"He said he couldn't see the town,There were so many houses."
We hope it is not necessary to caution our readersagainst the most provincial of Yankee provincialisms, such as, "I hadn't ought," or "I shouldn't ought"—or "It warn't," instead of "It was not"—or the exclamations, "Do tell!" or "I want to know," ejaculated as a token of surprise the moment after you have told, and made known. The common English habit, or rather a habit of the common English, of using continually the words "you know," and"you know,"is very tiresome, particularly when they are talking of something that you cannot possibly be acquainted with. Check them by saying, "No, I do not know." They also make great use of the word "monstrous"—ugly as that word is. Do not imitate them in saying that you are "monstrous glad," or "monstrous sorry," or "monstrous tired," or that a young lady is "monstrous pretty." We have heard even "monstrous little."
We advise our New-England friends to eschew, both in speaking and writing, all Yankee phrases that do not convey the exact meaning of the words. For instance, to "turn outthe tea," instead of to "pourit out." There can be no turn given, in this process, to the spout or handle of the tea-pot. On the contrary, it cannot pour well unless it is held straight. To "cut the eggs," instead of to beat them. The motion of beating eggs does not cut them. "Braiding eggs," is still worse. But we believe that this braiding is not the same as cutting. What is it?
Two young officers were travelling in the far West when they stopped to take supper at a small road-side tavern, kept by a very rough Yankee woman. Thelandlady, in a calico sun-bonnet, and bare feet, stood at the head of the table to pour out. She enquired of her guests, "if they chose long sweetening, or short sweetening in their coffee." The first officer, supposing that "long sweetening" meant a large portion of that article, chose it accordingly. What was his dismay when he saw their hostess dip her finger deep down into an earthen jar of honey that stood near her, and then stir it (the finger) round in the coffee. His companion, seeing this, preferred "short sweetening." Upon which the woman picked up a large lump of maple sugar that lay in a brown paper on the floor beside her, and biting off a piece, put it into his cup. Both the gentlemen dispensed with coffee that evening. This anecdote we heard from the sister of one of those officers.
"Emptyings" is not a good name for yeast. "Up chamber, up garret, down cellar," are all wrong. Why not say, "up in the chamber, up in the garret, down in the kitchen, down in the cellar" &c.? Why should a mirthful fit of laughter be called "a gale"? "Last evening we were all in such a gale!"
Snow and ice are not the same. Therefore a snowball should not be called an ice-ball, which latter might be a very dangerous missile.
Pincushions are pincushions, and not pin-balls, unless they are of a globular shape. If in the form of hearts, diamonds, &c., they are not balls.
When you are greatly fatigued, say so—and not that you are "almost beat out." When the Yankees are "beat out," the English are quite "knocked up."The English are "starved with cold"—Americans only starve with hunger. They may perish with cold; but unless hunger is added, they will not starve.
It is wrong to say that certain articles of food are healthy or unhealthy. Wholesome and unwholesome are the right words. A pig may be healthy or unhealthy while alive; but after he is killed and becomes pork, he can enjoy no health, and suffer no sickness.
If you have been accustomed to pronounce the word "does" as "doos," get rid of the custom as soon as you can. Also, give up saying "pint" for "point," "jint" for "joint," "anint" for "anoint," &c. Above all, cease saying "featur, creatur, natur, and raptur."
In New England it is not uncommon to hear the word "ugly" applied to a bad temper. We have heard, "He will never do for president, because he is so ugly." On our observing that we had always considered the gentleman in question, as rather a handsome man, it was explained that he was considered ugly in disposition.
A British traveller, walking one day in a suburb of Boston, saw a woman out on a door-step whipping a screaming child. "Good woman," said the stranger, "why do you whip that boy so severely?" She answered, "Iwillwhip him, because he is so ugly." The Englishman walked on; but put down in his journal that "American mothers are so cruel as to beat their children, merely because they are not handsome."
No genteel Bostonian should call Faneuil Hall, "OldFunnel," or talk of the "Quinsey market," instead of Quincy, or speak of "Bacon street," or "Bacon Hill." That place was so called from a beacon, or signal-pole with a light at the top, and never was particularly celebrated for the pickling and smoking of pork.
The word "slump," or "slumped," has too coarse a sound to be used by a lady.
When you have exchanged one article for another, say so, and not that you have "traded it."
Do not say, "I should admire to read that book," "I should admire to hear that song," "I should admire to see the president." Substitute, "I should like to read that book," "I should like to hear that song," "I should like to see the president."
Using the word "love" instead of "like" is not peculiar to the ladies of any section of the Union. But they may assure themselves it is wrong to talk oflovingany thing that is eatable. They mayliketerrapins, oysters, chicken-salad, or ice-cream; but they need notloveterrapins or oysters, orlovechicken-salad.
We remember, in the farce of Modern Antiques, laughing at an awkward servant-girl bringing in a dish of salad to a supper-table, before the company had assembled, and, after taking a large bite, turning her foolish face toward the audience, and saying, "I loves beet-root."
Even if you are a provincial New-Yorker, give up calling the door-step or porch by the ancient Dutch name of "stoop," (stoep,) and do not talk of going out on the stoop, or sitting in the stoop. When a load ofwood or coal is put down at your door, say not that it is "dumped." Never speak of visiting friends that "live to Brooklyn," or "live to Newark." They liveatthose places, nottothem. The word "muss" sounds badly, when a young lady says, "her scarf is mussed," or her collar is "mussed"—or that her bureau drawers are all in a muss. The English synonyme, "mess," hasrathera better sound. Be it also remembered that a stool is not a bench. A bench holds several people, a stool but one.
When you mean that an article of dress (a bonnet or a cap) is neat and pretty, do not say that it is cunning. An inanimate object cannot be cunning. To be cunning requires some mind. We are sorry to say that we have heard females who, when they intend to be witty, talk of taking a snooze, (which means a nap,) and speak of a comic anecdote as being "rich," and of a man in faded clothes as looking "seedy." We have heard Philadelphia ladies speak of a "great big" house, or a "great big" ship; and there are still some whoexpectwhat has already come to pass—as, "I expect it rained somewhere last night"—"I expect she arrived yesterday"—"I expect he went to Baltimore." In all these cases the proper term is "I suppose," and not "I expect."
The word "mayhap" (instead of perhaps) is a positive vulgarism. It is of English origin, but is only used in England by very low people—and by English writers, never.
We have little tolerance for young ladies, who, having in reality neither wit nor humour, set up forboth, and having nothing of the right stock to go upon, substitute coarseness and impertinence, (not to say impudence,) and try to excite laughter, and attract the attention of gentlemen, by talking slang. Where do they get it? How do they pick it up? From low newspapers, or from vulgar books? Surely not from low companions?
