The Ladies' Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners

Let your writing be large enough, and plain enough to be read with ease, and the compositor will be less likely to make mistakes. Printers, though accustomed to read all sorts of writing, are sometimes completely at a loss in deciphering a very bad hand. There is no excuse for a person in respectable life persisting in writing illegibly, as it is never too late to improve. You have only to take lessons of a good instructor, and apply yourself sedulously to acquiring a new hand, and you will succeed in doing so.

Do not, in writing for the press, affect the crow-quill calligraphy that is fashionable for album verses and complimentary billets. When your manuscript is finished, sew the leaves evenly together, with nothing more than a strong thread; or, if it is very thick, it may be sewed with a fine twine put into a large needle. A handsome cover, daintily fastened with a pretty ribbon, is of no account in a printing-office, where the first thing that is done with a manuscript is to remove the cover, and cut the leaves loose from the fastening. The printers will gladly dispense with covers, ribbons, and fairy-like penmanship, in favour of a plain legible hand, pages regularly numbered, and leaves written on one side only.

In commencing a manuscript, write the title or caption in large letters, at some distance from the top of the first page; and if you are not anonymous, put your name a little below the title. Then begin the first line of the first paragraph, several inches distant from the left-hand side, or margin. In this manner commence every paragraph. The length of the paragraphs may be regulated by the time when you think a pause longer than that of a period or full stop may be effective; or to give the reader an opportunity of resting for a minute; or to denote the commencement of another subject.

In writing a dialogue, begin every separate speech with a capital, and commence each speech on a new line, and at some distance from the left-hand margin. Also mark the beginning and end of every speech with double commas. If the names of the speakers are given at the commencement of every speech, write those names in large letters, putting a dot and a dash after them. All these arrangements are the same in writing as in printing.

If you are, unfortunately, not familiar with the rules of punctuation, refresh your memory by referring to them in a grammar-book. They must be strictly observed; otherwise your meaning will be unintelligible. Always remember that every period or full stop, and every note of interrogation, or of admiration, must be followed by a capital letter, beginning the next word. Dashes, particularly in a dialogue, add much to the effect, if not used too lavishly.

Errors of orthography are rarely committed by any one who presumes to write for the press. It is scarcely possible for a person who reads much to spell incorrectly, as the appearance of the printed words becomes insensibly and indelibly fixed in the mind. Still it may be well to write with a dictionary on your table, in case you should have any doubt as to the proper spelling and meaning of a word with which you may not be very familiar.

Keep also a grammar on your table. Grammatical errors are annoying to the reader, and disgraceful to the writer, unless it is well known that she has not had the advantage of an education, even at a common school. Then she is to be pitied. But it is never too late to study grammar, and she had best do so before she ventures to write for the public. If she writes ungrammatically, how must she talk! In a work of fiction it is shocking to have lords and ladies, or the noble and dignified hero, and the elegant and refined heroine, conversing in "bad grammar," because the author knew no better. Yet such books we have seen. There are, luckily, not many of them. But there should be none.

Every morning, previous to commencing your task, revise carefully all that you have written on the preceeding day, and correct and alter whatever you may deem susceptible of improvement. Some authors revise every page as soon as they have written it. But, unless you are much pressed for time, it is best to do this next morning, when your perceptions are fresh and clear. In crossing or blotting out, do it effectually, so that the original words may not appear through, and remain still legible. If you find that you have omitted a word, or if you wish to change one word for another, interline it; inserting the new word just above the line to which it belongs, and placing this mark ∧ below. Lay aside each page as you finish it. Be particular in numbering every page; and it is best to do this before you begin, placing the number near the top of the right-hand corner. Let not your lines be too close, or there will not be space enough for legible interlining.

If the publisher lives in your own town, it will be sufficient to roll up the manuscript in clean white paper, twisted at each end, and wafered in the middle. But however short the distance, write on the outside of the paper the full direction of the publishing office; that, in case of its being dropped in the street, any person finding it may know exactly where to take it.

In putting up a large manuscript, in a packet for transmission to a distant place, use strong nankeen paper for the cover, and secure it with wafers, or paste, if it is to go a voyage in a steamer, as a wax seal may be melted by the heat of the fire. If it will reach its destination in a few hours, you may seal it with wax, having tied red tape about. Do not use twine, as that may cut the paper. Newspapers are generally put up in a brownish paper cover, pasted at the side and bottom, with one end left open.

Postage is now so cheap, that manuscripts had best always be transmitted by mail; putting a sufficient number of stamps on the outside, all close to each other.

Few women can write well enough for publication, without going twice over the subject; first in what is called the rough copy, and then making a fair copy with all the original errors corrected, and all proper alterations inserted. If you have time, make two fair copies; one for the printer, and one to keep for yourself, in case the other should be accidentally destroyed or lost – retaining it till after the work is actually in print. Much postage is wasted, and much annoyance is given to the editors of periodicals, by applications for the restoration of unpublished verses, and other "Rejected Addresses," consisting, perhaps, of a sheet of poetry, or a few pages of prose, of which it would have been very easy to have made another copy for the author's keeping.

