The preceding chapters describe established customs in home entertaining. Such rules remain in force for the home conditions.
But who can live in this electric-motor age without noting the gradual variation in "the ways of doing things"—changes that are directly traceable to the influence of modern inventions? The trolley lines have brought large areas within the city limits; the swift automobile has reduced miles to furlongs. Town and country are intermingled as never before, and each is sensibly modified by the other. By its very name, the "Town and Country" club recognizes this new community of interests. Its members, living even twenty miles away, outdo Sheridan's ride, in arriving at the club on time for luncheon, golf, or dinner.
Which brings to mind this fact: that to-day a large part of formal entertaining in cities is no longerat home. Elaborate dinners, teas, and luncheons are given at one's club, or atcafés, exclusive "tea rooms," and in the elegantly appointed private dining-rooms now provided by the best hotels. After-theatre suppers are almost invariably taken at a fashionable restaurant—doubtless greatly to the relief of both the hostess and her housemaids. While cooperative housekeeping is still an undeveloped scheme, things seem to be trending that way.
The multiplication of huge apartment houses (and diminutive apartments) is the other prime factor in the case. While the hotel dinner may have come into fashion first as the dire necessity of the "cliff dwellers," its convenience appeals to many householders who formerly would not have dreamed of offering their guests the hospitality of acafé. Many conservative people still deplore the innovation; but fashion approves, and the custom grows.
Entertaining at one's club is governed by the rules of that particular club. When entertaining at tea rooms, orcafés, one has simply to arrange with the superintendent or the head waiter, for tables or private dining-room, for the date chosen; to choose themenu, and order the decorations. This done, the entertainers and their friends have but to appear at the stated hour and play their respective rôles with care-free grace. These dinners may be given by a bachelor, to a mixed company, or to a bevy of the débutantes, with the co-operation of a society matron or a married couple to chaperone the affair. This is a very pleasant way for a bachelor to make return for the social attentions showered on himself.
This way of entertaining may be lavishly expensive, but it is not necessarily so; all things considered, it may not greatly exceed the cost of similar entertaining at home. In this land of the free, any one who will may give a tea room luncheon. But the semi-publicity of these functions invites criticism; and people of moderate income discreetly forbear attempting anything too ambitious for their obvious means. Elegant simplicity is always good form.
The universal use of the telephone is another factor in the modification of social customs. Among familiar friends, the little chat over the 'phone largely takes the place of the informal call. Also, invitations to any but strictly formal functions are now sent by telephone, if agreeable to both parties; though it is still considered better to adhere to the more respectful written form if there is any doubt about the new way being acceptable to the party of the second part. While I counsel conservatism in these changes, I am convinced that the new dynasty of wire and wireless is destined to dominate us; and as discovery continues and inventions multiply, the time is near whenimmediate communicationwill be had at long range; possibly telepathy—who knows? Or, possibly tele-photography with it—why not? Then, the slow, laborious writing of messages will be as much out of date as the super-annuated stage-coach.
But—not yet; we are still in the process of evolution. It is still safe to heed Pope's famous advice:
"Be not the first by whom the new is tried,Nor yet the last to lay the old aside."
It is the duty of the host or hostess to give a polite and cheerful welcome to the guest whom they have invited to cross their threshold. During the time that she remains under their roof they have the responsibility of making her comfortable, and as happy as possible. To do this, attention to details is of the greatest consequence. It is possible to give dinners, andmusicales, and receptions for a guest, and to introduce her to a choice circle of friends; to plan drives and excursions for sight-seeing to points of interest; to bring out the best preserves from the store-room, and put on the table all the delicacies of the season; and yet something may be lacking. A subtle expression of discomfort may at times cloud the face of the guest, and greatly disturb the anxious hostess, who redoubles her efforts to think of something else in the way of entertainment and diversion. If this well-meaning hostess will accompany me to the guest-room while its temporary occupant is reading on the "front porch," perhaps I can point out to her some things that will give a clue to the mystery.
The guest-room is large and airy, and "well-furnished," as the phrase goes, with a soft carpet prevailingly blue, and a prettily carved oaken "set." The bed is covered with a lace counterpane over a blue silk quilt, and downy pillows invite to slumber. Curtains of blue silk and white lace are draped at the windows; cushions, tidies, sachets, gim-cracks of every description load the bureau, and lie around in profusion; a pretty rug of fluffy fur is spread before a comfortable couch, and a rocking-chair and foot-stool are in the cozy window recess. A small table with a vase of flowers upon it occupies one space against the wall. The wash-stand bears the regulation "toilet set," bowl and pitcher, soap-dish, etc., with the china jar set in the corner. Plenty of damask towels hang on the rack, and the "splasher" is a marvel of needlework. Well, is not this a pretty comfortable room?
It seems ungracious to answer nay; but truth compels me to say that it proves to be a most _un_comfortable room, as managed. Since the guest arrived, this three-quart pitcher has been filled each morning with cold water. Beyond this, no offer of the aqueous element in any form has been made. The guest, accustomed at home to an abundance of hot water, and the luxury of a bath daily—or oftener, at will—has been suffering the greatest privation rather than trouble her hostess with a request for something which is so evidently not thought of in this house. With soap that "chaps," and a stiff nail-brush she has painfully scrubbed her cold knuckles to remove the grime which several days of imperfect ablution has rendered almost immovable—except as the skin comes with it. And as to her customary bath, she has substituted so much of hasty sponging as chattering teeth will allow, finishing off with a dry polish when prudence forbids further risk of a chill; and she has completed her toilet with a sense of self-disgust, and a dissatisfaction with her surroundings which makes her long for the day set for the termination if this visit, which might have been so pleasant, if she had been made physically comfortable. When she goes home she will answer, to the kind inquiries of her mother: "Oh! yes; I had a lovely time!—or that is, I should have had, if only I could have had abath!"
Whether it is that some people do not care for bathing, and therefore do not realize its necessity to the comfort of other people; or whether they have an idea that a "guest" is a being who, while in thatrôle, needs none of the ordinary comforts of every-day life; or, whatever the reason may be, this failure to provide bath facilities is one of the most common and flagrant neglects of hospitality.
When the guest-room has no private bath attached, and it is impracticable to offer the use of the family bath-room, a small tub of zinc or granite ware should be included in the furnishing of the guest-room, together with a square of thin oil-cloth to spread on the carpet. The guest should be informed that hot water is always in readiness to be brought to her room whenever she requires it. In country houses having no "modern conveniences," every kitchen stove may have an ample boiler always filled with clean water, so that at all times hot water may be available for bathing purposes. It is unpardonable to live without at least this much provision for an essential condition of civilized life—"the cleanliness that is next to godliness."