We have heard one of these ladies, when her collar chanced to be pinned awry, say that it was put on drunk—also that her bonnet was drunk, meaning crooked on her head. When disconcerted, she was "floored." When submitting to do a thing unwillingly, "she was brought to the scratch." Sometimes "she did things on the sly." She talked of a certain great vocalist "singing like a beast." She believed it very smart and piquant to use these vile expressions. It is true, when at parties, she always had half a dozen gentlemen about her; their curiosity being excited as to what she would say next. And yet she was a woman of many good qualities; and one who boasted of having always "lived in society."
We think that gentlemen lose a particle of their respect for young ladies who allow their names to be abbreviated into such cognomens as Kate, Madge, Bess, Nell, &c. Surely it is more lady-like to be called Catharine, Margaret, Eliza, or Ellen. We have heard the beautiful name Virginia degraded into Jinny; and Harriet called Hatty, or even Hadge.
A very silly practice has been introduced of writing Sally, Sallie—Fanny, Fannie—Mary, Marie—Abby, Abbie, &c. What would our grand-parents havethought of Pollie, Mollie, Peggie, Kittie, Nancie? Suppose young men were to adopt it, and sign themselves, Sammie, Billie, Dickie, Tommie, &c.!
By-the-bye, unless he is a relation, let no young lady address a gentleman by his Christian name. It is a familiarity which he will not like.
Any article you are likely to want on more than one occasion, it is better to buy than to borrow. If your own, you can have it always at hand: you will lay yourself under no obligation to a lender, and incur no responsibility as to its safety while in your possession. But when youdoborrow, see that the article is speedily returned. And, under no consideration, take the liberty of lending it to any person whatever, before restoring it to the owner. Apologies and expressions of regret are no compensation, should it be out of your power to replace it if injured or lost.
When you ask to borrow a thing, do not say, "Will youloanit to me?" The word "loan" is, by good talkers, and good writers, never used but as a substantive: notwithstanding that Johnson gives it as a verb also, but only on one obscure authority—and Johnson is not now regarded as infallible. Tolend, not toloan, is the usual and proper expression. As a substantive it is generally employed in a commercial and political sense, or to denote a large sum borrowed for a public and important purpose. It is true you can say, "May I request the loan of your fan?" "Will you permit me to ask the loan of thisbook?" But it is much easier and smoother to say simply, "Will you lend me your fan for a few minutes?" "Will you be kind enough to lend me this book?"
No articles, perhaps, are more frequently borrowed than umbrellas, and none are returned with so little punctuality. Frequently, a borrowed umbrella is never thought of by the borrower, till after the weather clears up; the lender, most probably, suffering inconvenience for want of it. Often it is detained till the next rain, when the lender has to take the trouble of sending for it. And then it is very possible it may not be found at all; some person in the mean time having nefariously carried it off. In such a case, it is a matter of common honesty for the careless borrower to replace that umbrella with a new one; as she is not to suppose that empty expressions of regret or unmeaning apologies will be sufficient compensation for a substantial loss.
To avoid any difficulties concerning umbrellas, it is safest, in cloudy weather, not to leave home without one. Many persons venture out beneath a threatening sky, unwilling to encumber themselves with an umbrella, which (possibly) they may not chance to require before they got home. Their dependance is on stopping in at the house of a friend, and borrowing one there. But is it not better to incommode yourself a little by carrying a closed umbrella, even if you shouldnotfind occasion to use it, than to hasten rapidly through the street to reach a shelter when you find the rain beginning to drop; and afterwards to deprive your friend, even temporarily,of an article which the wet weather may render it inconvenient to spare. Also, you may be caught by a sudden shower, at a considerable distance from the dwelling of the person with whom you are acquainted, and you may find the omnibuses all full, (as they generally are when it rains,) and no other vehicle in sight. Therefore, when the wind is in a rainy quarter, and the sky louring, be always on the safe side, and take an umbrella with you on leaving home.
Every lady should own a small light umbrella, or else a very large parasol, of extra size, covered with strong India silk that will not easily tear or fade, and that may be used, on occasion, for either sun or rain; and that will not be cumbrous to carry, though quite large enough to shelteroneperson. In truth, we have found but few umbrellas, however large, that could effectually covertwopersons (unless they were people of very small size) so that the rain did not drop upon the off-shoulder of one or the other. You cannot be well screened by an umbrella, unless you carry it all the time steadily in yourownhands, and over yourself alone. And politeness requires that you should give your companion the best of the shelter. So when two ladies go out together, the clouds portending rain, let each take an umbrella for herself, and then much injury to bonnets and shawls may be avoided.
These small light umbrellas are excellent to travel with, and especially useful in the transit from car to steamboat, or even from the house to the carriage. When not in "actual service," keep this umbrella beside you with your shawl and your travelling satchel.It will be useful during the journey, if packed away in a trunk.[15]
When you purchase an umbrella, desire that, before sending it home, your name be engraved on the little plate at the termination of the handle, or else on the slide. "To make assurance doubly sure," you may get the name painted in full in small white or yellow letters on theinsideof one of the gores of silk. These letters will not be conspicuous on the outside, but they will always serve to identify the umbrella. Your residence (if permanent) may be added. When about to travel, sew a small card with your address near the bottom of one of the gores inside. This card may be changed when staying at a new place. With these precautions, and a little care, (unless you are habitually thoughtless and forgetful,) you may carry an umbrella from Maine to Florida without losing it.
All the members of a family should be provided with at least one rain-umbrella of their own, and these should be kept up-stairs when not likely to be wanted. There is always great danger of their being purloined, orborrowed, if left in the hall. Persons who would not, for the world, be known to pilfer a single cent, are by no means particular with regard to detaining an umbrella or a book.
Umbrellas for the kitchen can now be had as low asseventy-five cents, or one dollar. If of coloured cotton (brown or blue) and highly glazed, they will turn off a moderate rain very well, but a drenching shower may cause the dye or colouring to run in streams. For very common use, though higher in price, the best are of oil-cloth, or of brown unbleached linen. The handsomest umbrellas are of blue or brown India silk, with steel frames, and a small silver name-plate on the handle. A green silk umbrella will soon be spoiled by the rain, and none look so badly in a short time. We have known a lady's bonnet entirely ruined by the drippings from a green parasol, hastily put up as a small screen from a sudden shower. No colour stands the sun and damp so badly as green.
After borrowing an umbrella, fail not to send it back immediately, unless you have previously ascertained from the owner that it will not be wanted for two or three hours. In that case, you will have time to dry it before it goes home; and this should be done as soon as possible, that it may be returned in good order. If left in the entry or hall, it may be carried off; or, in plain words, stolen. Let it be dried under your own inspection, spreading it wide open, and standing it on the floor. If dried fast, and in an expanded position, the wetting will not perceptibly injure it. But if left shut and standing up closed, with the wet soaking into the umbrella, it will dry in discoloured streaks, and be spoiled. If the spring or any other part of a borrowed umbrella gets broken or injured while in your possession, be sure to have it repaired before sending home. There is a meannessverging on dishonesty in leaving this to be done by the owner.
