman nearest the door opens the door for them, and stands beside it until they have all passed through, when he closes it after them. However anxious he may be to join them in the drawing-room, he must not do so until the others make a move. Sometimes, if he is very young and rather “out of it” when politics or sport are under discussion, his host says to him, “I’m afraid you are bored. If you would like to join the ladies, don’t stand on ceremony.” But on the other hand he may dread the ordeal of entering the drawing-room alone, and feel that the safer way is to wait for a convoy. This he must decide for himself.{80}

Perhaps his host may wish to talk confidentially with some other guest. If he makes this apparent to the younger man, the latter must accept any such intimation as the above, understanding it to be a courteous mode of dismissing him.

The ordinary rule when rejoining the ladies.

The ordinary rule is that the gentlemen join the ladies all together, the man of highest position leaving the dining-room first, the host last. Tea is then carried round in the drawing-room, and the gentlemen take the empty cups from the ladies and put them down in some safe place, out of the way of risk of accident.

Should any lady sing or play, the gentleman nearest to her escorts her to the piano and helps her to arrange her music, to dispose of her gloves, fan, handkerchief, &c.

It is scarcely etiquette for young men to leave first after a dinner-party. It is more usual for the elders of the party to make the first move towards departure. But should the young man have an engagement of a pressing kind, such as a promise to escort ladies to a ball, he must withdraw in good time, explaining the position to his hostess.

No one leaves after a dinner-party without saying “Good-night” to his host and hostess. Even in the case of{81} an early departure, before the gentlemen have left the dining-room, the guest must visit the drawing-room to make his adieux, not only to the lady of the house, but to any others who may be of his acquaintance. Those whom he has met for the first time that evening may be saluted with a parting bow.

At a formal dinner-party the evening suit is imperative, with dress-coat, white or black waistcoat, black trousers, and white tie. When dining with friends with whom one is on terms of familiarity, the dinner-jacket may be substituted for the coat. Black ties often take the place of white. Patent-leather shoes or boots must be worn. It would be unpardonable to appear in thick walking-boots or shoes; and the necessity for immaculately polished footgear has cost the young man of the present day many a cab. His varnished shoes must show no trace of mud or dust. To tell the truth, he often carries a silk handkerchief in his pocket wherewith to obliterate the traces of the latter.

The pocket-handkerchief used with evening dress must be of white cambric, and of as good a colour as one’s washerwoman will permit. It ought to be of fine quality. The hair must be short and very well brushed.

It used to be the custom to tip the servants on leaving the house where one had dined as a guest, but this has{82} fallen into disuse. There are many men who hand a silver coin to the butler, or footman, or waiting-maid who helps them into their coats, calls up their carriage, or hails a cab for them, seeing them into it, or rendering any other service of a similar kind. This is a matter that each man must decide for himself. It is only necessary to remark that the custom of giving shillings or half-crowns to the servants after a dinner-party no longer reigns; though there are always good-natured folk who will not let it absolutely die out.{83}

PUBLIC DINNERS.

The following information is supplied by a gentleman well-known in the City, and thoroughly au fait in such matters.

“Public dinners may be classed as those given by associations, or public bodies, and those given by institutions, such as some of the great City companies.

When given by an association, the function is generally managed by a committee, who have the arrangement of all the details, such as choosing the menu, the wines, preparing the programme of music, instrumental or vocal, and arranging the due sequence of the speeches.

A guest invited to such an entertainment who may not be of the few highly placed personages who sit at the cross-table or on the daïs, and from whom speeches are expected, will, on arriving at the hall, hotel, or public institution selected, find that the first thing required of him will be his invitation card. In exchange for this he will be handed a more or less elaborate menu card, which will also contain the list of music{84} and a sketch showing the positions of the guests’ seats at the tables.

After depositing his hat and overcoat in the cloak-room, receiving a numbered ticket for them, he enters the reception-or drawing-room, his name is announced, and he passes into the room, goes up to the members of the committee, who stand by themselves to receive the guests, bows or shakes hands, and passes on to join the other guests who are either sitting or standing in groups engaged in conversation.

When dinner is announced the hosts and the highest in rank of the guests file into the dining-room and take up their position by their chairs, followed by the rest; any clergyman present says grace on being asked to do so, and the banquet commences.

Strangers sitting next to each other soon fall into conversation, and after the dispatch of the solid portion of the repast come the speeches. Music is played at intervals, perhaps a few songs sung by professionals, then dessert, cigars, and coffee, after which the guests find their way to the drawing-room for more general conversation, some preferring to leave without re-entering the drawing-room. In such large gatherings it is not necessary to take leave of their hosts, as a rule.

“Dinners given by City companies are very much on the same principle.{85} The guest has but to don his evening clothes and carry himself with easy composure, not always quite a simple matter to the inexperienced, if one may judge from the hurried steps and the sudden bob that many give on entering the reception-room after arrival.”

At dinners given on behalf of charities, it is well to go prepared with a subscription, as a collection is often made on these occasions. If not prepared to subscribe, it is more discreet to stay away.

With regard to tips the only ones really recognised are those for which the plates on the cloak-room table are laid ready in expectation of small silver coins. Though no fees are actually necessary at table, the initiated person is well aware that the man behind his chair can administer to his wants and see that he is liberally provided with viands and wines or other matters without keeping him waiting longer than necessary. A tip, quietly conveyed before the dinner is under way, is not by any means wasted.

It sometimes happens that semi-official dinners are given at private houses, when proprietors of

newspapers or wealthy men interested in certain undertakings, entertain the staff {86}of those employed. In such circumstances it may be as well to warn the guests against addressing the footmen as “waiter.” This may appear to be superfluous advice, but I have myself been present when the mistake was made, evidently to the intense indignation of the magnificent being thus addressed.

At such dinners as these, the host treats his guests as his social equals for the nonce. By having invited them to his house he places himself in the position of regarding them as he would his own friends at his dinner-table. Any infraction of this would be in the worst taste. It is also usual to abstain from any business talk at such times as these, the conversation being encouraged to dwell on general topics.

Though the fiction of social equality is maintained by the host, the guests need not adopt a familiar, free-and-easy manner in response. True manliness involves sufficient self-respect to preserve the possessor from falling into this error; but it is, perhaps, a little difficult for the novice, on such occasions, to bear himself in such wise as to avoid undue familiarity on one hand and an air of stiffness and standoffishness on the other. In his anxiety not to appear to presume upon the friendliness of his host’s manner, he is apt to wear a rather repellent air. And this is more particularly so when the employé is by birth the equal, if not the superior, of his entertainer. It{87} often happens that a man at the head of a great business has risen from obscure beginnings to the command of wealth and a high position in the world, enjoying a title and many of the extraneous advantages of rank. Among those whom he employs may be several who are his social superiors in all but wealth; but any of them who imagine that this fact gives them any claim upon his consideration or entitles them to converse with him upon a footing of equality, make a radical mistake. Their position, as regards their employer, is exactly that justified by their standing in his firm. The true gentleman is well aware of this, and would never dream of asserting himself in any way on the strength of being well-born or highly educated. He leaves all that kind of thing to the man who feels his claim to gentlemanhood to be so shadowy and insecure as to need constant insistance.

Besides, the host is usually the elder, and deference to seniority is an important part of good manners, and sits extremely well upon the young.{88}

AT A RESTAURANT.

When accompanying ladies who express a wish for refreshment, it is not necessary to select a very expensive restaurant or confectioner’s. One suitable to the social status of the party should be chosen.

The young man must pay for what his companions eat and drink, and very often this is a most embarrassing matter. He may have enough money in his pocket to defray the bill, and he may not.

In any case, he is often unable to afford it, but the probabilities are that if he has the wherewithal about him, he will pay in order to extricate himself from an awkward predicament, even though he may consequently be crippled financially for some days to come. If he has only two or three shillings in his pocket, he feels extremely uncomfortable.

No well-bred woman or girl would ever place an acquaintance on the horns of such a dilemma. But unfortunately there are many girls and{89} women who are lacking in taste and refinement, and who would regard it as an excellent joke to play such a trick upon a “fellow,” as they would probably call him, and enjoy his discomfort.

The best thing to do in such a case is to be perfectly frank and open. “I’m extremely sorry, but I have not sufficient cash with me for the purpose.” It is very disagreeable to have to say so, but it is less mortifying than to have to acknowledge it to the waiter at the restaurant. A young man told me that he had once, in such a case, to leave the table on pretence of speaking to the proprietor and fly round to a pawnbroker’s to pledge his watch.

A well-bred girl would bear her own expenses.

A really well-bred girl or woman would make it clear that she intended to pay for her own meal, and that only on that condition would she accept the escort of the young man.

On taking advantage of a man’s generosity.

Sometimes after a run on a bicycle or a hot walk, a young man will say to his sister and her friend, “Come in and have an ice.” If the friend is one of the unscrupulous sort, she will very probably run him into what, for him, is a considerable expense. He must pay it, however, and the worst of it is that he cannot sit there and let her eat all by herself. Even his sister, should she be{90} present, must in good manners join in to a certain extent. Otherwise the implied reproof would be too obvious for good breeding.{91}

AT LUNCH.

The guests do not pair off, as at dinner, but on the meal being announced the host, if there be one, would open the door for the ladies, who would go downstairs, followed by the hostess, the gentlemen behind her.

Very often the master of the house is absent at luncheon, in which case the hostess would rise, and, addressing her principal guest, would propose to her to lead the way downstairs. “Shall we go down to lunch, Mrs. So-and-so?” would be sufficient. The other ladies would probably be sufficiently versed in the laws of society to refrain from preceding those of higher position, and the hostess would always be the last lady to leave the drawing-room.

The guests sit down where they please, the host or hostess sometimes making a suggestion on the matter.