In addition to the water supply, the guest-room should contain other requisites for a comfortable toilet. Presumably, every guest who comes for a several-days' stay brings with her the small articles she will need; but oversights are frequent in hurried packing, and the resources of the guest-room should be equal to any such emergency, even though only a part of the provision is required in any one case. A neat, close cabinet, with a closet beneath and shelves above, is a desirable piece of furniture. In the closet the bath-tub can be stored, and bath-brushes, "loofahs," and sponges can be hung up while the shelves may hold a supply of toilet sundries; for example, a flask of bay rum, and one of violet-water; a bottle of spirits of ammonia, a bottle of alcohol, a spirit lamp and curling tongs, tooth-powder, rosewater, and glycerine; a jar of fine cold-cream, hair-brush and combs, a clothes-brush, a whisk broom, a reserve supply of soap—"Ivory" (if the water is hard, this soap is superior for the bath) and fine castile, and a delicately-scented soap of first quality. The cheap "scented" abominations should not be inflicted on a guest.
The dressing-table should have a supply of pins in variety, including hairpins; a work-box, containing needles and thread, a thimble, scissors, tape, shoe-buttons, etc. A bottle of cologne and also of some first-class "triple extract" should stand on the bureau.
With all this provided, one is not likely to lack any comfort for the toilet; yet, with it all, the hostess should make her guest understand that the motto is: "If you don't see what you want, ask for it." This freedom will not be taken by a sensitive guest unless it is clearly invited. The self-complacent way in which a hostess sometimes ushers a guest into the "best room," and then leaves her to the mercy of what she can find—or, rather,cannotfind—forestalls all requests for additional supplies. In the midst of all the satin and lace flummery, it is pathetic to suffer in silence for the lack of a little beggarly hot water. And yet, such is the experience of many an "honored guest."
Beside the toilet comforts, there are other things that may well be added to the equipment of the guest-room. One, in particular, is a well-appointed little writing-desk, containing all the requisites for letter-writing, including stamps. Perhaps the guest has brought these things with her, more likely she has forgotten them, and it may be a matter of great convenience to her to find this little desk awaiting her. If there is a shelf above, a selection of standard and entertaining books may be placed thereon. The Bible, a book of Common Prayer, a hymnal, may be included; a copy of Shakespeare, a dictionary, some clever and interesting book, likeCurious Questions, and a volume or two of sketches and essays, ranging in style from Emerson to Jerome K. Jerome, may agreeably fill the mid-day hour of rest which the guest takes in her room before dressing for the afternoon. The only trouble is that the guest who is made so thoroughly comfortable may forget to go home. At all events, she will no doubt hail with delight a second invitation to come.
It may be objected that to keep the guest-room supplied to this extent would involve a considerable expense; but that would depend on the character of the guest. No well-bred woman would depend on these "supplies" for the entire period of a long visit. They are there to meet the emergency of a belated trunk, of something forgotten or overlooked, or the delays in making necessary purchases after her arrival. She will gratefully accept the cologne until her own flask is unpacked, but she leaves the guest-room supply but little diminished when she departs.
The hostess who has been embittered by seeing only a train of empty bottles in the wake of a departing guest may naturally feel discouraged about offering unlimited hospitality in the matter of druggists' sundries. But it is merely that she has been unfortunate in her guests. She should revise her visiting list. In entertaining the right sort of people, she will have no such experience. She will be fully rewarded for every care she bestows to make her house a home-like resort, and she will find that the cost amounts to very little compared with the large return it brings in the way of social appreciation, to say nothing of the satisfaction afforded to her own benevolent impulses. "It is more blessed to give than to receive," as the ideal hostess can testify.
The responsibilities of a visit are not all on the shoulders of a hostess. The guest has also a duty in the matter.
The phrase of welcome quoted above is variously interpreted, if we may judge by the various ways in which the injunction is obeyed. To some people, "make yourself at home" is a free permit to take possession of everything on the premises; to cut the choicest roses in the garden, to call for the carriage at capricious will, to consult no one's comfort but their own, and to impose upon the polite forbearance of every one else, regardless—in short, to behave as no one can behave at home for any length of time without disrupting that home.
Tomake one's selfat home is toadapt one's selfto one's environment. If things are different from what we are accustomed to, we must try to accustom ourselves tothem, and the mannerly guest will strive to do this, not as a cross, but as a pleasure. She will meet cordially the friends of her hostess who are introduced to her, however little they attract her; she will cheerfully accompany the family to their church, even though it be of a different faith from her own; and she will listen respectfully to the sermon, and refrain from ungracious criticism of the choir or the minister. She will take an interest in any local happenings that are of vital interest to her entertainers; she will show lively appreciation of everything done for her entertainment, even though it may be but a commonplace and dull affair, in her private judgment. She will measure her grateful duty to them, not so much by the degree of pleasure which they actually give her, as by the amount of effort which they obviously make. It is very ungracious for a guest of wide social experience to be apathetic when some unsophisticated little hostess offers what to her seems a novel treat, but which to her worldly-wise guest is a threadbare device. No matter if the device is threadbare; the spirit of kindness which prompts the effort is immortal; and though we have seen "rainbow teas" until we are weary of them, we will enter cheerfully into the spirit of this one, because our little hostess in the innocence of her heart has worked so hard to make it ready in our honor.
The guest should avoid giving extra trouble to the hostess, or to the servants. She may offer assistance when circumstances warrant her doing so, but must refrain from meddling with household matters when her help is evidently not desired. She should entertain herself easily when the hostess is otherwise busy, yet never seem to have any absorbing occupation that would prevent her from being ready at once to join the family in any project. If there are children in the house, she should be cordial and affectionate with them, without gushing insincerity or indiscreet petting, and she should not betray any annoyance if they are noisy and occasionally troublesome—as the best of children will be at times. She should aim to feel and act as though the interests and pleasures of the family were her own, and not make remarks that are tacit comparisons to their disadvantage. If there are glaring faults in the domestic management, it is not her province to correct them, except so far as a quiet example may be subtly influential, as it will be, if at heart she makes herself a part of the circle of sympathy. After her return to her own home, she should write a letter to her hostess, expressing the pleasure which the memory of her visit gives her, and gracefully thanking her friend for all that made the sojourn so restful and happy.
There is something singularly inspiring in the idea of "making one's self at home," in the sense of finding thevaluein every environment which fate, or chance, or Providence may place us in. And when, as welcome guests, we listen to this hearty greeting, we resolve that in all ways consistent with our duty to our entertainers, and with all grateful appreciation of their kindness to us, we will "make ourselves at home."