If the cheap or common umbrellas are given up to the care of the domestics, and kept in the kitchen, in all probability they will soon disappear altogether, and be no longer forthcoming when wanted. They will lend them to their friends, and lose them in various ways. The umbrellas should be kept in some small room or closet up-stairs; and when required, the servants should come and ask for them; bringing them back when done with, and dried.
When you go out to tea, even in a summer evening, carry a shawl on your arm to throw over your shoulders before coming out into the night-air. This will preclude the necessity of borrowing one of your friend, should the weather have changed and grown cooler. Also, to prevent any risk from damp pavements, take with you a pair of over-shoes, (India-rubber, of course,) or else a pair of inside-soles, such as you can conveniently slip into your pocket. We have found no inside-soles equal to those of lamb-skin with the wool left on the upper-side; the under-side of the skin being coated with India-rubber varnish to render them water-proof. These soles are both warm and dry, and are far pleasanter than cork soles covered with flannel, and more lasting. But if you are obliged to borrow things to wear home, see that they are sent back next morning, if not the same evening, and in good order—the shawl well-dried from the damp, and folded smoothly, and the over-shoes cleaned nicely.
Always take a fan with you on going to a place ofpublic amusement. You will be sure to require it, and it is better than to depend on fanning yourself with the bill or programme, or borrowing the fan of a more provident friend, and perhaps forgetting to return it.
With regard to the practice of borrowing articles of household use, it is generally a custom "more honoured in the breach than the observance," particularly when living in a place where all such things can be easily obtained by sending to the shops. There are persons who, with ample means of providing themselves with all that is necessary for domestic service, are continually troubling their neighbours for the loan of a hammer, a screw-driver, a gimlet, a carpet-stretcher, a bed-stead screw, a fluting-iron, a preserving kettle, jelly-moulds, ice-cream freezers, &c. &c. If these or any other articlesmustbe borrowed, let them be returned promptly, and in good order.
If, in consequence of the unexpected arrival of company, any thing for the table is borrowed of a neighbour, such as tea, coffee, butter, &c., see that it is punctually returned; equal in quantity, and in quality; or rather superior. Habitual borrowers are very apt to forget this piece of honesty, either neglecting to return the things at all, or meanly substituting inferior articles—or perhaps laying themselves under such an imputation without actually deserving it, should the lender be ill-natured or untruthful. There is a homely proverb, "To go a-borrowing is to go a-sorrowing."
We have been told of a very aristocratic but very economical lady, in one of our large cities, who was inthe almost daily practice of borrowing things of a neighbour to whom she never condescended to speak. On one occasion she borrowed the use of that neighbour's fire to roast a pair of fowls.
Avoid borrowing change, or small sums. It is possible that you may really forget to repay them; but then it is also possible that you may be suspected of forgetting wilfully. So do not trust much to your memory. It is a true remark, that there are few instances of a borrower being so oblivious as to offer twice over the return of a small loan, forgetting that it had been paid already.
In borrowing a dress as a pattern, it is safest not to try it upon yourself, lest some part of the body should be stretched or frayed. Also, in trying on a bonnet or cap that is not your own, refrain from tying the strings; as every tying will give them additional wrinkles or rumples, and perhaps somewhat soil them. Never put on another person's gloves.
Should you be staying at a boarding-house, do not depend on "the lady in the next room," or any other lady, to lend you things which you can procure quite as easily as she can. Keep yourself always provided with pen, ink, and paper, envelopes, wafers, sealing-wax, pencils, post-office stamps, &c. Also with sewing implements.
When a friend lends you a handkerchief, a collar, or any other washable article, see that it is nicely washed, and done up, before returning it to her,—and do so promptly. If an article of jewellery, carry it back to her yourself, and put it into her own hand, topreclude all risk of loss. She will not be so ungenerous as to tell any person that she has lent it to you; and will for a while afterward, refrain from wearing it herself, in any company where it may be recognized.
Should a visiter accidentally leave her handkerchief at your house, have it washed and ironed before restoring it to her.
On borrowing a book, immediately put a cover upon it—and let the cover be of clean, smooth, white or light-coloured paper. What is called nankeen paper is best and strongest for this purpose. Newspaper, or any paper that is printed, makes a vile book-cover. Beside its mean and dirty appearance, the printing-ink will not only soil your own hands while reading, but will do more injury to the binding than if it was left uncovered.
To cover a book neatly—take a sheet of nice paper of more than sufficient size, and lay the book open upon it. Cut a notch or indentation at the top and bottom of this paper, so as to admit the back of the book, making the notch exactly the width of the back, and two or three inches deep. Fold down the edges of the paper straightly, smoothly, and evenly, over the edges of the binding or cover. Fold the corners of the paper nicely underneath, (trimming off the superfluous paper that turns under,) making them lie as flat as possible. You may secure all the folds at the corners with small wafers, pins, or paste-cement. If you use pins, take care to stick them so as not to scratch the inside of the binding, or to prick and tear the fly-leaves. The paper-cover should not only bestrong, but smooth also; if coarse and rough, it will injure the binding. When you send the book home, put it up neatly, so as to make a well-looking package; secured with either a string or a seal, and direct it to the owner.
If the book is a pamphlet, and the sewing-thread gives way, sew it again, with a large needle and a strong brown thread—not white cotton. If not sewed immediately, it will fall apart, and some leaves may drop out, and be lost. If, by any unlucky accident, a leaf is torn, lay the two pieces nicely together, and sew them, lightly, with a rather fine thread. But if one side of the torn page is blank, it will be best to mend it by pasting a small narrow slip of white paper underneath, so as to unite the torn edges neatly.
You may have excellent paste or cement, continually at hand, by buying at a druggist's an ounce of thebest and cleanestgum tragacanth, with a little bit of corrosive sublimate not larger than a grain of corn, and dissolving them in a large half-pint of clear water, either warm or cold. Pick the gum tragacanth very clean, freeing it carefully from all dust and impurities. Put it with the corrosive sublimate into a white or queensware vessel having a close cover, and holding a pint, to allow for swelling. Pour on the water; cover it closely; and stir itwith a stick, several times during the day. When sufficiently dissolved, the paste will be smooth throughout. The corrosive sublimate will cause it to keep good for a year or more; and it is an excellent and most convenient cement for all purposes, from wall-paper to artificialflowers. It must on no account be kept in a metal vessel or be stirred with a metal spoon, as it will then turn black. No house should be without this paste—and it should find a place in every library and office. When it is nearly used up, and becomes dry at the bottom, pour on a little water, and it will dissolve again.