After the meal the guests return to the drawing-room, but only for a short time. The gentlemen resume their overcoats and take their hats and umbrellas in the{92} hall, where they had left them.

Should a man make a call at luncheon-time, he is often asked to remain for the meal. In that case he would carry his hat and stick into the dining-room with him, just as he would if making an ordinary call. But it is much better never to call anywhere at lunch-time unless one is on very familiar terms with the family. Many young men acquire a reputation for “cadging” for lunch or dinner in this way.

Invitations from young members of the family.

Invitations from the younger members of the family are not official, unless plainly endorsed by the elders, or one of them. “Miss Lucy invited me to lunch” is a poor plea. “Frank asked me to come and dine this evening,” is no better. Young men cannot be too particular about this matter. “I’ll get my mother to ask you to dinner, old man,” would be the safer sort of invitation. The lady of the house must fix the date, and she usually writes the invitation herself or gives it personally.

Unendorsed invitations from a daughter of the house.

Should a daughter of the house give a young man an invitation to any meal, without reference to her father or mother, it would be incorrect in the highest degree to accept it. As to children, their invitations go for nothing, of course, though cases have been known in which they have{93} been accepted. “I met little Eddy in the park, and he made me come in with him.” This has a very poor and pitiable sound at luncheon hour or teatime.

It is not necessary to make one’s adieux to each guest in turn. The hostess is taken leave of first, as a rule, and the lady, or ladies, with whom one has been conversing will expect a special word and bow, perhaps offering a hand; but a general bow will be sufficient for those to whom one is not very well known. It is only at family parties that one has conscientiously to go round the room shaking hands with everybody.{94}

FIVE O’CLOCK TEA AND AFTERNOON AT-HOMES.

Their duties are rather onerous if there are but one or two men and the usual crowd of ladies. They have to carry teacups about, hand sugar, cream, and cakes or muffins, and keep up all the time a stream of small talk, as amusing as they can make it. They must rise every time a lady enters or leaves the room, opening the door for her exit if no one else is nearer to it, and, if his hostess requests him, he must see the lady downstairs to her carriage or cab.

With regard to the viands, a man helps himself, but not till he has seen that all the ladies in his vicinity have everything they can possibly want. His hostess, or some lady deputed by her to preside at the tea-table, gives him tea or coffee, and he adds sugar and cream.

With regard to afternoon at-homes, the arrangements are quite different. Invitations are sent out a fortnight or three weeks before, generally the latter,{95} and in the height of the season even longer.

Suppose the young man’s name to be Edward Smith. His invitation would be as follows:—

MR. EDWARD SMITH.

———

LADY DART

At Home,

Tuesday, November 3rd.

4 TO 7.

12, Evergreen Square.

R. S. V. P.

He replies, on a sheet of notepaper:—“Mr. Edward Smith has much pleasure in accepting Lady Dart’s kind invitation for Tuesday afternoon, November 3rd.”

It’s a great mistake to write:—“Will have much pleasure in accepting.” Accepting is the action of the present moment while he is writing the reply. “Will have” refers to the future, and is therefore unsuitable. The answering of invitations is a simple matter enough, but it is a test of good breeding.{96}

AT THE PLAY.

At a theatre the underbred man is often in evidence, not only in the low-priced seats, but also all over the house. He has been seen—and heard—in private boxes. A well-known music-hall celebrity administered a scathing reproof to one of these, who persisted in talking loudly while she was singing. Stopping short, she looked up at the box in which he sat, and cried: “One fool at a time, please,” after which he was as quiet as a mouse.

It is a piece of bad manners to enter the theatre late, disturbing the audience and annoying the players or singers.

It is equally rude to leave before the entertainment is ended, unless the interval be chosen when nothing is going on. At a concert this is particularly true, for there are devotees of music who hang upon every note and to whom it is a distinct loss to miss a single phrase of the compositions they have come to hear.

Singers, actors, and actresses generally possess the sensitive, sympathetic, artistic temperament, and it is wounding to them to see{97} members of the audience fidgeting, rustling about, chattering, laughing, and otherwise showing inattention when they are doing their best to entertain them. It is, therefore, uncivil to betray inattention.

A little appreciation goes a long way with the members of the professions of music and the drama. An actor told me once that after having made a certain speech two or three times without any sign of amusement from the audience, on the fourth night of the play a single silvery note of musical mirth was heard from the stalls. It was but one note—say E flat on the treble clef—but the audience immediately joined in, perceiving the point of the speech as though it had been illuminated for them by this one little laugh. He declared that ever after that night his formerly unsuccessful “lines” elicited a roar of laughter. Probably this was partly due to the sense of encouragement he felt, inspiring him to due emphasis.

In taking ladies to a place of entertainment.

In taking ladies to a place of entertainment a gentleman hands them into their carriage, a cab, or an omnibus, getting in last. Arrived at their destination the gentleman alights first, handing out the ladies, and giving any necessary orders to the coachman, or paying the cabman’s fare. By the way, it is always as well to give instructions to the coachman about where he is to{98}

be found, and at what hour he is to pick up his party, before entering the carriage, as policemen view with much disfavour any prolonged dialogue outside a place of entertainment where vehicles are setting down their occupants in quick succession. Should there be a footman, of course all these difficulties are obviated, as he can carry the instructions to the coachman, and also knows where to find the carriage when the performance is over.

Should a hired brougham be used as a conveyance in going to any place of entertainment, or even a party at a private house, it is an excellent plan to give the coachman a bright-coloured handkerchief, scarlet or orange perhaps, that he may wear it conspicuously displayed, and can in this way be at once recognised.

It is a miserable business on a wet night to hunt for a brougham up and down ill-lighted streets when in evening dress and patent leather boots, and anything that tends to shorten the task is advisable. Nor do ladies enjoy waiting in the draughty vestibule of opera-house, theatre, or concert-room for an indefinite period while a short-sighted cavalier is groping about the streets for their carriage.

If it is a question of a cab, the commissionaire at the door is the best{99} person to get one, which he will do for a small fee.

Here again a word of warning is needed. There are men who, in their special care of the ladies in their charge, forget that it is no part of the duty of a gentleman to ignore the claims of other women who have not the advantage of belonging to their party.

I have seen men who ought to have known better rudely pushing other ladies away from the door of a cab or railway carriage in order that their own womenkind may be well looked after. It is all very well to be attentive and anxious to do one’s best, but it is ill-bred to the last degree to subject to rudeness any ladies who happen to be without a gentleman to look after them.

Retribution followed very swiftly in one instance of the kind. At Sandown station one day the second special train for Waterloo was coming in, and the platform was crowded with gaily-dressed women, tired and hot after the walk across the fields on a tropical July day. A lady and small Eton boy were together, and suddenly, when about to open the door of a carriage at the moment the train came to a standstill, found themselves all but thrown down by a sweeping motion of the arm of a young man who was bent on reserving that particular carriage for his party. Without{100} a word of apology to the lady, he shouted to his sisters and friends to “Come on,” still holding back the two who had wished to get in. They entered the next compartment, and as they did so the lady remarked to her companion, “What an extremely ill-mannered person that is!” Meanwhile the party next door were settling down and congratulating themselves on having secured seats, when one of them turned to their over-zealous friend and remarked, “I saw Lady Blank get into the next carriage with her eldest boy.” “Who?” he asked, with a sudden and remarkable rush of colour on his face. The lady to whom he had behaved so rudely turned out to be one from whom he had that very morning received a long-desired invitation to spend a few days at her country house in the following month. This he owed to the good offices of a friend in the F. O., and, delighted at having made such a step in his social career, he had at once written off accepting the invitation. It is scarcely necessary to add that he never made the visit, but had to wire at the last moment one of those conventional excuses that the “unco guid” call fibs, but which are only the transparent devices adopted by society to lubricate some of the more difficult of its processes.

Between the acts of a play the modern man thinks it his duty to himself to go out and have a drink,{101} perhaps smoke a cigarette.

There was a time when, had any such suggestion been made to a gentleman who had constituted himself the escort of a lady, he would have asked, though perhaps not in Milton’s words—

“And leave thy fair side all unguarded, lady?”

But who shall say what golden opinions are won by those who do not follow the custom, who refrain from acquiring the odour of tobacco, or whiskey, or brandy while they are in the company of ladies in the heated atmosphere of a theatre? A lady sometimes says to the men of her party, “I see that there is a general stampede going on. Don’t mind me if you would like to go out.” If they go she thinks, “Oh, they are just like the rest.” If they stay she says to her own heart, “How delightful it is to find a man who can do without a B.-and-S. or a smoke for two or three hours!” and up he goes many pegs in her estimation.

Apart from the lady he is with and considerations connected with her, there is the inconvenience to which many of the audience are subjected by the passing in and out of so many. However, it is a recognised custom, so much so that a smoking foyer is{102} attached to all the best theatres, and a warning bell is rung in it by the management a few minutes before the rising of the curtain.

Refreshments are frequently carried round by attendants to private boxes, and sometimes in the stalls as well. Should they appear, it is the duty of the gentleman of the party to ask the lady or ladies if they wish for any, and to pay for what is consumed. It is, however, a rare thing for ladies to eat or drink at the play. The gentleman also pays for the programme at the few theatres where a charge is made.

I may mention, by the way, that it is not considered very good form to pay for programmes at theatres where the management makes no charge. Instances have been known where attendants have been discharged for accepting such fees; and even apart from this, it is tantamount to presenting the attendant with sixpence or a shilling if one insists on paying for a programme or two provided free of charge. Many of the attendants are superior to accepting it.{103}

AT A BALL.