Every one theoretically admits the importance of early training. It is demonstrated in the animal and the vegetable kingdoms, wherever organic life unfolds and grows; and that the human child is no exception is promptly recognized in theory, however fatally practice ignores it.
Not that parents mean to ignore it; but there is a "happy-go-lucky" impression that somehow "he will come out all right;" that "as he gets older, his own good sense will assert itself," and so on. Happily, this is partly true. A native good disposition and good sense saves many a child from the ruin which an unwise course of training has done its best to precipitate. The wonder is that they "turn out" as well as they do. Perhaps Providence, in visiting its judgments, is lenient to the young and inexperienced parents, themselves undisciplined; to the helpless child, at the mercy of his blind guides.
There is too much negative, too little positive, in child-training; too much querulous reiteration of "don't," too little intelligent teaching how todo. Little children like to be "shown how;" they are fascinated with the games and gifts of the kindergarten, which aims toteach something, not torepress everything. Children are delighted to learn little polite phrases; to make a bow; to hold a fork daintily; to offer little courtesies, and to receive a smiling approbation. They would rather do things prettily than not. They arenot "contrary,"exceptional cases of hereditary ugliness aside. They are apt pupils, whether their tutor be a philosopher or a fool. And if a faulty example be a child's most constant and influential teacher, what wonder that the lessons, well-learned, are put in practice? And just then, if you listen, you will hear some one issue the emphatic but vacuous command, "Don't!" And the babydoesn't, for the space of a few seconds; after which, unable to get any new suggestions out of the idea-less instructions given him, he proceeds to do the same thing over, only to be again commanded to desist, a spanking for "disobedience" this time varying the monotony of the universal prohibition.
The profane poll-parrot is not a more startling witness to the character of its surroundings than the "terrible infant," whose rude snatchings, pert contradictions, and glib slang phrases are sure to be most effectively "shown off" in the presence of visitors. It is of little use to affect grieved surprise, or stern reprobation, when one's children are merely exhibiting their daily discipline. Most parents feel keenly the embarrassment of having the infant misbehave so inopportunely, and they are apt to offer a tacit apology and a vague self-defense by sharply reprimanding the child in words that are meant to give the visitor the idea that they—the parents—neverheardorsawsuch conduct before, and are now frozen with amazement. The nonchalant or incredulous or impish way in which the children receive these reproofs only confirms the suspicion that such scenes have been frequent, and the discipline attending them has been inconsequent.
One parent I have heard acknowledge the truth of the matter. An elderly clergyman was his guest, and the four-year-old daughter of the house was entertaining the "grandpa" with a toy puzzle, which he fumbled with in vain, unable to put it together or to take it apart. Impatient at last, the little girl hastily snatched it from his hand with a childish growl of contempt, and proceeded to show him the trick, saying, with an airy mingling of criticism and condescension, "By Jove! your name is Dennis;youare not in it!" The old gentleman paused, instinctively prepared to hear the usual "Why, daughter! papa isastonishedto hear his little girl," etc, etc., after the fashion of the parental hypocrite. But this candid young father met the dignified eyes squarely, and said promptly, "I'm sorry, Doctor, but there's no use denying it; she is just givingmeaway." He had the sense to recognize his own teaching, the honesty to admit it. Whether he has the discretion to reform his methods remains to be seen.
For right here is another point: that people think it is "cute" for alittlechild to say and do things that in a child a few years older would be most unattractively rude. But they must reflect that this same cute little child will soon be a few years older, and will carry into that riper age the fixed habits that are forming now; and it will not be so easy a task to transform the child's manners as it is to dress him in a larger suit of clothes.
A choice rose was grafted upon a wild, thorny stock, and planted beside a veranda trellis. The owner watched it carefully for a year or so, cutting down the rank shoots of the wild stock as they sprang aggressively from the root, allowing the grafted branch to grow in full luxuriance, bearing carmine clusters that filled the garden with spicy odor. The next spring an ignorant gardener pruned away the branches, cutting down the slenderest and leaving what to his unpracticed eye were the most desirable, because the thriftiest, shoots; and when the time of blossoms came, nothing appeared but the ragged petals of the wild thorn.
So, in "the rosebud garden of girls"—or boys. If the choice graft of cultured manners (for itisa graft on the sturdy but wayward stock of human nature) is left to be choked out by the rank, wild growth of impulse, or if by some flagrant error in example and discipline it is practically cut down at the main branch, what can the careless trainer expect? He may weep to find no velvet-petaled rose when he comes to look for it; but he has no right to blame the rose-bush, nor can he, at this late day, hide the tact of his blundering pruning by righteously affirming that he is "perfectly astonished." His neighbors, who have quietly noted the methods pursued in his kindergarten, are not in the least surprised.
Another resource for escaping blame is that of explaining that the children "learn these things at school." Presumably they do not mean from the teachers. It is "from the other children," who seem to be a most injurious class of society. It is their influence which makesourchildren so rude and so ungrammatical; and, strangely enough, though these other children never dine with our children, so subtle and far-reaching is their baleful influence that our children's defective manners at the table are directly traceable to the same evil source.
Granted, a measure of truth in the charge; for large mirthfulness and large imitation lead children to do things "just for fun," which all the time they know better than to persist in. But, as a fact, demonstrated by observation, a very small percentage of the children who are habituated to correct behavior at home are ever seriously affected by outside influences. A superficial effect may show in little things; but such lapses of speech or manner are transient, and in no degree control the development of the child when his home training is irreproachable. On the other hand, the efforts of an untiring teacher, laboring five hours a day to teach correct language and enunciation, may be of little permanent value, when the remaining hours of the day are spent in a home where the English grammar hourly meets a violent death.
And what is true of grammar is equally true of morals and manners. The school and society may be measurably influential; but the home casts the deciding vote. And when people note the manners—good or bad—of your boys and girls, they do not ask, "What school do they attend?" "What children do they associate with?" but, "Whose children are they?"
Would you have them mannerly? Teach them; by precept, certainly; but above all things, by example.
Henry the Fifth, of England, disposed of certain troublesome restrictions of etiquette by remarking that "nice customs curtsey to great kings:" but in the twentieth century, customs are more likely to curtsey to the common sense of the community at large.