Make no remarks with pen or pencil on the margin of any book that does not belong to yourself. Whatever may be your own opinion of certain passages, you have no right to disturb other readers by obtruding upon them these opinions, unasked for. The pleasure of reading a book from a public library, is frequently marred by finding, as you proceed, that some impertinent fools have been before you, and scribbled their silly comments all through; or indulged in sneers and vituperations directed at the author. You may lessen this annoyance by turning over all the leaves before you begin reading, and erasing all the marginal remarks with India rubber; and this will also be an act of kindness to the next reader after yourself. When written with ink, (as is often the case,) there is no remedy; and you must endure the infliction of being annoyed throughout the book by these gratuitous criticisms. In a book, even belonging to yourself, it is well to use the pencil sparingly; and only to correct an error of the press, or a chronological mistake of the author. All readers like to form their own opinions as they go along, without any prompting from those who have preceded them.
Never, on any consideration, allow yourself to lend a borrowed book. If requested to do so, it should be a sufficient excuse to say that "it is not your own." But if still urged, persist in declining steadily; for it is a liberty you have no right to take with any article belonging to another. Even if the owner is your sister, you should lend nothing of hers without first obtaining her permission. Whatever you borrow yourself, should pass safely from your hands to those of the owner. If a friend of yours is very desirous of reading a borrowed book, and has no other means of obtaining it, and you think you can depend on her carefulness and punctuality, (not else,) you may promise "to request for her the favour." And when the owner has consented, (and not till then,) you may transfer the book to the new borrower with strict injunctions to take great care of it, and to return it as soon as possible.
I have known a borrowed book travel round a whole circle of relations and acquaintances, till, when sent home at last, it was literally worn out by dint of use. And this when nearly the whole set were persons who could well afford to buy all they were desirous of reading. Many ladies like very well to read when they can do so at the cost of their friends; but they seem to regard the purchase of any thing to improve the mind, or amuse the fancy, as throwing away money which they would expend more to their satisfaction in articles of personal decoration. And is it not melancholy to see an intelligent child craving in vain for books, while bedizened with finery to gratify the vanity of an ostentatious mother?
If, with the permission of the owner, you have lent a borrowed book to a person who, having lost or injured it, still has the presumption to ask you to intercede for the loan of another, you are bound to refuse the request; and do so with civility but steadiness, assigning the true reason. It may be a salutary lesson to that borrower.
Remember never to send home any article in a wrapper of newspaper. Keep always in the house a supply of good wrapping-paper, bought for the purpose, and also of balls of twine. For putting up small things, what is called shoe-paper is very useful. It is both nice and cheap, selling from fifty to sixty cents per ream, according to the size, and there are twenty quires in a ream. There are varieties of stronger and larger wrapping-paper for articles that require such, and for parcels that are to be sent to far-off places, or to go by public conveyances. Such packages are best secured by red tape and sealing-wax. At every stationer's may be purchased all varieties of paper.
Be particularly careful of borrowed magazines, as the loss of one number spoils a whole set, and you may find great difficulty in replacing a lost number. Even a newspaper should be punctually returned. The owner may wish to file it, or to send it away to a friend. If lost or defaced while in your possession, send to the publishing-office and buy another. It is unsafe to leave the book you are reading in the parlour of a hotel. Always carry it away with you,whenever you quit the room—otherwise you will be likely to see it no more.
In America, books are so cheap (not to mention the numerous public libraries) that in most instances all who can afford it had better buy than borrow, particularly such works as are worth a second reading. If you find your books accumulating inconveniently, give away a portion of them to some lover of reading, who, less fortunate than yourself, is unable to expend much money with the booksellers.
I have often wondered to see a fair young stranger sitting day after day, idle and listless in the drawing-room of a hotel, when she might have known that there were bookstores in the immediate neighbourhood.
If, while in your possession, a borrowed book is irreparably injured, it is your duty to replace it by purchasing for the owner another copy. And, if that cannot be procured, all you can do is to buy a work of equal value, and to presentthat, as the only compensation in your power. Observe the same rule with all borrowed articles, lost or injured. The lender is surely not the person to suffer from the carelessness of the borrower. Leave no borrowed books in the way of children, and never give a young child a book to play with. Eat no cake or fruit over an open book, lest it be greased or stained. And take care not to blister or spoil the binding by putting it down in a wet place, for instance, on a slopped table.
Some young ladies have a bad habit of biting their fingers, especially if they rejoice in handsome hands; and the same ladies, by way of variety, are prone tobite the corners of books, and the edges of closed fans. So it is dangerous to trust these articles in their vicinity. We have seen the corners of an elegant Annual nearly bitten off at a centre-table in the course of one evening. And we have seen ice-cream eaten and wine drank over an open port-folio of beautiful engravings.
By-the-bye, in taking up a print to look at it, always extend it carefully with both hands, that the paper may be in no danger of cracking or rumpling, which it cannot escape if held but in one hand, particularly if there is a breeze blowing near it. To show a large engraving without risk of injury, spread it out smoothly on a table; keeping it flat by means of books or other weights, laid carefully down on the corners, and, if the plate isverylarge, at the sides also. And let no one lean their elbows upon it.
It is an irksome task to show any sort of picture to people who have neither taste, knowledge, nor enjoyment of the art. There are persons (ungenteel ones, it is true) who seem to have no other pleasure, when looking at a fine print or picture, than in trying to discover in the figures or faces, fancied resemblances to those of some individuals of their own circle: loudly declaring for instance, that, "Queen Victoria is the very image of Sarah Smith;" "Prince Albert an exact likeness of Dick Brown;" "the Duke of Wellington the very ditto of old Captain Jones," &c. &c. To those "who have no painting in their souls," there is little use in showing or explaining any fine specimen of that noblest of the fine arts. We have heard agentleman doubting whether a capital portrait of Franklin was not General Washington in his everyday dress. We could fill pages with the absurd remarks we have heard on pictures, even from persons who have had a costly education put at them. There are ladies who can with difficulty be made to understand the difference between a painting and an engraving—others who think that "the same man always makes both." Some call a coloured print a painting—others talk[16]of themselvespainting picturesin albums—not understanding that, properly speaking, they are water-colour drawings when done on paper and with transparent tintings—whilepicturesare painted with oil or opaque colours on canvas or board. Frescoes are painted on new walls before the plastering is quite dry, so that the colours incorporate at once with the plaster, and dry along with it; acquiring in that manner a surprising permanency.
There is another very common error, that of callinga diorama a panorama. A panorama, correctly speaking, is a large circular representation of one place only, (such as Rome, Athens, Thebes, Paris,) comprising as much as the eye can take in at a view. The spectators, looking from an elevated platform in the centre, see the painting all around them in every direction, and appearing the size of reality, but always stationary. The panoramas exhibited successively in London by Barker, Burford, Catherwood and others, are admirable and truthful views of the places they represent; and after viewing them a few minutes, you can scarcely believe that you are not actually there, and looking at real objects. A few of these triumphs of perspective and colouring, have been brought to America. It were much to be wished that an arrangement could be made for conveying every one of these fine panoramas successively across the Atlantic, and exhibiting them in all our principal cities. It would be a good speculation.