The etiquette of the ball-room is not difficult to acquire, and yet there are thousands of young men going into society constantly who flagrantly fail in it. Their bad manners are conspicuous. They decline to dance unless the prettiest girls in the room are “trotted out” for them, block the doorways, haunt the refreshment-room, and after supper promptly take their leave. Could any course of conduct be in worse taste? And what can a poor hostess do? Young men are necessary at dances, and they must be invited. If they will not dance, who shall make them?

The delight of the average hostess’s heart is the well-bred man, unspoiled by conceit, who can always be depended on to do his duty. He arrives in good time, fills his card before very long, and can be asked to dance with a plain, neglected wallflower or two without resenting it. He takes his partner duly to the refreshment-room after each dance, if she wishes to go, and provides her with whatever she wishes. Before leaving her, he sees her{104} safe at her chaperon’s side. If he should sit out a dance he returns in time to claim his partner for the next, not leaving her till it is half over, as is the wont of some young men.

The truth is that society demands a never-ending series of self-denying actions from those who belong to it, and the more cheerfully these are performed, the more perfect are the manners. What can be more enjoyable than to sit in some cool retreat with a charming girl, enjoying one of those innocent flirtations that do so much to give zest to life? But delightful though it be, the temptation to prolong it must be resisted, if an expectant partner is missing her dance and waiting in the ball-room to be claimed.

It is bad manners to go to a ball unless one is accomplished in the art of dancing. To do so is to take the place of one who may be more expert and therefore in greater request. Consequently, every man who wishes to be a success in society must learn to dance. There are abundant opportunities for doing so at the various dancing “academies,” as they are rather unsuitably entitled, for there is not much about them of the academical, as generally understood.

Private lessons are dearer than the others, but they are really necessary for most{105} men who have not been taught to dance when boys. The whole attention of the teacher should be given during the first three or four. A man has so much to learn in addition to the correct movements of his feet. He must be taught to hold his head up, to grasp his partner gently but firmly, not to tread on her toes or knock his knees against hers, and also how to steer his course and hers in an imaginary crowded room.

Afterwards come the finishing touches, when, perfect in the steps and carriage of the body, the learner is taught to glide gently from foot to foot, regulating his pace as quickly or as slowly as he may wish. At first this seems to be impossible, for the novice is inclined to “rush his fences,” as it were, and he waltzes round the room at breakneck speed, making himself giddy and breathless, and sometimes causing dire catastrophe. A girl finds it difficult to forgive a man who has made her look ridiculous.

The fall of a couple is not a frequent occurrence in a ball-room, but when it does happen it is almost always the man’s fault. Girls take much more naturally to the graceful movements of the dance, and are, besides, more often taught in childhood than their brothers.

At a private ball the guest enters and greets his hostess before speaking to any one else. She shakes hands with{106} him and passes him on to some one to introduce him to partners, perhaps her husband, perhaps her son.

With this beginning he will probably get on very well and may half-fill his card, and he should take care to do so at once, for at some balls the nice girls are immediately snapped up and engaged for even the extras before they have been twenty minutes in the room. “Are you engaged for every dance, Miss Grey? Can you spare me one?” And Miss Grey probably gives him one, but if he is a stranger of whose calisthenic prowess nothing is known, she is careful to give him only one. Sometimes his partners, if they discover that he dances well, introduce him to their sisters and friends. If, however, he should find himself left high and dry towards the end of the evening, he should go back to the gentlemen of the house and ask them to introduce him to somebody else. Young men of experience in such matters usually manage very well without this, but the novice has often to face the alternative of dancing no more or asking to be introduced.

Hostesses sometimes make special introductions for the “supper” dance, the one immediately preceding that meal. This means that the man introduced, unless engaged to dance it with some one else, is imperatively{107} called upon to accept the partner offered him and take her down to supper.

In asking a lady to dance it is usual to say, “Will you give me this waltz?” or “May I have this barn-dance?” Some young men say, “Would you like to dance this? Come along then!” but such a form of address is only suited to intimates.

When the dance is over, and the partner left with her friends, the man says, “Thank you,” bows, and leaves her.

If he wishes to see any lady to her carriage, he asks her permission to do so, folds her wraps round her, hands her in, and stands until the carriage has gone some yards away.{108}

ENGAGEMENT AND MARRIAGE.

The old-fashioned rule that a man must approach the father of a girl before offering himself in marriage to her has now, to some extent, died out.

A man may not propose when her family object.

At the same time it is considered dishonourable for any one to propose to a girl in the face of the decided disapprobation of her family. Clandestine courtship is also regarded as dishonourable, except in circumstances where the girl is unhappy or oppressed and needs a champion.

The usual way to ask for the admired one’s hand in marriage is in person. This is always preferable to writing, though some men have not the courage to adopt the first course.

Should the lady accept the offer, the happy wooer must take the earliest opportunity of seeing her father, or, failing him, her nearest friend, and begging him to permit the engagement. Should he consent, all is well; but in the contrary case, his decision must be accepted. To allow a girl to engage herself against the wish of her family{109}

is to drag her into a false position. Very often submission to the decree effects more towards procuring its reversal than violent opposition. It is difficult, of course, for young people to be patient, but if they can only manage a little of it they would find the truth of the French proverb, “All things come round to those who know how to wait.”

Immediately upon having the engagement ratified, the accepted suitor gives the lady an engagement ring. This should be as handsome a present as he can afford to buy. Together with all other presents and correspondence on both sides, this ring must be returned if the engagement should be broken off.

The accepted man is in duty bound to spend most of his leisure with his intended bride. He must not go off for a sojourn abroad while she is spending some weeks by the sea in England, unless she has expressed a wish to that effect. It would be a considerable “snub” to her to do so.

Society has sometimes been amused by the announcement one day of a “marriage having been arranged between Mr. A. and Miss B.,” and on the next of the intention of Mr. A. to start for a tour round the world. This almost{110} always means that the man has been entrapped into a proposal, and would willingly retreat if he honourably could. Such things happen only too often. Manœuvring mothers have much to answer for in the matter. Worldly girls have often sufficient wisdom of the serpent to bring a reluctant wooer to the point and, by immediately announcing the engagement to their friends, to make it extremely difficult for him to retreat.

Sometimes a girl falls so wildly in love with a man that she creates a kind of corresponding, though passing, fervour in him, and while it lasts he believes himself in love, though his emotions are only a mixture of gratified vanity and that physical attraction which needs true love to redeem it from the fleshly sort.

Should marriage follow upon such courtships as these, where the girl takes ever the initiative, the union is very seldom a happy one. The wife never feels sure that her husband really loves her or would have chosen her. She knows that he was her choice, rather than she his, and a racking jealousy seizes her and makes her not only miserable herself, but a very uncomfortable companion for him.

He, too, often finds when it is too late that she fulfils none of his ideals, and is in many ways a contrast to the girl he would have chosen if she had{111} not whirled him into the vortex of her own strong feeling. And he occasionally wonders if she may not some day experience a similar strength of attraction for some other man and let herself be carried away by it as she had been by her feeling for him. “Hot fires soon burn out,” he thinks, and remembers the warning given to Othello: “She hath deceived her father, and may thee.”

No man should drag a girl into a long engagement. Nor should any man propose to a girl until he is in a position to provide for her.

He is only standing in the way of other wooers who may be well supplied with this world’s gear. Such trifles as wealth and ease may appear as nought to the mind of the youthful lover, not to be weighed for a moment in the balance with love and young romance. The girl, too, may be of the same way of thinking at the time, but it the more behoves the man, the stronger, to consider her and to remember that poverty is such a bitter and a cruel thing that it even kills love at times.

Recrimination in the home is a hard thing to bear. And yet how many millions of women since the world began have said to their husband: “Oh, why did I ever marry you? I could have done so much better.”

And how many men have said to{112} their wives: “Well! You were determined to have me, so now you must make the best of me.”

However, we will suppose these rocks and quicksands past, the engaged couple happy, and the wedding day at hand.

Custom demands that the bridegroom shall present her bouquet to the bride, as well as bouquets and a present each to the bridesmaids. He must furnish the house for the bride in every detail, not excepting the house and table linen, which, in the old days of spinning-wheels, was wont to be contributed by the bride herself.

He must provide the wedding ring and the carriage in which his best man and himself go to church. He pays the fees to clergyman and clerk, but it is the best man who hands them over. With him the bridegroom waits at the altar till the bride arrives. She takes her place at his left hand for the first time, and at the proper moment he produces the ring which is the symbol of their union.

The usual dress of a bridegroom consists of a very dark blue frock-coat, light trousers, light or white scarf-tie, patent boots, and a new hat.{113}

DRESS.

It is absolutely true, though in a very limited sense, that the tailor makes the man.

If a man does not dress well in society he cannot be a success. If he commits flagrant errors in costume he will not be invited out very much, of that he may be certain.

If he goes to a garden party in a frock-coat and straw hat, he is condemned more universally than if he had committed some crime. The evidence of the latter would not be upon him for all men to read, as the evidence of his ignorance in social forms is, in his mistaken notions of dress. Things are more involved than ever in the sartorial line, since so many new sports and pastimes have sprung up for men.

A man cannot consult his tailor upon every trifling detail, even if his tailor were always a perfectly reliable authority, which is not always the case, for there are tailors and tailors. A young man’s finances do not always allow him to go to one of the best, and the second and third-rate artists in{114} cloth are apt to purvey second and third-rate fashions to their customers. A brief summary of the forms of dress appropriate to various occasions may be of some use to the inexperienced. It is obvious that to enter into detail would be out of place in a matter where change is the order of the day.

But there are certain fixed rules that are, in a sense, permanent, and with these I may succinctly deal.

For morning wear the morning-coat or jacket or the tweed suit is correct. After lunch, when in town, the well-dressed man may continue to wear his morning-coat or the regulation frock-coat, with trousers of some neat, striped grey mixture. The tailor’s name for the material of these is “mixed cheviots.”