City codes and country customs present some contradictious. The exact rules of etiquette in social formalities, which are derived from the established usage of fashionable circles in the city, are constantly subject to modifications when they are applied under the conditions found in rural neighborhoods. This is plainly illustrated in the comminglings of social "Young America." Whereas the city-bred girl is carefully chaperoned, the village girl of equal social standing, intrinsically speaking, is accustomed to go about unconcernedly, either alone or under the escort of some youth, with whom she makes engagements to drive, or walk, or row, or attend picnics, without either of them, as a rule, thinking it necessary to ask her mother to join them, or even to give her permission, that being taken for granted, since it has probably never been denied. And the question naturally arises, Whyshouldit be denied, when the young man is a trusted chum of her brother, and as safe an escort for her as her own father would be? It is a very different case from the similar instance in the city, where the gallant is a comparative stranger, who may or may not be reliable, and where a conventional world is coldly looking on.
But, moreover, if this young country girl chooses, she goes alone to a little evening party a few doors away, or to the evening "meeting" at the village church, and this same youth, or some other one, escorts her home in an impromptu fashion. The young lady probably invites him into the house, if the hour is early and the family are still circled about the parlor lamp. Or, if it is late, she does not ask him in, but invites him to call. She does not thank him for his escort, unless it has been given at obvious inconvenience to himself or others, and is therefore not so much a matter of gallantry as of neighborly accommodation. In the latter case she does thank him frankly for his trouble.
When the young man calls to see her, she receives him with or without the presence of her mother or other members of the family. She may invite him to tea, with her mother's serene but passive approval; and, in fact, the goings and comings of these young people are more like the comradery of two girls than like the formal association of a young man and young woman in society.
We are accustomed to call such a code a country code, because of its almost universal following in small towns and villages. But similar freedom of association is also observed in city circles outside of the exclusive bounds of fashionable life. Indeed, some of the fashions called "countryfied" are equally "cityfied," if we judge by the extent of the usage. But what has been quite safe and sensible and refined in the particular instance in the country, may be a most unsafe freedom in the city, where every circle is constantly being invaded, more or less, by new-comers and by a floating contingent of transient people, whose record is not known even to the people who introduce them. The frank friendliness that is usually good form in the village circle is usually a great mistake in the city. It is better that young ladies, whether nominally chaperoned or not, should be guarded against making acquaintances too readily, especially among young men. If a young man is deserving of social recognition, let the young lady's mother grant it to him by inviting him to her house and permitting his association with her own young people.
A young girl should not extend these invitations to call unless she is well acquainted with the young man, or unless she gives the invitation in her mother's name, and with the understanding that he will be received by her mother as well as herself. Usually, the mother should be the one to extend the hospitality.
In the case of an unmarried woman who is no longer young, it is presumed that discretion will guide her as to when it is dignified and proper to give invitations to call, the conservative side being the safe side where strangers are concerned.
The ideal condition of Americanized chaperonage is far from being realized in the great mass of American society. A small and exclusive circle observes the English code in this matter; the rest of society ignore the whole idea—as an idea—though the thoughtful mother instinctively guards her daughter in a desultory way, perhaps meeting the spirit of the idea in the main, but flagrantly disregarding the letter of the formal code. The two extremes we have; but a real, systematic code of chaperonage that is not French, nor English, nor Spanish, but wholesome, sensible, thorough-going Americanmother'sguardianship we are yet to see definitely carried out. The occasional instance of it which we now and then observe has taught us to appreciate what would be the happiest development in our social life, if once attained.
Meanwhile, the average American girl will probably continue to shine as the startling exception to the rule; and in her remarkable escapes from serious blunders, will continue to bear the palm for self-command and good sense. Her ability to ignore a law, while consciously cherishing all that the law was devised to protect, is a flattering indication of her mental and moral integrity. Even a dull-witted person can follow a set rule; it requires some genius to make a legitimate exception, and it also involves some temerity. It is like gathering mushrooms; perhaps they are edible, perhaps they are poisonous; for the various fungi look very much alike. If it happens to be right, it is right; if it happens to be wrong, it is sheer disaster.
A social code that borrows no artifice from foreign lands and institutions, but which, true to the spirit of our own country, guards the liberty of young girls on the one hand, while on the other it shields them from license, will be welcomed by all thoughtful people. The American chaperone is the coming woman. The girls of the next generation will rise up and call her blessed.
The question of the chaperone in America is peculiarly perplexing. The consternation of the hen whose brood of ducklings took to the water is a fit symbol of the horrified amazement with which an old-world "duenna" would be filled if she attempted to "look after" a bevy of typical American girls, with their independent—yet confused—ideas of social requirements in the matter of chaperonage.
In Europe, where social lines are distinctly drawn, a young woman either belongs "in society" or else she does not. In the former case she is constantly attended by a chaperone. In the latter case she is merely a young person, a working girl, for whom "society" makes no laws. In our country there is a leisure class of "society women," so recognized. If these alone constituted good society in America, we might simply adopt the European distinctions, and settle the chaperone question by a particular affirmative referring to these alone. But we reflect that our thoughts throughout this little volume are mainly for those who dwell within the broad zone of the average heretofore referred to. In this republican land no one can say that the bounds of good society lie arbitrarily here and there; certainly they are not marked by a line drawn between occupation and leisure. The same young girl—after leaving school, at the period when society life begins—may be "in society" during leisure hours and in business during working hours. It is accounted perfectly lady-like and praiseworthy for a young woman, well born and bred, to support herself by some remunerative employment that holds her to "business hours." She may be a teacher, an artist, a scribe, an editor, a stenographer, a book-keeper—what may shenotdo, with talent, training, and good sense? And she may do this without being one iota less a lady—if she is one to begin with.
Now appears the complication. As a business woman, the self-reliant young girl does not need a chaperone. As a society woman, this inexperienced, sensitive, human-nature-trusting childdoesneed a chaperone. She is, therefore, subject to what we may call intermittent chaperonage. Business, definite, serious occupation of any kind, is a coat of mail. The woman or girl who is plainly absorbed in some earnest and dignifiedworkis shielded from misinterpretation or impertinent intrusion while engaged in that work. She may go unattended to and from her place of business, for her destination is understood, and her purpose legitimate. She needs no guardian, for her capacity to take care of herselfunder these conditions, is demonstrated to a respectful public. The spectacle of a stately middle-aged woman accompanying each girl book-keeper to her desk every morning would be burlesque in the extreme. The girl who is thus allowed to go alone to an office in business hours, sometimes thinks it absurd for any one to say that she must not go alone to a drawing-room, and shedoesgo alone. Right here this independent girl makes a mistake. It is granted that the girl with brains and principle to bear herself discreetly during office hours is probably able—in the abstract—to exercise the same good sense at a party.