It is difficult to imagine whence originated the mistake of calling a diorama a panorama, which it isnot. A diorama is one of those numerous flat-surface paintings of which we have had so many, (and some few of them very good,) and which, moving on unseen rollers, glide or slide along, displaying every few minutes a new portion of the scenery.
The error has grown so common that persons fall habitually into it, though knowing all the time that itisan error. To correct it, let the exhibiters of dioramas cease to call thempanoramas, and give them their proper name, both in their advertisements andin their verbal descriptions. Sebron's magnificent representation of the departure of the Israelites, that looked so amazingly real, was not a diorama, for it did not move, and not a panorama, for it was not circular. But it was a colossal picture, so excellent that at the first glance it seemed to be no picture at all, but the real scene, with the real people.
If the visits of an acquaintance become less frequent than formerly, the falling off is not always to be imputed to want of regard for you, or to having lost all pleasure in your society. The cause may be want of time, removal to a distance, precarious health, care of children, absence from town, family troubles, depressed fortunes, and various other circumstances. Also, with none of these causes, visiting may gradually and almost insensibly decline, and neither of the parties have the slightest dislike to each other. If no offence has been intended, none should be taken; and when you chance to meet, instead of consuming the time in complaints of estrangement, meet as if your intercourse had never been interrupted, and you will find it very easy to renew it; and perhaps on a better footing than before. The renewal should be marked by a prompt interchange of special invitations—followed by visits.
Unless your rooms are spacious, you cannot have what is called a large general party. Some of your acquaintances must be omitted, and all that are left out, are generally offended. Therefore it is not wellever to have such parties, unless your accommodations are ample.Squeezesare out of fashion in the best American society. We have heard of parties at great houses in London, where, after the rooms were crowded to suffocation, a large portion of the company had to pass the evening on the stairs; and where coaches, unable to draw up from the immense number of these vehicles that were in advance, had to remain all night at the foot of the line, with ladies sitting in them. When morning came, they had to turn back, and drive home, the carriages being all they saw of the party.
It is better to give two or three moderate entertainments in the course of the season, than to crowd your rooms uncomfortably; and even then to risk giving offence to those who could not be added to the number.
If such offence has been given, try to atone for it by inviting the offended to dine with you, or to pass an evening, and asking at the same time a few pleasant people whom you know she likes.
You may have a very intimate and sincere friend who does not find it convenient to send for you every time she has company. If, in all things else, she treats you with uniform kindness, and gives reason to believe that she has a true affection for you, pass over these occasional omissions of invitation, and do not call her to account, or treat her coolly when you see her. True friendship ought not depend uponparties. It should be based on a better foundation.
If no answer is returned to a note of invitation, be not hasty in supposing that the omission has sprung from rudeness or neglect. Trust that your friend is neither rude nor neglectful; and believe that the answer was duly sent, but that it miscarried from some accidental circumstance.
A friend may inadvertently say something that you do not like to hear, or may make a remark that is not pleasant to you. Unless it is prefaced with apreviousapology; or unless she desires you "not to be offended at what she is going to say;" or unless she informs you that "she considers it her duty always to speak her mind,"—you have no right to suppose the offence premeditated, and therefore you should restrain your temper, and calmly endeavour to convince her that she is wrong; or else acknowledge that she is right. She ought then to apologize for what she said, and you should immediately change the subject, and never again refer to it. In this way quarrels may be prevented, and ill-feeling crushed in the bud. When what is called "a coolness" takes place between friends, the longer it goes on the more difficult it is to get over. But "better late than never." If, on consideration, you find thatyouwere in the wrong, let no false pride, no stubborn perverseness prevent you from making that acknowledgement. If your friend, on her part, first shows a desire for reconciliation, meet her half-way. A vindictive disposition is a bad one, and revenge is a most unchristian feeling. People of sense (unless the injury is very great, and of lasting consequences) are easy to appease, becausethey generally have good feelings, and know how to listen to reason. Dr. Watts most truly says—
"The wise will let their anger cool,At least before 'tis night;But in the bosom of a fool,It burns till morning light."
Should you chance to be thrown into the presence of persons who have proved themselves your enemies, and with whom you can have no intercourse, say nothing eithertothem oratthem; and do not place yourself in their vicinity. To talkata person, is mean and vulgar. Those who do it are fully capable of writing anonymous and insulting letters; and they often do so. High-minded people will always be scrupulously careful in observing toward those with whom they are at variance, all the ceremonies usual in polite society—particularly the conventional civilities of the table.
If you have, unfortunately, had a quarrel with a friend, talk of it to others as little as possible; lest in the heat of anger, you may give an exaggerated account, and represent your adversary in darker colours than she deserves. You may be very sure these misrepresentations will reach her ear, and be greatly magnified by every successive relater. In this way a trifle may be swelled into importance; a mole-hill may become a mountain; and a slight affront may embitter the feelings of future years. "Blessed are the peacemakers,"—and a mutual friend, if well-disposed toward both opponents, generally has it in her power to effecta reconciliation, by repeating, kindly, any favourable remark she may chance to have heard one of the offended parties make on the other. In truth, we wish it were the universal custom for all people to tell other people whatever good they may hear of them—instead of the wicked and hateful practice of telling only the bad. Make it a rule to repeat to your friends all the pleasant remarks that (as far as you know) are made on them, and you will increase their happiness, and your own popularity. We do not mean that you should flatter them, by reciting compliments that are not true; but truth is not flattery, and there is no reason why agreeable truths should not always be told. There would then be far more kind feeling in the world. Few persons are so bad as not to have some good in them. Let them hear of the good. Few are so ugly as not to have about them something commendable even externally, if it is only a becoming dress. Let them hear of that dress. Flattery is praise without foundation. To tell a person with heavy, dull gray eyes, that her eyes are of a bright and beautiful blue; to talk of her golden locks to a woman with positive red hair of the tint called carroty; to tell a long, thin, stoop-shouldered girl, that she possesses the light and airy form of a sylph; or a short-necked, fat one that her figure has the dignity of an empress; to assure a faded matron that she looks like a young girl; to fall into raptures on listening to bad music, or when viewing a drawing that depicts nothing intelligible; or praising album poetry that has neither "rhyme nor reason,"—allthis is gross flattery, which the object (if she has any sense) will easily detect, and suspect that you are trying experiments on her vanity and credulity.
Still where agreeable qualitiesreallyexist, it is not amiss to allude to them delicately. It will give pleasure without compromising veracity.