It is not considered good form to wear very light trousers except on special occasions, such as weddings, garden parties, or afternoon assemblies of a festive kind. Even then it is better to err on the quiet side than to be over-loud.

The days of broadcloth have long gone by, and coats are now made of vicuna cloth or black twilled worsteds, with a dull finish and of an elastic quality. Waistcoats may be single or double-breasted. There is no restriction as to the colour of the tie.

The Park suit may consist of a grey{115} or light-brown frock-coat, with waistcoat and trousers to match, and this is the usual dress for Ascot, the smartest of all the races. At Sandown the low hat and tweed suit, or long racing coat, are worn, except on such days as the Princess of Wales is present, when the Prince sets the example of wearing a black coat and silk hat, and all other men are expected to follow his example.

For a morning walk in the Park in summer the straw hat, or low hat and tweed suit, are as correct as the black coat and silk hat. But it must be remembered that a straw hat or low hat cannot be worn with a black coat of any kind.

The “pot” hat and brown boots are permissible with an overcoat, under which there may be a tweed suit, but brown boots may not otherwise accompany a black coat, though they are admissible with the Ascot suit.

There are special suits for all kinds of outdoor amusements, such as shooting, golfing, tennis, boating, driving, riding, bicycling, fishing, hunting, &c., but into the details of these it is unnecessary to enter.

It may be remarked, however, that it is easy to stultify the whole effect of these, however perfectly they may be “built” by the tailor, by the addition{116} of a single incongruous article of attire; such as a silk hat or patent boots with a shooting-suit.

The dress-coat is no longer made of broadcloth, the shiny finish of which would now have a very old-fashioned appearance. The ordinary evening coat is made of an elastic twill cloth, with a dull finish. Its elasticity makes it fit to perfection when cut by a good tailor. Of course it would be incorrect to wear other than black trousers with it. The waistcoat is much cut away, to show a wide expanse of immaculately got-up shirt-front.

This is the only correct costume for evening wear on all occasions of a formal nature.

The dinner-jacket has very largely superseded the dress-coat for home wear and at dinners in houses where one is a familiar guest. It is occasionally seen at the play, too, but it would be incorrect to wear it when accompanying ladies.

Etiquette is not now nearly so strict as it used to be in the matter of evening dress in the stalls, private boxes, and dress circle of the theatres. I think this is rather to be deplored, but the wave of democracy that has poured over society of late has left its impress in this as in other matters. Though theatre managers put on the tickets special to the best seats “Evening{117} Dress,” I have seen half-a-dozen men in the stalls dressed in a variety of unorthodox fashions, and once, in August, I even saw a man in a boating suit come in, straw hat in hand, and, ushered by an unprotesting attendant, take his seat. In the off-season, when all the fashionable people are out of town, this was not, perhaps, very surprising.

Mourning for men seems almost a dead-letter nowadays, except in the first two or three weeks after bereavement. A widower’s mourning is not worn for more than a couple of months, unless the widower should belong to the numerous class who cling conservatively to old customs, and believe that to doff his weeds would imply some disrespect to his late wife.

Disraeli, in his “Endymion,” puts the following words in the mouth of Mr. Vigo, the great tailor:—

“Dress does not make a man, but it often makes a successful one. The most precious stone, you know, must be cut and polished. I have known many an heiress lost by her suitor being ill-dressed. You must dress according to your age, your pursuits, your object in life; you must dress, too, in some cases, according to your set. In youth a little fancy is{118} rather expected, but if political life be your object, it should be avoided—at least after one-and-twenty.

I am dressing two brothers now, men of considerable position; one is a mere man of pleasure, the other will probably be a Minister of State. They are as like as two peas, but were I to dress the dandy and the minister the same, it would be bad taste—it would be ridiculous. No man gives me the trouble which Lord Eglantine does; he has not made up his mind whether he will be a great poet or a Prime Minister. ‘You must choose, my lord,’ I tell him. ‘I cannot send you out looking like Lord Byron if you mean to be a Canning or a Pitt.’

“What all men should avoid is the ‘shabby genteel.’ No man ever gets over it. I will save you from that. You had better be in rags.”{119}

COUNTRY LIFE.

Dress in the country varies considerably in many matters from that worn in town. A boy’s first “country suit” after he leaves school is a great event to him.

At Eton and Harrow the style of dress might almost be called a uniform, and the first suit of tweeds marks the emancipation from school-life. When in the country he dons these the first thing in the morning, unless he should be on hunting or bicycling thoughts intent, or should incline towards tennis, boating, or the slow delights of angling. After lunch a change has occasionally to be made.

Should a garden party be in question, he may take his choice between tweed suit and low hat or cutaway coat with silk hat. If he happen to be great on tennis the tweed suit would be naturally his choice, unless it were distinctly understood that the game would form a prominent feature of the afternoon’s entertainment. In this case flannels would be worn. Sometimes very ceremonious garden parties{120} take place in the country, when Royalty or distinguished persons are expected to be present, when the frock coat and its usual accompaniments would not be out of place.

Invitations to breakfast in the country are by no means unusual. The dress would consist of that ordinarily worn in the mornings, whether tweed suit, knickerbockers, hunting or riding gear, or the black morning-coat or suit. Frequently a silk hat is never seen between Sunday and Sunday.

Churchgoers still, to a certain extent, affect it, but in these days of outdoor life, bicycling, and so on, the costume worn by men in church is experiencing the same modifications that characterise it in other departments. The details of shooting suits can always be studied in the illustrated advertisements of the tailors. A man’s wardrobe is now almost as varied as a woman’s. He has different costumes for walking, riding, driving, visiting, boating, hunting, shooting, golfing, bicycling, tennis, and cricket, dining, smoking, and lounging, football, racing, and yachting, to say nothing of uniform and Court suit, besides the now developing motor-car costume.{121}

VISITING-CARDS AND CALLS.

It is necessary for every young man to have a supply of visiting-cards, and for these there is one fixed rule, any departure from which betokens want of knowledge of the customs of well-bred people.

The size must be exactly three inches by one and a half. The pasteboard must be pure white and glossy and the lettering must be in italic.

An idea prevails among young men of a certain class that it is incorrect to put the title “Mr.” before their own name on a visiting-card. This is a great mistake. Not to put it is to show oneself lacking in savoir faire.

The customary or other title must precede the name.

The name must always be preceded by “Mr.” or “Sir,” or other title. The address must occupy the left-hand corner, and the name of one’s club or clubs must follow it.

When a young man has no permanent address, it is well to have only his name printed, filling in the address in pencil before leaving or presenting his card.{122}

The hours for calling are from four to seven in the afternoon, but young men who are not on very intimate terms with the family should carefully abstain from calling after six o’clock, lest they should be the last and solitary caller.

When the door is opened, and the question, “Is Mrs. Blank at home?” answered in the affirmative, the visitor is invited to follow the servant. He may take off his overcoat if he wishes, but he must carry his hat and stick in his hand. The right-hand glove must be removed. The gloved hand is never given to a lady, certain exceptional circumstances proving the rule.

Arrived in the drawing-room, he holds his hat and glove in the left hand, greets hostess first, she shaking hands with him, and then he looks round the room and greets any acquaintance he may recognise, going up to them if he knows them well, bowing if his previous knowledge of them has been slight. Having taken his seat, he still holds his hat in his hand, and he must find small talk as best he can, for sitting silent is awkward for him and distressing to his hostess. She, by the way, will probably say, “Would you not like to put down your hat?” indicating some spot where he may lay it. The reason of carrying the hat to the drawing-room{123}

is a somewhat subtle one. It is based on the supposition that the masculine caller feels himself privileged in being permitted to pay his respects, and feeling himself on sufferance, is ready to leave in a moment, hat in hand, should he not find his presence agreeable and acceptable.

I have a private theory that this custom is cherished and kept up by men from a conviction that their hats are much safer in their own sight in the drawing-room than they would be downstairs in the hall. New umbrellas have been taken instead of old, as we all know, and new hats are quite as tempting, if not more so.

Do not send your card up when making a call. This is reserved for business men. The servant asks your name, and it must be given very distinctly. It will then be announced in a loud, clear voice when the door is opened. Should the hostess show by her manner that she has not recognised the name, its owner must recall himself to her memory by saying, “I am Mr. So-and-so. I had the pleasure of,” &c., &c., explaining the circumstances that led to the call.

The visiting-card must be left on the hall table when the caller goes away, one card for the ladies of the house, and one for the gentleman or{124} gentlemen, whether these latter have been present or absent during the call.

Should the lady called on be “Not at home” the cards are given to the servant.

When a man has rendered an unknown lady some really important service, as in the case of a street accident or some other disagreeable circumstance in which he has been able to avert from her some unpleasantness which she would have otherwise incurred, the lady will probably ask him to let her know to whom she is indebted for so much kindness. The proper course to pursue is to disclaim any special obligation, but if the lady persists, it is then good manners to give the name. Should the gentleman feel very much interested in the lady, he may say, “I should very much like to call to-morrow to find out if you are none the worse for your adventure.” She may then give him her address, and he would give her his card.

But this would all be very much out of place if the affair had been some mere matter of common courtesy, such as picking up some article dropped by a lady and restoring it to her. A gentleman in such circumstances raises his hat and retires as quickly as possible, lest the lady should imagine that he could base a claim to her acquaintance{125} on the performance of so trivial a service.

It is only the “cad” who thus presumes, and the “cad-ess” who allows him to do so.

These are always sent by post. The letters denote pour prendre congé (“to take leave”), and are used when it is found impossible to call and say goodbye to all one’s circle of acquaintance.

A call after a ball or dinner-party must be made within the week, and cards left.