Butthe conditions are changedto the eye of the onlooker. The girl who went to the office wearing the shield and armor of her work, now appears in societywithout that shield. To the observer she differs in no wise from the banker's daughter, who "toils not." Like the latter, she needs on social occasions the watchful chaperonage that should be given to all young girls in these conditions. The woman who is in society at all must conform to its conventional laws, or lose caste in proportion to her defiance of these laws. She cannot defy them without losing the dignity and exclusiveness that characterize a well-bred woman, and without seeming to drift into the careless and doubtful manners of "Bohemia." The fairy-story suggests the principle; Cinderella could work alone in the dust and ashes undisturbed; but the fairy-god-mother must needs accompany her when she went to the ball. In the best circles everywhere, at home and abroad, every young girl during her first years in society is "chaperoned." That is to say, on all formal social occasions she appears under the watch and ward of an older woman of character and standing—her mother, or the mother's representative. The young woman's calls are made, and her visits received, in the company of this guardian of the proprieties; and she attends the theatre or other places of amusement, only under the same safe conduct.
Society to the young girl is May-fair. With the happy future veiled just beyond, she goes to meet a possible romance, and to traverse a circle of events that may haply round up in a wedding-ring. It is of the utmost importance that she shall not be left at the mercy of accidental meetings, indiscreet judgments, and the heedless impulses of inexperienced youth, which may effectually blight her future in its bud. A parent or guardian does a girl incalculable injury in allowing her to enter upon society life without chaperonage, and the unremitting watch-care and control which only a discreet, motherly woman can give to girlhood. Men respect the chaperoned girl. Honorable men respect her as something that is worth taking care of; men who are not honorable respect her as something with which they dare not be unduly familiar—though they account it "smart" to be "hail fellow well met" with the girl who ignorantly goes about unattended, or with other unchaperoned girls, on social occasions. A girl must have an unusual measure of native dignity, as well as native innocence, always to escape the disagreeable infliction of either "fresh" orblaséimpertinence, if she has no mother's wing to flutter under.
This absolute condition of chaperonage exists during the novitiate of the young society woman. The requirement grows less and less rigid as the young woman grows more and more experienced, and learns to meet social emergencies for herself. That delicate ignoring of a woman's age which is shown in calling her a "girl" until she is married also permits her to be a chaperoned member of society until that event. But when obviously past her youth, it is no longer required that she shall wear the demeanor of adébutante. Nor does propriety demand her mother's constant presence, when years of training have taught the daughter her mother's discretion, and when the mother's own serene dignity looks out of the daughter's eyes.
We are proud of the ideal American girl. I mean the onewho is essentially a lady, whether rich or poor, the one whose sterling good sense is equal to her emergencies; the one who is self-reliant without being bold, firm without being overbearing, brainy without being masculine, strong of nerve—"but yet a woman." Let her be equipped for the battle of life, which in our state of society so many girls are fighting single-handed. Instruct her in business principles; teach her to use the discretion needed to move safely along the crowded thoroughfare and to follow the routine of the office or the studio, trusting that with busy head and busy hands she may be safe wherever duty leads her tireless feet. But in her hours of social recreation, when she will meet and solve the vital problems of her own personal life, she needs a subtlesomething more; the mother's wisdom to supply the deficiencies of her inexperience, the mother's love to enfold her in unspoken sympathy, the mother's approbation to rest upon her dutiful conduct like a benediction.
Let no young girl regard this watch-care as a trammel placed on her coveted liberty. On the contrary, she will find that she has far more social freedom with the countenance of her mother's presence than she could have without it. And in after years, when her life has developed safely and happily under this discreet leadership, she will look back to herdébut, and her first seasons in society, with profound gladness that—thanks to somebody wiser than herself—she has escaped the follies that have in more or less measure injured the prospects of her young friends who were too "independent" to submit to the restraints of chaperonage, and who, for lack of it, to-day find themselves to a relative extent depreciated in social estimation.
The proverb, "The beginning is half the battle," applies in a multitude of ways. In the first instant of a greeting between two people, the ground upon which they meet should be indicated. Cordiality, reserve, distrust, confidence, caution, condescension, deference—whatever the real or the assumed attitude may be, should be shown unmistakably when eyes meet and heads bend in the ceremony of greeting.
To put into this initial manner the essence of the manner which one chooses to maintain throughout is one of the fine touches of diplomacy. People fail to do this when their effusively gracious condescension subsequently develops into snobbishness, or when an austere stiffness of demeanor belies the friendliness which they really intend to manifest. The latter fault is often due to diffidence or awkward self-consciousness; the former is usually traceable to the caprice of an undisciplined nature, and is a significant mark of ill-breeding.
The vital part of a greeting is in the expression of the eyes. This is so nearly spontaneous that the most guarded cannot altogether veil the spirit that looks out of these "windows of the soul." The studied attitude and genuflection fail to hide surliness or contempt; and hostility, bitter and implacable, may reveal itself by the smoldering spark of anger in the eye, and destroy the effect of the most artful obsequiousness of manner. Since we cannot control this one impulsively-truthful medium of expression, it becomes a matter of policy as well as of morals to harbor no spirits whose "possession" of us would be an unpleasant and inconvenient revelation.
Next to the eyes, the pose of the figure indicates the sentiment of the moment. Arrogant assumption of superiority may be read in the expanded chest, the stiffened neck, and the head thrown backward at a decided angle; or, subservient humility is seen in the forward-bending head and the wilted droop of the shoulders. And again, the difference between a real humility and the artificial deference which gallantry prompts is easily detected. The gallant's head and shoulders are bowed, but not in meekness, for there is a certain tension in the controlled muscles that suggests that he can "straighten up" at will, whereas the really humble man appears to have no power to lift his bowed head or equally drooping spirit.
The bending of the head and trunk, or the "bow," is the final and most active exponent of the spirit of the greeting. In its degrees and gradations are marked the degrees of deference, real or formal.
The bow begins at the head, and may observe the following gradations:
It may be an inclination of the head only, differing from a "nod" in the dignity of movement.
The inclination may extend to the shoulders, causing a slightly perceptible forward leaning. This inclination may continue to the waist line.
The extreme inclination bends the entire trunk from the hips. The legs are straight and the feet near together, in the attitude of "position" in free gymnastics.
In every bow, of whatever gradation, the movement should be slow, the eye steady, the face serene, and the whole demeanor expressive of polite interest in the object. An averted eye is disrespectful, and suggests insincerity or treachery. Not that it always means either; the "drooping eyelash" is affected by many women as gracefully expressive of feminine modesty. It may be coquettish, but there is nothing particularly womanly in never looking a man in the eye. Search the face that confronts you, and learn what manner of man this is whom you are receiving into your company and fellowship. If he quails under the inquisition, so much the worse for him. If he is worth looking at, it is a pity to miss the sight. Moreover, we more than half suspect that a woman's face is more attractive if her eyes occasionally "look up clear," instead of allowing the downcast lids to hide all of their vivacity and expression.