When any thing complimentary is said to you, acknowledge it by a bow and smile, but do not attempt an answer unless you can say something in return that will be equally sincere and pleasant. Most probably you cannot; therefore look gratified, and bow your thanks, but remain silent. Few ladies are distinguished, like the Harriet Byron of Grandison, "for a very pretty manner of returning a compliment." Do not reject the compliment by pretending to prove that you do not deserve it. But if it is a piece of bare-faced flattery, the best answer is to look gravely, and say or do nothing.
Should you chance accidentally to overhear a remark to your disadvantage, consider first if there may not be some truth in it. If you feel that there is, turn it to profitable account, and try to improve, or to get rid of the fault, whatever it may be. But never show resentment at any thing not intended for your ear, unless it is something of such vital importance as to render it necessary that you should come forward in self-defence. These instances, however, are of rare occurrence.
If you are so placed that you can hear the conversation of persons who are talking about you, it is very mean to sit there and listen. Immediatelyremove to a distance far enough to be out of hearing.
It is a proverb that listeners seldom hear any good of themselves. It were a pity if they should. Eavesdropping or listening beneath an open window, the crack of a door, or through a key-hole, are as dishonourable as to pick pockets.
In her intercourse with gentlemen, a lady should take care to avoid all pecuniary obligations. The civility that a gentleman conventionally owes to a lady is a sufficient tax—more she has no right to expect, or to accept. A man of good sense, and of true politeness, will not be offended at her unwillingness to become his debtor. On the contrary, he will respect her delicacy, and approve her dignity; and consent at once to her becoming her own banker on all occasions where expense is to be incurred. This is the custom in Europe; and is, in most cases, a very good one.
When invited to join a party to a place of amusement, let her consent, if she wishes; but let her state expressly that it is only on condition of being permitted to pay for her own ticket. If she steadily adheres to this custom, it will soon be understood that such is always her commendable practice; and she can then, with perfect propriety, at any time, ask for a seat among friends who intend going. To this accommodation she could not invite herself, if in the continual habit of visiting public places at the expense of others. The best time for a lady to pay for herself is to put her money into the hand of the gentlemanpreviousto their departure for the place of performance. He will not be so rude as to refuse to take it. If he does refuse, she should evince her resentment by going with him no more.
Young men of limited means are frequently drawn into expenses they can ill afford, by being acquainted with young ladies who profess a passion for equestrian exercises—a most inconvenient passion for one who has not a horse of her own, or who lives in a family where no horses are kept. If her gentleman is obliged to hire, not only a horse for himself, but also one for the lady, let her have sufficient considerationnotto propose to him that they should take rides together—and let her not draw him into an invitation, by her dwelling excessively on the delight of horseback excursions. In cities, these rides are expensive luxuries to those who keep no horses. Few city ladies ride well, (even if they have been at riding-school,) for want of daily practice out of doors. They are not exactly at ease on the horse, and always seem somewhat afraid of him; at least till they are "off the stones," and out in the open country. While in the streets, the rare sight of a lady on horseback attracts much attention, and a crowd of boys gathers round to see her mount her steed, or alight from it. This to a young lady of delicacy is very embarrassing, or ought to be.
In the country, the case is totally different. There, "practice makes perfect." The ladies, being accustomed to riding their own horses from childhood, acquire the art without any trouble, have no fear, feelperfectly at home in the saddle, and therefore sit gracefully, and manage their steeds easily. And as every country gentleman has a riding-horse of his own, he can accompany a lady without the expense of hiring.
Lay no wagers with gentlemen, and have no philopenas with them. In betting with a lady, it is customary for the gentleman to pay whether he wins or loses. What then does the wager imply, but a rapacious and mean desire on the part of the lady to "get a present out of him"—as such ladies would express it. No delicate and refined female ever bets at all. It is a very coarse and masculine way of asserting an opinion or a belief; and always reminds gentlemen of the race-course, or the gaming-table.
We disapprove of ladies going to charity-fairs in the evening, when they require a male escort—and when that escort is likely to be drawn into paying exorbitant prices for gifts to his fair companion—particularly, if induced to do so from the fear of appearing mean, or of being thought wanting in benevolence. In the evening, the young ladies who "have tables," are apt to become especially importunate in urging the sale of their goods—and appear to great disadvantage as imitation-shop-keepers, exhibiting a boldness in teazing that no real saleswoman would presume to display. Then the crowd is generally great; the squeezing and pushing very uncomfortable; and most of the company far from genteel. Ladies whoareladies, should only visit fancy-fairs in the day-time, when they can go without gentlemen; none of whomtake much pleasure in this mode of raising money; or rather of levying contributions for special purposes. There are other ways that are more lady-like, more effective, less fatiguing, and more satisfactory to all concerned—and far less detrimental to the interests of the numerous poor women who get their living by their needles, or by their ingenuity in making ornamental nick-nacks for sale, and who ask but a fair price for them. Dress-makers are frequently induced to keep back portions of silk, the rightful property of their customers, who may afterwards be put to great inconvenience for want of them, when the dress is to be altered or repaired. And these pieces are given to the ladies who go about begging for materials to make pincushions, &c. for fancy-fairs. This is dishonest. Let them go to a store and buy small pieces of silk, velvet, ribbon, and whatever they want for these purposes.
If you have occasion to send by a gentleman a package to a transportation-office, give him along with it the money to pay for its carriage. If you borrow change, (even one cent,) return it to him punctually. He ought to take it as a thing of course, without any comment. When you commission him to buy any thing for you, if you know the price, give the money beforehand; otherwise, pay it as soon as he brings the article. Do all such things promptly, lest they should escape your memory if delayed.
When visiting a fancy-store with a gentleman, refrain from excessively admiring any handsome or expensive article you may chance to see there. Aboveall, express no wish that you were able to buy it, and no regret that you cannot, lest he should construe these extreme tokens of admiration into hints that you wish him to buy it for you. To allow him to do so, would on your part be very mean and indelicate, and on his very foolish.
It ought to be a very painful office (and is a very improper one) for young ladies to go round soliciting from gentlemen subscriptions for charitable purposes. Still it is done. Subscription-papers should only be offered by persons somewhat advanced in life, and of undoubted respectability—and then the application should be made, exclusively, to those whose circumstances are known to be affluent. People who have not much to give, generally prefer giving that little to objects of charity within their own knowledge. Who is there that does not know a poor family? And without actually giving money, (which in too many instances, is immediately appropriated by a drunken husband to supply himself with more drink,) much may be done to procure a few comforts for a miserable wife and children.
When you ask money for a charitable purpose, do so only when quite alone with the person to whom you apply. It is taking an undue advantage to make the request in presence of others—particularly if, as before observed, there is not wealth as well as benevolence. There is a time for all things—and young ladies are deservedly unpopular when, even in the cause of charity, they seize every opportunity to levy contributions on the purses of gentlemen.