In calling to inquire after the welfare of an invalid, or after the family has suffered bereavement, cards are always left. If a man is on intimate terms with a family that has suffered bereavement, he sometimes uses cards with a slight line of black, and should he write a letter of condolence, notepaper and envelopes with the same slight indication of mourning on them. This expresses sympathy and a personal share in the sorrow felt.

In making a call after death has visited any family, the dress of the caller should be attuned to the occasion, and should be of a sombre order, though it need not be precisely mourning.

When a man is a frequent visitor to{126} any house, he may leave his hat and stick in the hall.

In case of not wishing to pursue the acquaintance of the person who sent the invitation, it is sufficient to leave the cards without inquiring whether the lady is at home.

Terminating an acquaintanceship with courtesy.

If a man should wish, for any reason, to courteously end an acquaintanceship, he can do it without any of the intolerable “cutting,” a method resorted to only by the rough and uncultivated.

He may make a call that, in his own mind, he knows to be a final one, remaining only just the quarter of an hour that is the minimum length of such functions, and preserving a certain gravity of demeanour which is as free from “sulks” as it is from other forms of bad temper. After this, he may leave cards once more without asking if the ladies of the family are at home. In this way he can gradually and with perfect courtesy break off the intimacy.

In the street he raises his hat but does not stop to speak. It is quite possible to ignore the attempt to do so on the opposite side, but should circumstances be such as to make it difficult to do so without{127} positive rudeness, he must stop, putting an end to the conversation at the earliest possible moment.

A call should never extend over half an hour unless the caller be expressly requested to prolong it.

A gentleman never looks at his watch during a call, at a dinner-party, afternoon reception or ball. This is prohibited because the inference would be that time was dragging with him and that he was anxious to get away. A man may feel such anxiety, but he must hide it if he would be deemed well-bred.

Young men who do not pay their duty call and leave a card after any entertainment, are likely to be omitted from the list of guests invited on some succeeding occasion.

Occasionally it happens that a young man finds himself “dropped” by some family with whom he has been on terms of intimacy. He is debarred by the rules of polite society from asking for an explanation, it being a canon of good breeding never to ask questions that are embarrassing to reply to. This has been embodied in a very outspoken and unceremonious phrase “you ask me no questions, I tell you no lies.” There is a deep truth in it, nevertheless, and even in family life it is well to observe it.

Sometimes the reason a young man{128} is dropped in this way is that something to his disadvantage has been discovered.

But not unfrequently the true reason is that one of the daughters of the house has shown a preference for his society which the parents think should be checked. Girls of the present day do not always exercise the well-bred self-control that is the rule of good society in such matters. To love unsought is a misfortune for any girl, leading inevitably to much mortification and humiliation, but these may be minimised if she can only practice a dignified reticence about her feelings.

But should a young man thus capriciously (as it seems to him) be left out in the cold be on sufficiently good terms with a son of the house, it would be quite in rule for him to put out a feeler or two on the subject: “I say, old fellow, I wonder if I have been so unfortunate as to offend your people in any way?” He will soon discover, from the aspect of his interlocutor, whether he is likely to gain any information on the matter.

In calling on friends who have suffered bereavement, after having received their card of thanks for kind inquiries, it is, of course, requisite that the dress should{129} be of the quietest description. A red tie, for instance, would be horribly out of place. Only in case of very intimate friendships is the call prolonged beyond ten minutes or a quarter of an hour. The caller takes his tone from that of the family.

It is in the worst taste to refer to the loss sustained unless the initiative is taken by one of those bereaved. This is very seldom done, and the conversation is usually conducted on lines calculated to avert any disturbing remark. No one likes to break down or lose self-command except in seclusion; and, in fact, it is only necessary to look into one’s own consciousness in order to discover what is the best course to follow in such cases.

Should a young man be invited to attend the funeral, he must wear mourning, black gloves, and black hatband. Punctuality, important at all times, is particularly essential at this dreary ceremonial. The family usually provides carriages, but in the case of friends who possess equipages, they always take their own. It is the custom to assemble at the house, or to go by fixed train should the family reside in the country.

It is better not to accept any invitations to return to{130} the house afterwards; for, as a rule, these are only given as a matter of form.

We often see in newspapers after the announcement of a death, a request that no flowers may be sent. Failure to comply with this would argue a want of perception, but when no such intimation is made a friend may send flowers, the only essential being that they should consist as a rule of pure white flowers or orchids, pansies, or violets. Occasionally an exception is made to these in the case of favourite flowers of the lost friend. An exquisite garland of pale tea-roses appeared among the scores of wreaths seen at the funeral of one of our greatest poets.{131}

MANNER.

It would not be easy to over-estimate the importance of a good manner from a social point of view. It ranks far above much more important qualities. The “rough diamonds” who conceal their traditional good heart under a surly exterior are seldom happy people, notwithstanding their genuine thoroughness and real goodness.

In family life and in society a gentle manner “covers a multitude of sins.” The world and the home reflect back to us the face we present to them. If we cultivate a bright and cordial manner we shall be heartily received by others, though the real nature of us lies beneath as cold and hard as salt fresh from a mine. In the home the coldness and hardness are soon found out, but they are partially condoned for the sake of the superficial courtesy and kindness. In society the quality of the heart matters little, so long as the surface is, at the same time, genial and polished.

“Life is a large bundle of little things.”

Life is chiefly made up of small things, and if we learn to take an interest in{132} the trifling incidents of our friends’ lives, in the everyday occurrences in the existence of our acquaintances, we supply the sympathetic element that tells so largely in our favour.

And very often the simulation of this interest induces the reality, and our own life is brightened by participating in the pleasures and the happiness of others, and deepened by sharing in their disappointments, and by doing so helping them to overcome them. With a cold, forbidding manner it is impossible to convey any such impression.

But this often comes from shyness, not only in the young, but all through life. The youthful form of shyness is self-consciousness and self-distrust. That which lasts through life is the fear of self-revelation.

Even the frankest natures have often this quality of reticence, which forbids them to reveal the inner depths of their thoughts, and makes them hate to be divined.

Rochefoucauld says we all hate to be divined, though we like to divine others; but many of us know well what a delightful thing it is to be read like an open book by those whose thoughts reflect our own, and with whom we discover ourselves to be in mental kinship.

The ideal life—few friends, many acquaintances.

The ideal life is that which has few friends but many acquaintances. The{133} friends are close and firm ones, “grappled to our hearts with hooks of steel,” and the circle of acquaintances offers opportunities for adding to their number. But without an agreeable manner it is difficult to secure these inner and outer spheres of social companionship.

A recipe for the formation of a good manner.

Were I asked to give a recipe for the formation of a good manner I should recommend an equal mixture of self-confidence and humility as the first essential, then a considerable desire to please, tempered by the self-respect which preserves from officiousness and that annoying air of “ingratiating” themselves that some men assume in society. There must be perfect self-possession, though in the very young this is scarcely expected, a little becoming shyness sitting very well upon them. “I like a shy man. He’s getting so scarce,” said a very pretty woman at a ball not long since. “Find one, quick, and introduce him.” Her laughing emissaries went off to search for the desired article, and after a while returned with the report that the only shy man in the room was engaged for every dance!

When self-possession has been acquired it is well to add on to it the saving grace of gentleness. This quality is much misunderstood by men. In women they adore it; in{134} themselves and each other they undervalue it. But women love gentleness in men. It is a most telling piece of the necessary equipment for society. A gentle manner, a gentle voice, and the absence of all self-assertion, that is at the root of the matter, have won more love than good looks.

Carlyle called the members of upper-class society “amiable stoics,” in reference to the equable serenity of countenance and calm self-possession of manner with which they accept those occasionally trying conditions of social life which necessitate self-denial in matters great and small.

This placidity is the result of long training. Not just at first does a young man bow to the decree of his hostess which separates him from the girl he admires and tells him off to take some uninteresting dowager to the supper-room. But should he evince any sign of discontent with the arrangement he is at once convicted of ill-breeding. The man of “perfect manners” is he who is calmly courteous in all circumstances, as attentive outwardly to the plain and the elderly as he is to the young and pretty.

It is difficult to renounce the delightful tête-à-tête with a charming girl when asked by his hostess to dance with some poor wallflower who has been neglected for half-a-dozen dances. But it has to{135} be borne, and eventually it brings its own reward. The “duty” dance is a hard thing, and good manners involve a considerable amount of self-denial; but repetition soon makes it comparatively easy, and invitations of an agreeable kind pour in on the young man who shows himself willing to practise those peculiar forms of selflessness, opportunities for which so frequently arise in society.

It is probably in imitation of this surface equanimity that the wooden stare has been adopted so universally by our golden youth.

This is useful for wearing at one’s club or in the stall of a theatre, and it at once stamps the proprietor of the stare as being “in it.” The fashion is not confined to England. It reigns in New York, and even in far Australia there is a select coterie of golden or gilded youth who are beginning to learn how to abstract every atom of expression from the countenance, and to look on vacantly or seem to do so. As yet, there is no considerable expertness achieved in the matter in Antipodean circles, but in New York a very fair impression of imbecility is conveyed in the look of the ultra-fashionable young man. There are various other important matters on which a transatlantic authority has been instructing the youth of his generation. The one{136} involving the most serious responsibility is connected with carrying a cane or stick, as it is better form to call it.