The gayety or the gravity of the countenance may serve to measure the cordiality or the reserve which respectively distinguish two "bows"—exactly alike as to movement, and equally courteous, the one inviting confidence, the other repelling familiarity. The time, the place, and the occasion, and the mutual relations of people, decide the essential character of the appropriate bow. It must always be the exponent of the nature and disposition of the individual, and of his relation to the person whom he greets. No one has precisely thesame mannerfor any two people of his acquaintance—that is, if he has any vital manner at all. We are to others largely what they inspire us to be, and only lifeless indifference reduces "manner" to one same automatic manifestation. The life of a social greeting is in its exclusive spirit, and though the variations of outward manner are difficult to trace, it is a graceful and flattering thing to make this specialty of manner felt in every greeting extended. Perhaps, after all, it is the eye that controls this, as the spirit within controls the eye.
In general, the manner of a greeting should be optimistic, free from ungracious suspicion, and indicating a cheerful willingness to take people at their best; and even when most sternly forbidding intrusiveness, it should appear that the repulse is for good cause, and is not merely the expression of a capricious and unfounded arrogance. The latter quality, quite as often as not, characterizes the manner of snobs toward people who are infinitely their superiors in all that indicates character and breeding.
The "curtsey"—or "courtesy"—is a feature of the minuet, and revived with the old-fashioned dance. It is a pretty bit of old-time grace, and is appropriate in responding to formal introductions and greetings in the drawing-room, especially when paying respect to elderly people. It is most effective when executed in a costume of voluminous draperies. It is a woman's ceremonial; no man ever "curtseys." The regulation "bow" is the only "deference" that gracefully combines with a dress suit.
Thecourtesyis a strictly formal obeisance, and the courtly reverence which it embodies is something more abstract than concrete, not necessarily inspired by the person to whom its deference is shown. Like all greetings exchanged in the midst of crowds or in public places, it is somewhat impersonal in manner. Personal recognitions and distinctions are reserved for more private occasions. One's greetings to fellow-guests at a reception are uniformly affable, irrespective of personal preferences. Though our dearest friend and our direst foe both be present, we must not pointedly discriminate between them; we are not at liberty to use the parlors of our host for either a lover's tryst or a duelling-ground.
A guest's first duty on entering a parlor or drawing-room is to pay his or her respects to the hostess and the ladies who are receiving with her. Gentlemen should also make it a point to find the host as soon as possible, and extend to him a similar courtesy. The host, in turn, when not receiving formally with the hostess, roams at large, giving a hospitable greeting to each lady among his guests.
In America, when a lady and gentleman meet, after being duly introduced, it is the lady's privilege to bow first. This rule protects her from the intrusion of an unwelcome acquaintance. But when the acquaintance is established and mutually agreeable, the rule is immaterial.
In general, the elder or the more distinguished person bows first. But if the one who for any reason would be the proper one to take the initiative is known to be near-sighted, and liable to overlook an acquaintance unintentionally, it is more polite for the other person not to stand on ceremony.
It is interesting to note that on the continent of Europe the rule regarding recognitions is exactly reversed. The subject bows first to the king, the courtier to the lady; deference to a superior, rather than social equality, being expressed by the bow.
One of the moot questions of the day is, "When is it proper to introduce people to each other?" The strictest etiquette forbids casual social introductions, or the introducing of any two people at any time without the consent of both parties. It is argued that people who meet in a drawing-room as fellow-guests are introduced, by that mere fact, sufficiently for the social purposes of the hour; and they may engage in conversation, if they choose, without the least hesitancy; both understanding that this interchange involves no acquaintance beyond the present occasion. By this arrangement an awkward silence is averted, and it certainly seems as if the chief argument in favor of "introducing people" is met; since, with "the roof" as their transient introduction, they are perfectly at ease without personal introductions. When people are used to this idea it is altogether the most sensible and agreeable solution of the question; but many social assemblies demonstrate that a large number of people are yet waiting to be introduced, and not without some feeling of resentment when this ceremony is neglected. Let it be understood that any one is at liberty to speak to a fellow-guest without an introduction; also, that such a "talk" does not warrant any subsequent claim of acquaintance. If in the course of this impromptu chat mutual interest is awakened, either one may later seek an introduction in due form through some common friend.
On informal occasions, when few guests are present, especially in country towns, it may be more kindly and social to give personal introductions; and the good sense of this idea, probably, is founded on the fact that under these conditions a hostess can be reasonably sure that the acquaintance will be congenial. To the villager many of the extreme rules of etiquette are unreasonable, because the conditions that enforce them in town life are not present in the life of the quiet hamlet. The rule regarding introductions is one which must be modified to suit circumstances. It is one of the cases when various delicate considerations may justify exceptions. The lady who in her city home introduces nobody, may in her country home introduce everybody, if that seems best. In the matter of delicate exceptions we observe the most significant display of tact.
When introductions are made, gentlemen should be presented to ladies, younger people to older people, etc. The formula for introductions may be abbreviated to a mere announcement of the two names: "Mr. Smith—Mrs. Jones"—the pause and inflection filling the ellipsis; and really, upon the tone and manner depends the courtesy of the introduction so barren of phrasing. A formal presentation is made in this form:—"Miss Smith, allow me to present Mr. Jones."
Tact suggests that a hostess shall avoid bringing uncongenial people together; but if this unfortunately happens through ignorance or thoughtlessness, tact with equal urgency requires that the guests thus inauspiciously mingled shall not allow any one, not even the hostess herself, to discover the mistake. The same rule which allows perfect strangers to be agreeably social for an hour, and then part as strangers yet, certainly will grant to enemies a similar privilege.
The woman who conscientiously, andperfectly, hides her personal animosities rather than mar the harmony of the social circle, is doing her part to keep the world in tune.
The offer of the social right hand of fellowship is a tacit recognition of equality. Hand-shaking is said to be an American habit. Certainly the social conditions in a republic are favorable to such a custom. It is a pity that a mode so adapted to express the warmth and loyalty of friendship should be indiscriminately employed in casual greetings. The pressure of the hand should mean more than it can mean, when, as now, it is bestowed with equal alacrity on life-long friend and recent acquaintance.
Fastidious and sensitive people are rather conservative in hand-shaking. Etiquette allows considerable latitude. It is proper and graceful, but not required, for two men to shake hands when introduced. A lady does not usually shake hands with a new acquaintance, unless the circumstances of the introduction make her responsible for allowing special cordiality, as when a person is introduced to her in her own house. A host and hostess shake hands with a guest; they may omit to shake hands with the same person when they meet him elsewhere.