It is wrong to trouble gentlemen with commissions that may cause them inconvenience or expense. In the awful days of bandboxes, unfortunate young men riding in stages were sometimes required to convey one of these cumbrous receptacles of bonnets and caps a day's journey upon their knees, to save it from rain outside. Sometimes an immense package containing an immense shawl. We knew an officer who, by particular desire, actually carriedthreegreat shawls several hundred miles; each bundle to be delivered at a different house in "the City of Magnificent Distances." But as to officers, "sufferance is the badge of all their tribe." Now these shawls should all have been sent by the public line, even if the transportationdidcost something.
We repeat, that a lady cannot be too particular in placing herself under obligations to a gentleman. She should scrupulously avoid it in every little thing that may involve him in expense on her account. And he will respect her the more.
On being introduced to a female writer, it is rude to say that "you have long had a greatcuriosityto see her." Curiosity is not the right word. It is polite to imply that, "knowing her well by reputation, you are glad to have an opportunity of making her personal acquaintance." Say nothing concerning her writings, unless you chance to be alone with her. Take care not to speak of her first work as being her best; for if it is really so, she must have been retrograding from that time; a falling off that she will not like to hear of. Perhaps the truth may be, that you yourself have read only herfirstwork; and if you tell her this, she will not be much flattered in supposing that you, in reality, cared so little for her first book, as to feel no desire to try a second. But she will be really gratified to learn that you are acquainted with most of her writings; and, in the course of conversation, it will be very pleasant for her to hear you quote something from them.
If she is a writer of fiction, and you presume to take the liberty of criticising her works, (as you may at her own request, or if you are her intimate friend,) refrain from urging that certain incidents areimprobable,and certain charactersunnatural. Of this it is impossible for you to judge, unless you could have lived the very same life that she has; known exactly the same people; and inhabited with her the same places. Remember always that "Truth is stranger than fiction." The French say—"Le vrai n'est pas toujours le plus vraisemblable,"—which, literally translated, means that "Truth is not always the most truth-like." Also, be it understood that a woman of quick perception and good memory can see and recollect a thousand things which would never be noticed or remembered by an obtuse or shallow, common-place capacity. And the intellect of a good writer of fiction is always brightened by the practice of taking in and laying up ideas with a view toward turning them to professional use. Trust in her, and believe that shehaspainted from life. A sensible fictionist always does. At the same time, be not too curious in questioning her as to the identity of her personages and the reality of her incidents. You have no right to expect that she will expose to you, or to any one else, her process of arranging the story, bringing out the characters, or concocting the dialogue. The machinery of her work, and the hidden springs which set it in motion, she naturally wishes to keep to herself; and she cannot be expected to lay them bare for the gratification of impertinent curiosity, letting them become subjects of idle gossip. Be satisfied to take her works as you find them. If you like them, read and commend them; but do not ask her to conduct you behind the scenes, and show you the mysteries ofher art—for writing is really an art, and one that cannot be acquired, to any advantage, without a certain amount of talent, taste, and cultivation, to say nothing of genius. What right have you to expect that your literary friend will trust you with "the secrets of her prison-house," and put it into your power to betray her confidence by acquainting the world that a certain popular novelist has informed you with her own lips ("but it must on no account be mentioned, as the disclosure would give mortal offence, and create for her hosts of enemies,") that by her character of Fanny Gadfly she really means Lucy Giddings; that Mr. Hardcastle signifies Mr. Stone; that Old Wigmore was modelled on no less a person than Isaac Baldwin; that Mrs. Bastings was taken from Mrs. Sunning; and Mrs. Babes from Mrs. Childers—&c. &c. Also, do not expect her to tell you on what facts her incidents were founded, and whether there was any truth in them, or if they were mere invention.
Be not inquisitive as to the length of time consumed in writing this book or that—or how soon the work now on hand will be finished. It can scarcely be any concern of yours, and the writer may have reasons for keeping back the information. Rest assured that whenever a public announcement of a new book is expedient, it will certainly be made in print.
There are persons so rude as to question a literary woman (even on a slight acquaintance) as to the remuneration she receives for her writings—in plain terms, "How much did you get for that? and howmuch are you to have for this? And how much do you make in the course of a year? And how much a page do you get? And how many pages can you write in a day?"
To any impertinent questions from a stranger-lady concerning the profits of your pen, reply concisely, that these things are secrets between yourself and your publishers. If you kindly condescend to answer without evasion, these polite enquiries, you will probably hear such exclamations as, "Why, really—you must be coining money. I think I'll write books myself! There can't be a better trade," &c.
Ignorant people always suppose that popular writers are wonderfully well-paid—and must be making rapid fortunes—because they neither starve in garrets, nor wear rags—at least in America.
Never ask one writer what is herrealopinion of a cotemporary author. She may be unwilling to entrust it to you, as she can have no guarantee that you will not whisper it round till it gets into print. If she voluntarily expresses her own opinion of another writer, and itisunfavourable, be honourable enough not to repeat it; but guard it sedulously from betrayal, and avoid mentioning it to any one.
When in company with literary women, make no allusions to "learned ladies," or "blue stockings," or express surprise that they should have any knowledge of housewifery, or needle-work, or dress; or that they are able to talk on "common things." It is rude and foolish, and shows that you really know nothing about them, either as a class or as individuals.
Never tell an authoress that "you are afraid of her"—or entreat her "not to put you into a book." Be assured there is no danger.
An authoress has seldom leisure to entertain morning visiters; so much of her time being professionally occupied either in writing, or in reading what will prepare her for writing. She should apprize all her friends of the hours in which she is usually engaged; and then none who are really her friends and well-wishers, will encroach upon her convenience for any purpose of their own; unless under extraordinary circumstances. To tell her that you were "just passing by," or "just in the neighbourhood," and "just thought you would stop in," is a very selfish, or at least a very inconsiderate excuse. Is she to suppose that you do not consider her conversation worthy of a visit made on purpose?
Recollect that to a woman who gets her living by her pen, "time is money," as it is to an artist. Therefore, encroaching on her time is lessening her income. And yet how often is this done (either heedlessly or selfishly) by persons professing to be her friends, and who are habitually in the practice of interrupting her in her writing hours, which should always be in the morning, if possible. They think it sufficient to say, like Paul Pry, "I hope I don't intrude"—knowing all the time that theydo, and pretending to believe her when civility obliges her to tell them they donot. Even if the visit is not a long one, it is still an interruption. In one minute it may break a chain of ideas which cannot be reunited, dispelthoughts that can never be recalled, disturb the construction of a sentence, and obliterate a recollection that will not return. And to all this the literary lady must submit, because her so-called friend "chanced to be out that morning shopping"—or "happened to be visiting in that part of the town"—and therefore has called onherby way of "killing two birds with one stone." Very likely, the visiter will say to the unfortunate visited, "I know it is inconvenient to you to see your friends in the morning, but I never feel like going out in the afternoon. As soon as dinner is over I must have my nap; and by the time that is finished, it is too late for any thing else."