It must be left at home when going to business, to church, or to make calls. The idea of the latter prohibition is that, if a call is made on a lady cane in hand, the inference would be that the caller is on sufficiently intimate terms to look in on her casually at any time. There is certainly subtlety in this view. It is well that the novice should be made aware that the lowest depth of vulgarity is touched by carrying an umbrella in a case. It is also an important item of information that the gloves and cane must be carried in the same hand. To do otherwise is seriously to err in social forms. Our instructor declares that to attend oratorios and philharmonic concerts is thoroughly bad form, indicating a tendency to be pedantic. It is much better to go to a horse show. It is by no means considered correct to shake hands. The proper way is to take hold of the fingers of one’s acquaintance at the second joints, and bestow upon them one or two decisive little jerks, as though testing their strength. “No, I thank you,” is a form of words no longer heard in good society, having some time since been replaced by “No, thanks.” No man with any claim to social position would consent to pronounce the “g” at the end of the{137} present participle of verbs. “Comin’ and goin’” are the correct forms just now. “Don’t you know” is ridiculously correct. Men of perception do not care to be more accurate than others of their set. “Don’t-chi-know” is more customary, and the pronunciation marks the man as riding on the topmost crest of the social wave. There must be a staccato sound about the phrase, which alternates pleasantly with the languid drawl. The latter is still in favour, and accompanies admirably the studied lack of animation in the expression and general wooden look of the face.

There is much to be deduced from the manner in which it is carried. The correct style is to hold it at an angle of forty-five degrees, with the ferule uppermost and forward. This is the sort of thing that no man could possibly discover for himself. The natural man would incline to carry his stick in such fashion as would tend to direct its point to the ground. This unsophisticated mode would at once reveal him as uninitiated in the minor morals of good manners. The latest mode of arranging the male hair, as practised in New York, and possibly nearer home as well, is worth noting.

First it is made thoroughly wet, then brushed and parted, after which the head is swathed with linen bands,{138} which are kept on until the hair is thoroughly dry. This method produces the plastered appearance which is now recognised as good form. Though cordiality of manner is rapidly becoming obsolete, and is utterly condemned by all who have studied the subject, yet it is a recognised fact that amiability has now superseded sarcasm, and the up-to-date young man practises a careless superficial benevolence of pronouncing every woman charming and every man a good fellow.

The scathing, satiric wit of the last century was as the nadir to this zenith of appreciative recognition of the best that is in every human being.

It is pleasant to be able to add to all this minute detail about little superficialities that the young man of to-day is a vast improvement on his predecessors in very many ways. Swearing is out of fashion. Getting intoxicated is decidedly “low,” and those who disgrace themselves in this way are soon cut by their acquaintance. Some twenty years since things were very different.

To get tipsy was regarded as a proof of manliness. To wrench off door-knockers and play similar senseless pranks was considered a form of wit, and the heroes of such performances were looked on with admiring eyes by their companions.

The pictures of ballet dancers that used once to adorn a young man’s rooms have given place to others of a higher class. Dissolute and unprincipled men get the cold shoulder from others of their set, and vice, thank Heaven, is thoroughly out of fashion. There is still plenty of folly. It is inseparable from youth. But in matters of more moment there has been immense improvement going steadily on for many years.

There are young men who mistake arrogance of manners for self-possession, and who conduct themselves, when in society with lifted chin and a haughty air that may accord very well with their own estimate of themselves, but seem rather out of place to onlookers. Such a man invites comparisons between his social deserts and his implied conviction of superiority.

He may take in a few inexperienced girls and young fellows of adolescent inability of judgment, but even these triumphs are short-lived, and he is set down as a “pompous ass,” to use the young man’s phrase for describing him.

It is good manners to articulate distinctly, and bad manners to neglect to do so.

A man need not exactly take lessons in elocution (though they would not be amiss), but he can teach himself to pronounce clearly and use the{140}

tone of voice that is best suited to the various occasions when he converses. A breathy voice is extremely disagreeable. The syllables come out enveloped in a sort of windy roar. This is owing to a wrong way of breathing, and it can easily be cured, with advantage to the health as well as the personality.

A very confidential tone is always used by some men when they speak to women. If they merely “hope your gown did not get muddy” they look into one’s eyes and murmur like any sucking dove. But if their articulation is indistinct they are quite a nuisance. One has to ask them to repeat themselves, and the nonsense they talk shows up very badly in an encore. But when they enunciate clearly their devoted murmurings sometimes “take” very well. It is not until a woman has seen three or four others besides herself approached in the same afternoon or evening with similar devout and prayer-like whispering that she begins to value this particularity at its true worth.

With reference to the word “fellow” a subtle distinction or two must be drawn. In lowly circles a young man is called “a fellow”; young men “fellows.” So it is in good society, but with a distinct difference. It is not very easy to make this difference clear. Young men of good position refer very{141} commonly to others of their acquaintance as “the fellows,” but they would not use the word to describe young men generally. Women, young and old, of the lower classes speak of young men generally as “fellows,” but gentlewomen never do so. A lady never uses the expression “A girl and a fellow.” At the same time she may frequently speak of “young fellows.” I am aware that there is a want of clearness in all this, but it is a matter among many others that can only be acquired by being accustomed to the usages of good society.

The Autocrat of the Breakfast-table said in one of his books that if he heard a woman pronounce the word “How,” he learned more about her in an instant than a third person could tell him in an hour. If she called it “haow,” she revealed herself as belonging to the uncultured classes.

In the same way, if a girl were to say “I met a fellow yesterday,” she would unconsciously make a similar self-revelation. A young man would make an equal mistake if he were to speak of “my sister’s fellow.” But he would be correct enough if he were to say “the fellow my sister’s engaged to.”

“Strange that such difference should be
’Twixt tweedledum and tweedledee.”

Though small talk is as indispensable in social life as pennies and halfpennies in the transactions of everyday existence, we must also have conversational gold and silver at our command if we wish to be successful. When the preliminaries of acquaintanceship are over there is no necessity to keep up the commonplaces of small talk. To do so is rather insulting to women.

To be “talked down to” is always aggravating, especially when one feels a conviction that the person who is thus affably stooping for one’s benefit belongs in reality to a lower intellectual plane than one’s own.

At the same time, many young men “with nothing in them” are socially successful, being possessed of those superficial qualities and that outward polish which are, for the purposes of everyday intercourse, more useful than abysmal personal depths. Was it Goethe or Schiller who said that for domestic utility a farthing candle is more useful than all the stars of heaven?

A light playfulness of fancy, combined with the gentleness that carefully avoids wounding even the smallest, is a high recommendation in society; but to be for ever laughing is wearisome in the extreme to the spectators.

I make no apology for quoting here{143} the following passages from “Mr. Brown’s Letters to a Young Man About Town” from a Punch of 1849. “Mr. Brown” was Thackeray, I believe.

“I beseech and implore you to make a point of being intimate with one or two families where you can see kind and well-bred English ladies. I have seen women of all nations in the world, but I never saw the equals of English women (meaning, of course, to include our cousins the MacWhirters of Glasgow and the O’Tooles of Cork); and I pray sincerely, my boy, that you may always have a woman for a friend.”

“It is better for you to pass an evening once or twice a week in a lady’s drawing-room, even though the conversation is rather slow and you know the girl’s songs by heart, than in a club, tavern, or smoking-room, or pit of a theatre.”

“Remember, if a house is pleasant, and you like to remain in it, that to be well with the women of the house is the great, the vital point. If it is a good house, don’t turn up your nose because you are only asked to come in the evening, while others are invited to dine. Recollect the debts of dinners which{144} an hospitable family has to pay; who are you that you should always be expecting to nestle under the mahogany? Agreeable acquaintances are made just as well in the drawing-room as in the dining-room. Go to tea brisk and good-humoured. Be determined to be pleased. Talk to a dowager. Take a hand at whist. If you are musical, and know a song, sing it like a man. Never sulk about dancing, but off with you. You will find your acquaintance enlarge. Mothers, pleased with your good humour, will probably ask you to Pocklington Square, to a little party. You will get on—you will form yourself a circle. You may marry a rich girl, or, at any rate, get the chance of seeing a number of the kind and the pretty.”

“The dressing, the clean gloves, and cab-hire, are nuisances, I grant you. The idea of the party itself is a bore, but you must go. When you are at the party, it is not so stupid; there is always something pleasant for the eye and attention of an observant man.”{145}

IN CHURCH.

I know a young man who makes it a practice to arrive late in church every Sunday. I often wish that he did not go to my church, for he makes me cordially despise him, thus disturbing the calm and quiet of the proper frame of mind for Sundays. I conclude that he likes to be looked at, though why he should do so is not apparent. It is, in fact, not only rude, but irreverent, to be late in church for the beginning of the service. If one should be accidentally late, it is good manners to wait till the congregation rises from the kneeling posture before making one’s way to a seat. It is almost an awful thing to interrupt a prayer. But I have seen people do it with no more scruple than if they were passing in a crowded street.

Eighteen inches are the measurement of space allowed to each sitter in the churches. In some it may be more; in others it may be less. But I have reason to believe that this is the average. Now, if any man of extra size should find himself in a pew with other persons, he must, in{146} common courtesy, keep himself as well within the limits of eighteen inches as the width of his shoulders will allow. But I have occasionally seen quite slim young men sprawl far beyond the frontier lines.

Lounging is a habit of the day, and there are men who get themselves into marvellously corkscrew attitudes, in church as elsewhere.

Fidgety men are more so in church than anywhere else. They seem to find it impossible to keep still. Sometimes they even produce a cough wherewith to amuse themselves, though they are not troubled with it at any other time. The charm of a reposeful manner is denied to them. Reverence for the sacred place conduces to a quiet manner; but this is not always felt by those who attend public worship.

The conventional idea seems to be that such assemblies are merely phases of social life; that it is respectable to be seen there; and that the service and the sermon are things to be worried through in deference to a prevalent idea that they form part of an institution that is generally regarded as excellent.

The small minority are those who regard church services in their true light as lifting the thoughts above earthly things, and yet by no means unfitting{147} them for earth. Where, for instance, could a better law of good manners be found than in the Book of Books? A glance at the end of the fourth chapter of Ephesians will show a code of conduct that, if followed, would make a man a perfect member of society.{148}

CORRESPONDENCE.

