The Ladies' Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners

"Oh! but there should be moderation in all things. To be candid – your friend Mrs. Willet says she is tired of hearing of France and Italy."

"Why then does she always try to get a seat next to me, and ask me to tell her something more of those countries?"

"Well, I don't know. People are so deceitful! There is Mr. Liddard, who says you bore him to death with talking about England."

"And yet whenever I do talk about England, I always find him at the back of my chair. And when I pause, he draws me on to say more."

"Men are such flatterers! Well, I always tell the plain truth. So it is best you should know Colonel Greenfield declares that since your return from Europe you are absolutely intolerable. Excuse my telling you these things. It is only to show that every body else thinks just as I do. Mrs. Gray says it is a pity you ever crossed the Atlantic."

Do not excuse her – but drop her acquaintance as soon as you can, without coming to a quarrel, in which case you will most probably get the worst. A plain-spoken woman is always to be dreaded. Her cold-blooded affectation of frankness is only a pretext to introduce something that will wound your feelings; and then she will tell you "that Mrs. A. B. C. and D., and Mr. E. and Mr. F. also, have said a hundred times that you are a woman of violent temper, and cannot listen to advice without flying into a passion."

And she will quietly take her leave, informing you that she is your best friend, and that all she has said was entirely for your own good, and that she shall continue to admonish you whenever she sees occasion.

A plain-spoken woman will tell you that you were thought to look very ill at Mrs. Thomson's party, your dress being rather in bad taste; that you ought to give up singing in company, your best friends saying that your style is now a little old-fashioned; that you should not attempt talking French to French ladies, as Mr. Leroux and Mr. Dufond say that your French is not quite Parisian, &c. &c. She will say these things upon no authority but her own.

When any one prefaces an enquiry by the vulgarism, "If it is a fair question?" you may be very certain that the question is a most unfair one – that is, a question which it is impertinent to ask, and of no consequence whatever to the asker.

If a person begins by telling you, "Do not be offended at what I am going to say," prepare yourself for something that she knows will certainly offend you. But as she has given you notice, try to listen, and answer with calmness.

It is a delicate and thankless business to tell a friend of her faults, unless you are certain that, in return, you can bear without anger to hear her point out your own. She will undoubtedly recriminate.

It is not true that an irritable temper cannot be controlled. It can, and is, whenever the worldly interest of the enragée depends on its suppression.

Frederick the Great severely reprimanded a Prussian officer for striking a soldier at a review. "I could not refrain," said the officer. "I have a high temper, your majesty, and I cannot avoid showing it, when I see a man looking sternly at me." "Yes, you can," replied the king. "I am looking sternly at you, and I am giving you ten times as much cause of offence as that poor soldier – yet you do not strike me."

A naturally irritable disposition can always be tamed down, by a strong and persevering effort to subdue it, and by determining always to check it on its first approaches to passion. The indulgence of temper renders a man (and still more a woman) the dread and shame of the whole house. It wears out the affection of husbands, wives, and children – of brothers and sisters; destroys friendship; disturbs the enjoyment of social intercourse; causes incessant changing of servants; and is a constant source of misery to that most unhappy of all classes, poor relations.

That a violent temper is generally accompanied by a good heart, is a popular fallacy. On the contrary, the indulgence of it hardens the heart. And even if its ebullitions are always succeeded by "compunctious visitings," and followed by apologies and expressions of regret, still it leaves wounds that time cannot always efface, and which we may forgive, but cannot forget.

Ill-tempered women are very apt to call themselves nervous, and to attribute their violent fits of passion to a weakness of the nerves. This is not true. A real nervous affection shows itself "more in sorrow than in anger," producing tears, tremor, and head-ache, fears without adequate cause, and general depression of spirits – the feelings becoming tender to a fault.

When a woman abandons herself to terrible fits of anger with little or no cause, and makes herself a frightful spectacle, by turning white with rage, rolling up her eyes, drawing in her lips, gritting her teeth, clenching her hands, and stamping her feet, depend on it, she is not of a nervous, but of a furious temperament. A looking-glass held before her, to let her see what a shocking object she has made herself, would, we think, have an excellent effect. We have seen but a few females in this revolting state, and only three of them were ladies – but we have heard of many.

When the paroxysm is over, all the atonement she can make is to apologize humbly, and to pray contritely. If she has really any goodness of heart, and any true sense of religion, she will do this promptly, and prove her sincerity by being very kind to those whom she has outraged and insulted – and whose best course during these fits of fury is to make no answer, or to leave the room.