Whatever one's personal impulse, it is polite to defer to the evident preference of another; and to shake hands heartily if a hand is cordially extended, or to refrain from proffering the hand when reserve is evident in the manner of the other person.
Hand-shaking as a conventional ceremony should be as impersonal and as void of significance as possible. The clasp of the hand should be firm but brief; not hasty, yet not prolonged; and the fingers should relax and loosen their hold at once, not dropping listlessly, nor retaining a lingering pressure. When a lady gives her hand to a guest she expects to get it back again almost immediately, and in an uncrushed condition. To hold another's hand until he or she is conscious of the detaining grasp is a liberty that only trusted friends may take.
At the same time, a hearty manner of greeting may be the fashion in some places; and to meet it otherwise than cheerfully would seem churlish, according to local standards. It is always well-bred—as well as politic—to conform to local customs so far as is consistent with dignity.
Another custom, gradually going out, is the woman's fashion of kissing effusively each woman-friend of her acquaintance. This senseless habit has no excuse for being. When kissing is the language of impulsive affection, etiquette has nothing to say about it except to demand that the general public shall not be called upon to witness the ceremony. Public thoroughfares and thronged social assemblies we not the proper places for such demonstrations. Nothing is less interesting than other people's kisses, unless it be the gushing recital of private affairs with which these unguarded people also entertain every stranger within earshot. When scenes like these are observed at railroad stations and on board of trains when demonstrative leave-taking is in progress, we may forgive the exhibition since the circumstances warrant more than usual impulsiveness and forgetfulness of surroundings. But when the most common-place meeting of acquaintances, who see each other every day, is attended with these phenomena, etiquette, as well as common-sense, enters a severe protest. The kiss, which should be the most exclusive symbol of friendship, becomes the most insignificant form of greeting.
It is not proper, according to strict etiquette, to give the kiss of greeting in public places; but when near relatives or cherished friends do choose thus to greet each other, the kiss should be exchanged unobtrusively and with dignity; conversation on private matters should be conducted in subdued tones, and a well-bred gravity—quite consistent with cheerfulness—should characterize the manner.
It would be well if every person in society should register a solemn resolution never to kissanybodyunless prompted to do so by the irresistible impulse of affection. It is safe to say that nine-tenths of the kisses of social greeting would be dispensed with. The quality of the remaining tenth would doubtless be proportionately improved.
People understand and "make allowances" for many things that, to say the least, are thoughtless in the behavior of people whom they know well. Not so "the general public," which measures every man's conduct by the strict law of propriety, and accredits him with so much intelligence and refinement as his manners display—no more. And, happily, no less; for this "general public" is a dispassionate critic on the whole, and if it severely condemns our faults, it has no grudge against us to keep it from equally appreciating our merits.
A "regard for appearances" is—and should be—a leading consideration when ordering one's conduct in public. It is not enough thatwe knowourselves to be above reproach; we must take care that the stranger who observes us gets no impression to the contrary. Friends who know her irresistibly mirthful disposition, may excuse the girl who laughs boisterously on the street-car; but she will not be able to explain to the severe-looking stranger opposite that she didnotdo this to attract attention.
Conduct in public should be characterized by reserve. The promenade, the corridors of public buildings—post-office, railway stations, etc.—the elevators and arcades of buildings devoted to shops and offices; museums and picture-galleries, the foyer of the theatre, and the reading-rooms of public libraries may all be regarded as thorough fares, where the general public is our observant critic. Greetings between acquaintances casually meeting in such places should be quiet and conventional; friends should avoid calling each other by name, and conversation should be confined to such remarks as one does not object to have accidentally overheard. Subdued, but natural, tones of voice should be used, and the manner should be perfectly "open and above board." Cautious whispering is conspicuous, sometimes suspicious, and always ill-mannered. If confidential matters are to be discussed, the office or the parlor is the proper place for the conference.
When acquaintances meet on the promenade, recognitions are exchanged by a slight bow, with or without a spoken greeting.
On the crowded walk, if two acquaintances pass and re-pass each other several times in the course of the same promenade, it is not necessary to exchange greetings after the first meeting.
Canes and umbrellas should not be carried under the arm horizontally, endangering the eyes and ribs of other pedestrians.
A man, when bowing, lifts his hat in the following instances:
When bowing to a lady.
When, walking with a lady, he bows to another man of his acquaintance.
When bowing to an elderly man, or a superior in office.
When bowing to a man who is walking with a lady.
When, walking with a lady, he joins her in saluting any gentlemen of her acquaintance, but strangers to himself; or, when walking with gentlemen, he joins them in saluting a lady of their acquaintance, but a stranger to himself.
When offering any civility (as a seat in the street-car), to a lady, whether a stranger or an acquaintance.
When bidding good-bye to a lady after an "open-air" conference, when the hat has been worn. Punctilious etiquette requires a man to stand with head uncovered in the presence of ladies, until requested to replace the hat. But in our changeable climate, the risk of "taking cold" suggests the good sense of wearing the hat out-of-doors, and allowing the graceful lifting of the same at greeting and parting to express all the deference that the uncovered head is meant to symbolize.
The greater the crowd, the shorter the range at which greetings are exchanged. One might "halloo" to an old acquaintance forty rods distant, down a country lane; but on Broadway he bows only to the ones whom he meets point blank.
If two friends meet and pause to shake hands, they should step aside from the throng, and not blockade the sidewalk. Ladies should make these pauses very brief, and beware of entering into exhaustive interchanges of family news. Two men may linger, if they choose, and hold a few moments' conversation. But if a man meets a lady, and wishes to chat with her, he should, after greeting her, ask permission to join her, and walk with her for a short distance; he should by no means detain her standing on the sidewalk. He should not accompany her all the way to her destination, nor prolong such a casual conversation beyond a few moments. He should leave her at a corner, and lift his hat respectfully as he bids her good-bye.
If several people walking together on a sidewalk of average width meet other groups of promenaders, both parties should fall into single line as they pass, allowing each group a fair share of the walk. This is especially incumbent when on a narrow crossing. It is very rude for groups of three or more to walk abreast without heeding the people whom they meet, and often crowding the latter off the curbstone. Young girls are sometimes very thoughtless in this matter. "Turn to the right, as the law directs" is an injunction that holds good for the crowded sidewalk.