In consequence of these ill-timed visits, the printer may have to send in vain for "copy" that is not yet ready; and an article written expressly for a magazine may arrive too late for the next month, and be therefore deferred a month later, which may subject her not only to inconvenience, but to actual pecuniary loss—loss of money. Or, at least, the interruption may compel her to the painful effort of trying to finish it even by sitting up late at night, and straining her weary eyes by lamp-light. Yet this she must endure because it suits an idle and thoughtlessfriendto make her a long and inopportune visit. The children of the pen and the pencil might say to these intruders, like the frogs in the pond when the boys were pelting them with stones—"This may be sport to you, but it is death to us."
If, when admitted into her study, you should find her writing-table in what appears to you like greatconfusion, recollect that there is really no wit in a remark too common on such occasions,—"Why, you look quitelittery,"—a poor play on the wordsliteraryandlitter. In all probability, she knows precisely where to lay her hand upon every paper on the table: having in reality placed them exactly to suit her convenience. Though their arrangement may be quite unintelligible to the uninitiated, there is no doubt method (her own method, at least) in their apparent disorder. It is not likely she may have time to put her writing table in nice-looking order every day. To have it done by servants is out of the question, astheywould make "confusion worse confounded;" being of course unable to comprehend howsuch a tableshould be arranged.
If you chance to find an authoress occupied with her needle, express no astonishment, and refrain from exclaiming, "What! canyousew?" or, "I never supposed a literary lady could even hem a handkerchief!"
This is a false, and if expressed in words, an insulting idea. A large number of literary females are excellent needle-women, and good housewives; and there is no reason why they should not be. The same vigour of character and activity of intellect which renders a woman agoodwriter, will also enable her to acquire with a quickness, almost intuitive, a competent knowledge of household affairs, and of the art of needle-work. And she will find, upon making the attempt, that, with a little time and a little perseverance, she may become as notable a personage (both in theoryand practice) as if she had never read a book, or written a page.
The Dora of David Copperfield is an admirable illustration of the fact that a silly, illiterate woman may be the worst of housewives. Dickens has unquestionably painted this character exactly from life. But that he always does. He must have known a Dora. And who has not?
If you find your literary friend in dèshabille, and she apologizes for it—(she had bestnotapologize)—tell her not that "authoresses are privileged persons, and are never expected to pay any attention to dress." Now, literary slatterns are not more frequent than slatterns who are not literary. It is true that women of enlarged minds, and really good taste, do not think it necessary to follow closely all the changes and follies of fashion, and to wear things that are inconvenient, uncomfortable, and unbecoming, merely because milliners, dress-makers, &c. have pronounced them "the last new style."
It is ill-manners to refer in any way to the profession of the person to whom you are talking, unless that person is an intimate friend, and you are alone with her; and unless she herself begins the subject. Still worse, to allude to their profession as if you supposed it rendered them different from the rest of the world, and marked them with peculiarities from which other people are exempt.
It is true that authorlings and poetizers are apt to affect eccentricity. Real authors, and even real poets, (by real we mean good ones,) have generally a largeportion of common sense to balance their genius, and are therefore seldom guilty of the queernesses unjustly imputed to the whole fraternity.
When in company with a literary lady with whom you are not on very confidential terms, it is bad taste to talk to her exclusively of books, and to endeavour to draw out her opinion of authors with whom she is personally acquainted—and whom she will, of course, be unwilling to criticise, (at least in miscellaneous society,) lest her remarks should be invidiously or imprudently repeated, and even get into print. "Any thing new in the literary world?" is a question by which some people always commence conversation with an author. Why should it be supposed that they always "carry the shop along with them," or that they take no interest or pleasure in things not connected with books. On the contrary, they are glad to be allowed the privilege of unbending like other people. And a good writer is almost always a good talker, and fully capable of conversing well on various subjects. Try her.
It was beautifully said of Jane Taylor, the charming author of a popular and never-tiring little book of "Original Poems for Children," that "you only knew that the stream of literature had passed over her mind by the fertility it left behind it."
We have witnessed, when two distinguished lady-writers chanced to be at the same party, an unmannerly disposition to "pit them against each other"—placing them side by side, orvis-à-vis, and saying something about, "When Greek meets Greek," &c.,and absolutely collecting a circle round them, to be amused or edified by the expected dialogue. This is rude and foolish.
It is not treating a talented woman with due consideration, to be active in introducing to her the silliest and flattest people in the room, because the said flats have been worked up into a desire of seeing, face to face, "a live authoress"—though in all probability they have not read one of her works.
That notorious lion-hunter, the Countess of Cork, was so candid as to say to certain celebrated writers, "I'll sit byyoubecause you are famous." To a very charming American lady whom she was persuading to come to her party, she frankly added, "My dear, you really must not refuse me. Don't you know you are my decoy-duck."
There are mothers (called pattern-mothers) who uphold the theory that every thing in the world must bend to the advantage (real or supposed) of children, that is, of their own children—and who have continually on their lips the saying, "a mother's first duty is to her children." So it is, and it is her duty not to render them vain, impertinent, conceited, and obtrusive, by allowing them to suppose that they must on all occasions be brought forward; and that their mother's visiters have nothing to do but to improve and amusethem. Therefore a literary lady often receives a more than hint from such a mother to talk only on edifying subjects when the dear little creatures are present; and then the conversation is required to take a Penny-Magazine tone, exclusively—thedarlings being, most probably, restless and impatient all the time, the girls sitting uneasily on their chairs and looking tired, and the boys suddenly bolting out of the room to get back to their sports. It is true the children will be less impatient if the visiter will trouble herself to "tell them stories" all the time; but it is rude to ask her to do so.
When directing a letter to "a woman of letters," it is not considered polite to insert the word "Authoress" after her name. And yet we have seen this done by persons who ought to know better. If you are unacquainted with the number and street of her residence, direct to the care of her publisher; whose place you may always find, by referring to the title-page of one of her last works, and by seeing his advertisements in the newspapers. The booksellers always know where their authors are to be found. So do the printers—for their boys convey the proof-sheets.
Observe that the term "learned lady" is not correctly applied to a female, unless she has successfully cultivated what is understood to be the learning of colleges—for instance, the dead languages, &c. Unfortunately, the term is now seldom used but in derision, and to denote a woman whose studies have been entirely of the masculine order. You may speak of a well-informed, well-read, talented, intellectual, accomplished lady; but call her notlearned, unless she is well-versed in the Greek and Latin classics, and able to discuss them from their original language. Even then, spare her the appellation oflearned, if gentlemen are present. In the dark ages, when not everylady could read and write, the few thatwereentitled to the "benefit of clergy," frequently "drank deep in tasting the Pierian spring," and proceeded to study the learned languages with great success; for instance, Lady Jane Grey and Queen Elizabeth.