As out of nothing, nothing can come, to be a good conversationist, you must have a well-stored mind, originality of ideas, and a retentive memory. Without making a lumber-room of your head, and stuffing it with all manner of useless and unnecessary things not worth retaining, you should select only such as are useful or ornamental, interesting or amusing. Your talk must flow as if spontaneously; one subject suggesting another, none being dwelt upon too long. Anecdotes may be introduced with much effect. They should be short, and related in such words as will give them the most point. We have heard the same anecdote told by two persons. With one it became prosy and tiresome, and the point was not perceptible from its being smothered in ill-chosen words. With the other narrator, the anecdote was "all light and spirit; soon told, and not soon forgotten." Brevity is the soul of wit, and wit is the soul of anecdote. And where wit is wanting, humour is an excellent substitute. Every body likes to laugh, or ought to. Yet there is a time for all things; and after listening to a serious or interesting incident well related, it is exceedingly annoying to hear some silly and heartless girl follow it with a ridiculous remark, intended to be funny – such as "Quite solemncolly!" – or, "We are all getting into the doldrums."

You may chance to find yourself in a company where no one is capable of appreciating the best sort of conversation, and where to be understood, or indeed to keep them awake, you must talk down to the capacities of your hearers. You must manage this adroitly, or they may find you out, and be offended. So, after all, it is, perhaps, safest to go on and scatter pearls where wax beads would be equally valued. Only in such society, do not introduce quotations from the poets, especially from Shakspeare, or your hearers may wonder what queer words you are saying. Another time, and with congenial companions, you can indulge in "the feast of reason, and the flow of soul."

If placed beside a lady so taciturn that no effort on your part can draw her out, or elicit more than a monosyllable, and that only at long intervals, you may safely conclude that there is nothing in her, and leave her to her own dullness, or to be enlivened by the approach of one of the other sex. That will make her talk.

Few persons are good talkers who are not extensive and miscellaneous readers. You cannot attentively read the best authors without obtaining a great command of words, so that you can always, with ease and fluency, clothe your ideas in appropriate language.

Knowledge is of course the basis of conversation – the root whose deepened strength and vigour gives life to the tree, multiplicity to its branches, and beauty to its foliage.

Much that is bad and foolish in women would have no existence if their minds were less barren. In a waste field, worthless and bitter weeds will spring up which it is hard to eradicate; while a soil that is judiciously cultivated produces abundant grain, luxuriant grass, and beautiful flowers.

There are ladies so exceedingly satisfied with themselves, and so desirous of being thought the special favourites of Providence, that they are always desiring to hold out an idea "that pain and sorrow can come not near them," and that they enjoy a happy exemption from "all the ills that flesh is heir to." They complain of nothing, for they profess to have nothing to complain of. They feel not the cold of winter, nor the heat of summer. The temperature is always exactly what they like. To them the street is never muddy with rain, nor slippery with ice. Unwholesome food agrees perfectly with them. They sleep soundly in bad beds, or rather no beds are bad. Travelling never fatigues them. Nobody imposes on them, nobody offends them. Other people may be ill – they are always in good health and spirits. To them all books are delightful – all pictures beautiful – all music charming. Other people may have trouble with their children —they have none. Other people may have bad servants —theirs are always excellent.

Now if all this were true, the lot of such persons would indeed be enviable, and we should endeavour to learn by what process such complete felicity has been attained – and why they see every thing through such a roseate medium. But it is not true. This is all overweening vanity, and a desire "to set themselves up above the rest of the world." We have always noticed that these over-fortunate, over-happy women have, in reality, a discontented, care-worn look, resulting from the incessant painful effort to seem what they are not. And if any body will take the trouble, it is very easy to catch them in discrepancies and contradictions. But it is not polite to do so. Therefore let them pass.

As mothers are always on the qui vive, (and very naturally,) be careful what you say of their children. Unless he is a decidedly handsome man, you may give offence by remarking, "The boy is the very image of his father." If the mother is a vain woman, she would much rather hear that all the children are the very image of herself. Refrain from praising too much the children of another family, particularly if the two sets of children are cousins. It is often dangerous to tell a mother that "little Willy is growing quite handsome." She will probably answer, "I had hoped my child was handsome always." With some mothers it is especially imprudent to remark that "little Mary looks like her aunt, or her grandmother." Again, if you prudently say nothing about the looks of the little dears, you may be suspected and perhaps accused of taking no interest in children. Young ladies, when in presence of gentlemen, are too apt to go on the other extreme, and over-act their parts, in the excessive fondling and kissing and hugging of children not in the least engaging, or even good-looking. We cannot believe that any female, not the mother, can really fall into raptures with a cross, ugly child. But how pleasant it is to play with and amuse, an intelligent, affectionate, and good-tempered little thing, to hear its innocent sayings, and to see the first buddings of its infant mind.