If one, walking briskly, overtakes slower walkers ahead, and the crowd allows no space to get past them, one should watch for a chance to slip through a gap in the phalanx, rather than "elbow through." If no chance seems likely to occur, and haste is imperative, a polite man has no recourse but to step outside the curb and walk rapidly ahead, returning to the sidewalk a few paces in advance. A lady similarly hurried may slip through a small space, if one offers, with an apologetic "I beg pardon." But in no case should pushing be resorted to. It is very unmannerly for a party of loiterers to string themselves thus across the width of a sidewalk, and then saunter slowly, regardless of the fact that they are impeding the progress of busier people. A policeman should call their attention to the fact.
If the sidewalk is "blocked" by an orderly crowd, as it frequently is on the occasion of parades and other public demonstrations, a man may push his way through gently, saying, "I beg pardon" to those whom he is compelled to jostle. The fine breeding of a gentleman never shows more conspicuously than in his manner of getting through a crowd. The beauty of it is, or, perhaps, I might say, the utility of it is, that courtesy in such a case is very much more effective than "bluff," for the majority in an orderly crowd are inclined to be obliging, and quickly respond to a good-humored request; whereas, if one aggressive elbow begins to push, a hundred other elbows are set rigidly akimbo, and the solid mass becomes ten-fold more unyielding than before.
If accosted by a stranger with a request for information as to streets, directions, etc., one should kindly reply, and, if not able to give the desired information, should, if possible, direct the stranger where to make further inquiries. Cheerful interest in the perplexities of a bewildered sojourner in the city costs nothing and is always highly appreciated. Only a pessimist or a snob would dismiss such a question curtly.
If a lady's dress has been torn, or trimming or braid ripped and left trailing after contact with the nails in a packing-box on the sidewalk, or from some similar accident, it is polite to call her attention to the disaster. A gentleman may do this with perfect propriety if he sees that she is not aware of it. He should preface the information with "Pardon me," and should lift his hat, as always when offering any civility.
When attending to business at banks, post-office, railroad ticket-offices, etc., one should pay no attention to other people, further than to guard against allowing one's absorbing interest in one's own affairs to make one regardless of the just rights of others in the matter of "turn" at ticket or stamp windows, or in the use of the public desk, pens, etc.—trifling tests of good manners that distinguish the well-bred,and which illustrate very pointedly the truth that selfishness is always vulgar, and that an unfailing habit of considering other people's comfort is a mark of gentle breeding.
A lady should say "Thank you" to a gentleman who gives up a seat to her in a street-car or other public conveyance, where, havingpaidfor a seat, he has arightto it, and his voluntary relinquishment of it is a matter ofpersonal courtesyon his part. The woman who slides into a place thus offered without acknowledging the obligation is very thoughtless, or else she has erroneous ideas of how far chivalry is bound to be the slave of selfishness. If the lady is accompanied by a gentleman, he, too, should say "Thank you," and lift his hat. He should also be thoughtful not to take the next vacated seat himself without first offering it to the polite stranger.
A young woman, strong and well, may properly give up her seat to a fragile woman, or a mother with a baby, or to an elderly man or woman.
Young ladies of leisure, who are not weary, should not be too ready to "oust" tired clerks and laboring men whose ride home at six o'clock is their first chance to sit down, for ten hours. Agentlemanis chivalrous; and there is a corresponsive quality in alady, which makes her delicately sensitive about unjustly imposing on that chivalry, or which, in emergencies of sickness or disaster, enablesherto be thechivalrous in spirit, and bear on her slender shoulders the burden that is temporarily dropped when some stroke of Providence lays the strong man low.
On the other hand, there are women of coarse fibre, who imagine that they vastly increase their own importance by being selfishly exacting in the matter of men's self-sacrificing attentions. They may browbeat the men who are in their power; but, outside of this narrow world of their own, they are held in thorough contempt by the very men whose admiration they had hoped to gain by their aggressive and ill-tempered demands.
Men who smoke on the street should avoid the crowded promenade, where ladies "most do congregate;" since it is nearly impossible to avoid annoying some one with the smoke.
In most towns, the Board of Health ordinance forbidding spitting on floors, sidewalks, etc., is not only a hygienic safe-guard, but a much needed enforcement of good manners. Comment is superfluous.
Based upon an idea borrowed from olden days—that the right arm, the "sword arm," should be free for defense—a custom formerly prevailed for a man, walking with a lady, to place her always at his left side. Then later—also with some idea of shielding her from danger—it was the custom for a man to walk next to the curbstone, whether it happened to be left or right. This is still the rule, unless the sidewalk is crowded; in which case a man walks at the side next the opposing throng, in order to shield a lady from the elbows of the passers-by.
Authorities are divided on the subject of elevator etiquette, some denouncing in round terms the man who is so rude as to keep his hat on in an elevator where there are ladies; arguing that the elevator is a "little room," an "interior," not a thoroughfare. Others are equally emphatic in asserting that the elevatorisa thoroughfare,merely; and that hats are not to be removed, except under the same conditions that would call for their removal in the street—as the greeting of acquaintances, or the exchange of civilities. The good sense of this view is apparent. A hat held in the hand in a crowded elevator is sure to be in the way, and liable to be crushed. A gentleman who wishes to compromise between stolid ignoring of the ladies who are strangers, and superfluous recognition of their presence, may lift his hat and replace it immediately, when a lady enters the elevator, or when he enters an elevator where ladies already are. Such a courtesy differs from a greeting in this: a stranger offering this elevator civilitydoes not look at the lady, nor does he bend his head; and his lifted hat is an impersonal tribute to the sex. A lady makesno responseto such a courtesy; yet there is in her general bearing a subtle something, hard to describe, but which every gentleman will readily recognize, that shows whether or not she observes and appreciates his little act of deference. The atmosphere of good manners may be as invisible as the air about us; but we know when we are breathing it.
During a promenade in the day-time, a lady does not take a man's arm unless she is feeble from age or ill-health, and needs the support. In the evening, a gentleman walking with a lady may offer her his arm. On no account should a man take a woman's arm. This is a disrespectful freedom, that might be supposed to be the specialty of the rustic beau, if it were not so frequently observed in city thoroughfares.
The "cut direct" is the rudest possible way of dropping an acquaintance; and is allowable only in the case of some flagrant offender who deserves public and merciless rebuke. Ordinarily, the result sought—of ending an undesired acquaintance—is attained by a persistently cold courtesy, supplemented by as much avoidance as possible; drifting apart, not sinking each other's craft without warning.
As crowds are distracting, and people bent on their own errands are often oblivious of their surroundings, it is quite possible for a seeming cut to have been an unconscious oversight. When an acquaintance seems not to see one, though close at baud, it is possible that something closer yet to his consciousness is absorbing all his thoughts. Only clear and unmistakable evidence ofintentionshould lead one to infer a slight. It is not only morepolite, but moreself-respecting, to "take offense"slowly.