It is impolite to leave letters unanswered for several days, especially if the writers are ladies, or, if men, superior in age or station. Notes of invitation should be replied to within twenty-four hours.

Plain white cream-laid notepaper and envelopes should be used, the latter either square or wallet-shaped, but never of the oblong, narrow shape peculiar to business correspondence. The address on the notepaper should be embossed or printed in simple characters, over-ornament being in the worst taste. If the writer is entitled to use a crest, it should be produced as simply as possible, with or without the family motto, and free from the glow of varied colour in which some men and women delight. There are letters whose devices in scarlet and gold are strangely in contrast with the meagre and disappointing character of their contents. They make one think of fried sprats served up on a gold entrée dish.

In beginning a letter with “Sir” or “Madam,” the omission of the name is remedied by inscribing it in the left-hand corner at the bottom of the note. In commercial correspondence it seems to be the rule to put the name of the addressee just above “Dear Sir” or “Madam.”

Should it be advisable to enclose in any letter an envelope for a reply, ready addressed, it is not good form to put “Esq.” after one’s own name in addressing it.

Married women and widows are not addressed by their own Christian names, but by those of their husbands. For instance, no one versed in social forms would write “Mrs. Mary Smith,” but “Mrs. John Smith.” Widows of titled men have their Christian name put before their surname, thus, “Laura Lady Ledding,” “Maria Marchioness of Adesbury,” “Georgina Viscountess Medway,” “Mary Duchess of Blankton.” The unmarried daughters of dukes, marquises, and earls have their Christian name invariably inserted between their courtesy title and surname, as: “Lady Mary Baker.” When married they retain this form, only substituting the husband’s surname for their own, as “Lady Mary Garth.” But if their{150} husband should be a peer, they merge their courtesy title in his.

The third person in correspondence is falling considerably into disuse, and “presenting compliments” is almost obsolete. Invitations of a formal kind, and their replies, are couched in the third person, but for purposes of correspondence with strangers it is almost always better to use the first person. The exception is in replying to a letter written in the third person, when it is in better taste to reply in the same way. The third person is also used in writing to tradespeople: “Mr. Edlicott will feel obliged if Mr. Jones will kindly call on Thursday morning with reference to some repairs.” In this case the reply would be written in the first person.

Letters of introduction, says La Fontaine, “are drafts that must be cashed at sight.” They are sometimes difficult to write, especially if they have been asked for, not volunteered. They are always left unsealed, but should there be circumstances about the person introduced which the other party should know, it is well to communicate them in a private letter, which should be despatched so as to arrive before the letter of introduction is presented. Any one receiving a letter of introduction would immediately take steps to show some{151} attention to the individual introduced. The usual thing is to ask him to dinner, if he is a social equal; to offer his services, if he should be a superior; and to ascertain in what way one can be useful to him, if he is an inferior.

A personal call must precede all invitations. This is a fixed and rigid rule, the exception being in the case of persons presenting their own letters of introduction, as is usually done. But should the person to whom they are addressed be out, the formal call must follow.

Styles of address at the beginning of a letter.

All ladies, from the Queen downwards, are addressed in beginning a letter as “Madam”; all gentlemen, from the highest to the lowest, as “Sir.” Tradesmen, however, begin “Your Royal Highness,” “Your Grace,” or “Your Ladyship,” in writing to their titled employers. They also address their letters quite differently, as will be seen from the following instructions:—

Addresses of Letters.

This same form is used in addressing communications to all other members of the Royal Family, adding the title{152} where the word “Prince” or “Princess” would be incorrect, as:—

Below the rank of royalty there is the distinction between letters addressed by persons on an equality with those to whom formal and they write, and by inferiors.

Address for the envelope—formal and informal.

Members of the Privy Council are{153} also addressed as “Right Honourable,” in the same way as Peers. In this case the names of commoners are not followed by the abbreviation “Esq.,” as:—

Ambassadors and their wives are addressed as “His Excellency,” “Her Excellency,” the personal and official titles following the word, as:—

To His Excellency the Earl of——, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary to France.

Academical distinctions are indicated by the initials placed after the name—LL.D. for Doctor of Laws and Learning, D.D. for Doctor of Divinity and so on.

So much for the envelopes. The proper way to begin letters is as follows. As I have mentioned, the Queen is addressed as “Madam” in the inside of a letter. A gentleman writing{154}

to the Queen would sign himself, “I have the honour to submit myself, with profound respect, Your Majesty’s most devoted subject and servant.” Above the word “Madam” should be written “Her Majesty the Queen.” Lord Beaconsfield struck out a line of his own and in writing to the Queen began, “Mr. Disraeli,” continuing in the third person and addressing Her Majesty in the second.

The Prince of Wales is addressed as “Sir,” above this word being written “To His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales.” Persons on intimate terms sometimes begin “Sir” or “Dear Prince,” others “My dear Prince.” The Princess of Wales is occasionally addressed by friends as “My dear Princess.” The two orthodox endings to such letters are respectively “Your Royal Highness’s dutiful and obedient servant,” or (a humbler style) “Your Royal Highness’s dutiful and most obedient servant.” To all other Royal Princes and Princesses the ending would be “Most Humble and Obedient Servant.”

Dukes other than royal are addressed inside letters by intimates as “Dear Duke,” by others “My Lord Duke, may it please your Grace.” In writing to a Duchess her title is placed above the “Madam.” In formal letters Marquises would be addressed as “My Lord Marquis.”{155}

On omitting christian names from courtesy titles.

A very common form of mistake is that of omitting the Christian name from the courtesy titles of the sons and daughters of dukes, marquises, and earls. The sons have the title “Lord” prefixed to the Christian and surname: for instance, “Lord Alfred Osborne,” “Lord Henry Somerset.” It is extremely incorrect to call either of these “Lord Osborne” or “Lord Somerset.” The daughters of dukes, marquises and earls have the title “Lady” before their Christian and surname; “Lady Emily Heneage,” for instance, must not be addressed as “Lady Heneage.” Should she marry a commoner only the surname is altered, the “Lady Emily” remains. This may all appear a little involved to those unaccustomed to titles, but neglect of these forms indicates very clearly a lack of savoir faire. It is a source of great annoyance to the owners of courtesy titles to have the Christian name omitted. Anybody, even a knight’s wife, may be a “Lady Smith” or “Jones”; the insertion of the Christian name before the “Smith” or “Jones” means that the possessor is the daughter of a duke, marquis, or earl.

In beginning a letter to any of the above a stranger would say “Dear Lady Mary Smith,” but the usual form would be “Dear Lady Mary.” Inferiors would begin by writing the lady’s title over the word “Madam,” or{156} merely beginning “Madam” and writing the title at the end of the letter.

In writing to an ambassador or his wife the title is placed above the word “Sir” or “Madam.” Inferiors would write “May it please your Excellency,” and would conclude with “I have the honour to be Your Excellency’s most humble, obedient servant.”

In writing to an archbishop a correspondent would begin “Your Grace,” ending, “I remain Your Grace’s most obedient servant.”

To a bishop the form would be, “My Lord,” or “Right Reverend Sir,” or “May it please Your Lordship,” the last being, of course, the humblest form of address. The conclusion would be, I remain, “My Lord” (or “Right Reverend Sir”) “Your most obedient servant.”

The beginning of a letter to a dean would be, “Reverend Sir” or “Mr. Dean,” the title of all these dignitaries being, in formal letters, indited above the beginning. Those having slight acquaintance would begin, “Dear Mr. Dean.” Strangers would end the letter, “I have the honour to be Your most obedient servant.”

Doctors of divinity are addressed as “Reverend Sir,” as well as archdeacons and all other clergy.{157}

Intimates would begin letters to the above with: “Dear Archbishop,” “Dear Bishop,” “Dear Dean,” or “Dear Doctor.”

With the sole exception of lieutenants in the army, all officers have their military rank prefixed to their name. Ensigns and lieutenants are addressed as “Esq.”

In the navy admirals of the flag—white, blue, or red—are addressed as “The Honourable,” this being prefixed to the name. Otherwise a letter would begin “Sir,” and end, “I remain, Sir, Your obedient servant.” Commodores, captains, and lieutenants in the navy are all addressed in the same way.{158}

PERSONAL SPEECH WITH ROYALTY AND RANK.

It is sometimes difficult to know how to address personally people of high rank. The Queen is addressed as “Ma’am” by those immediately surrounding her person and by princesses, duchesses, and others who are on terms that may be described as those of acquaintanceship with her Majesty. All others would speak to her as “Your Majesty.”

The Princess of Wales and all other princesses are in the same way addressed as “Ma’am,” or “Your Royal Highness,” according to the position of the person speaking to them.

The Prince of Wales, with all other royal dukes and princes, is addressed as “Sir,” or “Your Royal Highness”; the Duke of Teck as “Your Serene Highness,” as well as many foreign princes. Equals would address all these as “Prince.”

Formal and informal modes of addressing nobility in person.

The following list will show the correct modes of addressing the nobility informally and formally, in conversation, the first being the custom among acquaintances, the latter by all others:—{159}

It is one of the rules of etiquette that, in speaking with royal persons, the inferior leaves it to them to originate subjects of conversation, and never introduces any topic of his own.

Letters of condolence are among the most difficult forms of composition. They are almost equally trying to read and to write. The best rule to be given for these is to make them as brief as possible. If “brevity is the soul of wit,” it is also, in such cases, the very heart of sympathy. A very usual fault{160} committed is to begin by dilating upon the shock or grief felt by the writer. The absurdity of this becomes apparent when one compares mentally the shock or grief as felt by the recipient. Two lines conveying the expression of sympathy are better than pages of even the most eloquent composition. Mourners require all their fortitude at times of loss, and anything likely to impair their self-command is the reverse of a kindness.