When you are visiting another city, and receiving civilities from some of its inhabitants, it is an ill requital for their attentions to disparage their place, and glorify your own. In every town there is something to praise; and in large cities there is a great deal to amuse, to interest, and to give pleasure. Yet there are travellers who (like Smelfungus) are never satisfied with the place they are in – who exclaim all the time against the east winds of Boston, the sea-air of New York, the summer heats of Philadelphia, the hilly streets of Baltimore, and the dusty avenues of Washington. We have heard people from New Orleans call Philadelphia the hottest city in the Union, and people from Quebec call it the coldest. If there are two successive days of rain, then poor Philadelphia is the rainiest of all places. If it snows twice in two weeks, then it is the snowiest. If a fire breaks out, it is the city of fires. If there is an Irish fight in Moyamensing, it is the city of perpetual riots. By-the-bye, after that summer when we really had several successive riots up-town, and down-town, we saw an English caricature of the City of Brotherly Love, where the spirit of William Penn, in hat and wig, was looking down sadly from the clouds at the rioters, who were all represented as Quakers, in strait, plain clothes, and broad brims, knocking each other about with sticks and stones, firing pistols, and slashing with bowie-knives. Alas, poor Quakers! how guiltless ye were of all this! It is a common belief in England, that of this sect are all the people of Pennsylvania.

In talking to an elderly lady, it is justly considered very rude to make any allusion to her age; even if she is unmistakeably an old woman, and acknowledges it herself. For instance, do not say – "This silk of yours is very suitable for an elderly person" – or – "Will you take this chair? – an old lady like you will find it very comfortable" – or – "Look, baby – is not that grandma?" – or – "I told the servant to attend first to you, on account of your age" – or – "Children, don't make such a noise – have you no respect for old people?"

All this we have heard.

CHAPTER XVI.

INCORRECT WORDS

Every one who sees much of the world must observe with pain and surprise various unaccountable instances of improper and incorrect words that sometimes disfigure the phraseology of females who have gone through a course of fashionable education, and mixed in what is really genteel society. These instances, it is true, are becoming every day more rare; but we regret that they should exist at all. Early impressions are hard to eradicate. Bad habits of speaking are formed in childhood: sometimes from the society of illiterate parents, but more frequently from that of nurses and servants; and if not corrected or shaken off in due time, will cling like burrs to the diction of women who are really ladies in every thing else. Such women will say "that there," and "this here" – "them girls" – "them boys" – "I don't want no more" – "I didn't hear nothing about it" – "I didn't see nobody there" – "I won't do so no more." And other similar violations of grammar; and grammar is never more palpably outraged than when two negatives are used for an affirmative. It is surely shorter and easier to say, "I want no more" – "I heard nothing about it" – "I saw nobody there" – "I will do so no more."

Another grammatical error, less glaring, but equally incorrect, is the too common practice of converting a certainty into an uncertainty by saying, "I have no doubt but he was there." As if his being there was your only doubt. You should say, "I have no doubt of his being there." "I have no doubt but that he wrote it," seems to signify that you do doubt his writing it, and that you are nearly sure he did not. The proper phrase is, "I have no doubt of his writing it." "I do not doubt but that she knew it long ago," implies that you do doubt her having known it. It should be, "I do not doubt her knowing it long ago." Leave out but, when you talk of doubting.

No word is proper that does not express the true meaning. For instance, it is not right to call a township a town. A township is a section of land that may consist entirely of forests and farms, and may not comprise even a small village or hamlet. A town resembles a city in being closely built up with streets of adjoining houses. Men cannot go fishing or hunting in a town, though they may in a township. We are surprised to find this misapplication of the word among some of the most distinguished of the New-England literati. Perhaps it explains Jonathan's perplexity in one of the old Yankee Doodle songs:

"He said he couldn't see the town,There were so many houses."

We hope it is not necessary to caution our readers against 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 out the tea," instead of to "pour it 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. The landlady, 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, "I will whip 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, "Old Funnel," 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 of loving any thing that is eatable. They may like terrapins, oysters, chicken-salad, or ice-cream; but they need not love terrapins or oysters, or love chicken-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 of wood 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 live at those places, not to them. 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," has rather a 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 who expect what 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 for both, 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."