On hearing or reading of the death of an acquaintance or friend, an expression of sympathy should at once be sent off. It used to be the custom to wait for the memoriam cards sent out by the family, but this, if it was ever the custom in the best society, has now long ceased to be so. Memoriam cards are only used in humble circles. At the same time, one needs to be very careful as to the accuracy of one’s information before sending off a letter of condolence. Similarity of name is apt to lead to awkward mistakes.

In this connection it may be as well to remark that about a week after the funeral it is customary to call and leave cards of inquiry. When these are responded to by cards of thanks for inquiries, it is a sign that the family is willing to receive callers.

The best and safest Dentifrice: whitens the teeth, prevents decay: no grit nor ruinous acids. 2/9.

Absolutely the only reliable and genuine Preserver, Restorer, and Strengthener of the Hair: also in a Golden Colour. Bottles, 3/6, 7/-, and 10/6.

Beautifies the Complexion: produces Soft, Fair Skin: removes all Disfigurements: warranted Harmless. 2/3 and 4/6, of all Perfumery Dealers.

Many interesting and instructive lectures on Electricity are given by the most eminent scientific men of the present day. All are agreed as to its curative properties and power to relieve pain, and call attention to the many fraudulent appliances offered to the public, but they do not state where one may obtain a genuine appliance constructed on the necessary principles of the continuous current.

Our New Book explains clearly and very simply how to test an electrical appliance, either Battery or Belt, to prove its efficacy. It will instruct you—

Gentlemen interested in their personal appearance would do well by giving us a trial.

Dress Suit, Lined Silk, Three Guineas.
Overcoats from Thirty Shillings.
Suits from Two Guineas.

The Christian World, in an article on “The Season’s Gift-Books,” says:—“We put first of the books for girls, ‘When Hearts are Young,’ by Deas Cromarty.... Breezy and wholesome, and full of natural romance.... Meg, the chief heroine, is a charming study.”

Price 2/6, tastefully bound in cloth, with eight illustrations by Will Morgan.

Mrs. Katharine Tynan-Hinkson in “The Young Woman”:—“Deas Cromarty has all the qualities for her work—sympathy, observation, humour, and with all an exquisite sense of beauty.... It is all deliciously sweet and wholesome.”

The Methodist Times says:—“Deas Cromarty ... comes in a good second to these great writers (Barrie and Maclaren). There is the freshness of the mountain breezes about the book which gives zest to the reading of it.”

The Sunday School Chronicle says:—“A beautiful story.... With what sweetness and sympathy and charm of style the idyll is told, let all our readers find out for themselves.”

The Manchester Guardian says:—“... Deas Cromarty has imparted to her book something of the freshness of the mountainside and the springiness of the heather. It is delightful to read. One has come across few recent books that leave a pleasanter impression on the reader’s memory.”

Lloyd’s News says:—“This is one of the pleasantest volumes we have picked up for a long time. The heroine of the story one falls in love with straightway.... It is a tender, beautiful love story, very fresh and wholesome, with a wealth of fine descriptive writing.”

The Manchester Courier says:—“...This excellent tale.... Those who pick up the book will find difficulty in laying it down before the last page is reached.”

The Methodist Recorder says:—“One of the most charming stories of the season.... This is as truly an ‘Idyll’ as anything Tennyson ever wrote.”

The Saturday Review says:—“There is a touch of genius about this brilliant and original booklet.”

The Bookman says:—“Work which deserves to live. No one can read these pages without emotion.”

The Queen says—“A work of genius. Arrests every reader, and can never be forgotten.”

The Right Rev. Bishop of London says:—“It puts with much imaginative force and beauty the central points in the relation of Christianity to life.”

The Rev. Dr. John Clifford says:—“Magnificent as the offspring of fancy, it is mightiest as the product of faith. There is not a false note in it. It rings with sincerity. Figures crowd its pages in pleasantest setting, like flowers in a sunlit landscape, but it is the blending of the forces of genius and faith which charms and binds men, and makes the booklet immortal.”

The Very Rev. the Dean of Salisbury says:—“I think it in all respects most certain to make a profound impression.”

The Rev. Dr. R. F. Horton, M.A., says:—“In Mr. Kernahan we have a strong writer who will one day be great. He has the grand manner. He has the touch of Jean Paul Richter in him, which is not elsewhere found among his contemporaries.... No laboured apology for Christianity will go so far or accomplish so much as this impassioned utterance, this poem in prose, this thought of the years distilled in one pearl drop of purest water.”

The Daily Mail says:—“Resembling in many respects his ‘God and the Ant,’ this new book of Mr. Kernahan’s is an even finer example of imaginative brilliancy, poetic eloquence, and fervent spiritual appeal.... There can be no doubt that his little book must make a very deep and abiding impression upon the hearts and minds of all who read it.”{166}

Miss Frances E. Willard says:—“This beautiful and helpful book will do enormous good in this age when faith is weak.”

The Sketch says:—“Mr. Coulson Kernahan is a man of very large imaginative gifts. He is a dreamer of dreams, yet human love begets them. There are few delivering an apocalypse to-day who have a tithe of his literary skill. He affects nothing, seeking rather to appeal to the heart of his reader, and in his simplicity finds his strength. How great that strength is a perusal of ‘The Child, the Wise Man, and the Devil’ very clearly shows.... As dramatic and as finely realised as anything in the fiction of to-day.... A masterpiece of prose and imagination.”

The Rev. F. B. Meyer says:—“It is powerfully conceived, and thrills with passion; but its chief value is its exposure of the hopelessness and impossibility of the goal to which modern infidelity would conduct us. It will arrest and convince thousands.”

The Illustrated London News says:—“All, of whatever school, must recognise the boundless charity, the literary power, and the intense sincerity of one of the most interesting books of the year.”

The Rev. Hugh Price Hughes says:—“I recognised in it at once Mr. Kernahan’s striking genius. I have no doubt that he will reach many who cannot be approached by any of the ordinary agencies or modes. From every point of view I regard it as a very valuable and remarkable book.”

The Rev. Morlais Jones:—“The Rev. Morlais Jones preached an interesting sermon on Sunday last,” says the British Weekly. “Mr. Morlais Jones referred in terms of enthusiastic praise to Mr. Coulson Kernahan’s new book, ‘The Child, the Wise Man, and the Devil.’ The author, he said, was a man of unmistakable genius.”

The Echo says:—“Let us acknowledge with gratitude the fine moral enthusiasm, the lofty spiritual fervour, and the chivalrous charity of this most poetic of prosemen. The writer is manly, vigorous, and sincere.... There will be few readers of this work, however thoroughly they may dissent from the author’s contentions, who will not allow with enthusiasm the moral earnestness, the poetic imagination, and the literary charm of Mr. Kernahan’s stern muse.”

With upwards of 40 Illustrations drawn from life by HAROLD PIFFARD. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d.

First Edition	February, 1897.
Second Edition	March, 1897.

Informal.	Formal.
The Duke of ——	To His Grace the Duke of ——
The Duchess of ——	To Her Grace the Duchess of ——
The Marquis of ——	To the Most Honourable the Marquis of ——
The Marchioness of ——	To the Most Honourable the Marchioness of ——
The Earl of ——	To the Right Honourable the Earl of ——
The Countess of ——	To the Right Honourable the Countess of ——
The Viscount ——	The Right Honourable the Viscount ——
The Viscountess ——	The Right Honourable the Viscountess ——
Lord ——	The Right Honourable Lord —— or Baron ——
Lady ——	The Right Honourable Lady —— or Baroness——

Rank.	Informal.	Formal.
Duke	Duke.	Your Grace.
Duchess	Duchess.	Your Grace.
Marquis	Lord A.	My Lord, or Your Lordship.
Marchioness	Lady A.	My Lady, or Your Ladyship.
Earl	Lord B.	My Lord, or Your Lordship.
Countess	Lady B.	My Lady, or Your Ladyship.
Viscount	Lord C.	My Lord, or Your Lordship.
Viscountess	Lady C.	My Lady, or Your Ladyship.
Baron	Lord D.	My Lord, or Your Lordship.
Baroness	Lady D.	My Lady, or Your Ladyship.

	PAGE
Woman’s Ideal Man	1
In the Street	12
In a Carriage	29
In a Hansom	31
Smoking	32
In or on an Omnibus	36
On Horseback	42
Driving	46
Games and Recreations	50
Rule of the Road on the River	53
Dinner-Parties	55
Public Dinners	83
At a Restaurant	88
At Lunch	91
Five O’clock Tea and Afternoon At-Homes	94
At the Play	96
At a Ball	103
Engagement and Marriage	108
Dress	113
Country Life	119
Visiting-Cards and Calls	121
Manner	131
In Church	145
Correspondence	148
Personal Speech with Royalty and Rank	158

Manners FOR MEN

CONTENTS.

MANNERS FOR MEN.

WOMAN’S IDEAL MAN.

IN THE STREET.

IN A CARRIAGE.

IN A HANSOM.

SMOKING.

IN OR ON AN OMNIBUS.

ON HORSEBACK.

DRIVING

GAMES AND RECREATIONS.

RULE OF THE ROAD ON THE RIVER.

DINNER-PARTIES.

PUBLIC DINNERS.

AT A RESTAURANT.

AT LUNCH.

FIVE O’CLOCK TEA AND AFTERNOON AT-HOMES.

AT THE PLAY.

AT A BALL.

ENGAGEMENT AND MARRIAGE.

DRESS.

COUNTRY LIFE.

VISITING-CARDS AND CALLS.

MANNER.

IN CHURCH.

CORRESPONDENCE.

Addresses of Letters.

PERSONAL SPEECH WITH ROYALTY AND RANK.

Manners
FOR MEN