In writing articles for Annuals, let it be remembered that the printing of these books is always completed some months before they are published or announced for sale. Therefore, all contributions should be sent to the publisher before February, or March at farthest. For a magazine, they should be transmitted at least two months in advance. For a weekly paper, two weeks ahead.

Those who write for periodicals should remember that it is the custom to address all letters on compensations, copies of work, &c. to the publisher; and not to the editor, who seldom has any concern in the pecuniary affairs, his business being solely to receive, and read the manuscripts, to accept or reject them, and to arrange them for the press. It is not usual for the compensation to be paid till after the book is published. Some publishers send to every contributor one copy of the work. Others do not present a copy when the article is very short – for instance, a few stanzas of verse. Prose obtains a higher price than poetry, of which there is always a superabundance in the market. Much poetry is published without any pay at all; the writers being contented with seeing their effusions in print. No good author has any occasion to write gratuitously. A "merely passable" or "just tolerable" writer of poetry or fiction, should give up the inventive line, and try something else – something for which genius is not indispensable; and from which, by patience and industry, a sort of living may be wrought out.

In composing poetry, a common, but unpardonable fault is that of introducing a lame or halting line – a line with one syllable too many, or too few. And if the author does not understand that it is an intolerable blemish, and sends it uncorrected to the press, she is unworthy of being called a poetess. We are inclined to believe that no person devoid of an ear for music, can write poetry deserving of the name. The ideas may be good, but the lines will have no melody, and will move harshly and ruggedly, very much like rough prose.

Some writers seem to think that blank verse is nothing but prose with a capital at the beginning of each line; never having learnt or remembered that though the lines do not rhyme, they must all comprise ten syllables, (syllables, not words,) otherwise the effect when read, will, to even a tolerable ear, be absolutely painful. We saw a play, (the first attempt of a since distinguished dramatist,) the dialogue of which was unintelligible to the audience, and nearly impracticable to the actors, who found it absolutely beyond their skill to enunciate; or rather beneath it. We afterward heard the manager of the Chestnut-street Theatre explain, that the difficulty, both with the speakers and the hearers, was the execrable blank verse in which the play was written; some of the lines containing but seven or eight syllables, (instead of ten,) and some twelve or fourteen. A very few English authors write irregular blank verse; but we are sorry to say that a great many Americans do not seem to understand the process, simple as it is, of confining themselves to ten syllables only, – neither more nor less. Can they have read Shakspeare?

There is no blank verse in French poetry. That language seems incapable of it.

If you are writing for a periodical, and are desirous of ascertaining before-hand how many pages your manuscript will make when printed, take, at random, any printed page of the work, and copy it in your usual hand, and on a sheet of the same paper you intend using throughout. You will thus, by comparison, be able to judge with tolerable accuracy, how much of your writing will make a page when printed.

Keep a memorandum-book for the express purpose of setting down whatever relates to your literary affairs. Insert the day when you commenced a manuscript, the day when you finished it, and the day on which it went to the publisher. Also, the whole number of its pages. When you see it in print, put down the number of its printed pages. In this book, set down, immediately on receiving them, whatever sums are paid to you for your writings.

If you are a writer of fiction, have a large book for memorandums, of any amusing or remarkable things you may chance to hear, and which you may turn to account afterward. If you write truth only, keep a book for the reception of useful or interesting facts. A written book of names, alphabetically arranged, (surnames and Christian names,) will be of great advantage in selecting appellations for your characters. Do not give elegant names to your common people; or to your patrician characters names that are coarse and vulgar. A fault in Dickens is that nearly all his names are rugged, uncouth, and ill-sounding, and seldom characteristic. Why should a very excellent and generous brother and sister be called Tom Pinch and Ruth Pinch. What did they pinch?

There is a proof-reader in every printing-office, but after he has done, the proofs are generally sent to the author for farther revisal.

In correcting proof-sheets, first see that they are quite dry. Draw your pen through any word you desire to change, and then write the new word on the margin, placing it even with the line of the rejected word. When you alter the punctuation, converting a comma into a semicolon, or a period into a note of admiration, make a slight mark on the margin of that line, that the printer may not overlook it. If you have occasion to change a whole sentence, cross it out, and put the new sentence on the margin at the bottom of the page.

If the printer's boy can wait, you had best correct the proofs while he stays.

CHAPTER XXII.

CHILDREN

Miss Edgworth says that the education of a child begins at three months old. It is true that both bad and good habits may seem to commence at this early age; but we do not believe that in so slight a soil they take a very deep root, or that what is called a cross baby is sure to grow up an ill-tempered adult. Infants, when they are not really sick, frequently cry from some incidental annoyance, and not from a fretful disposition. If they feel comfortably they will usually be good-humoured and pleasant. Much of their comfort is sacrificed to the vanity of the mother in dressing them fashionably and expensively. We knew a baby that was very good in the morning, but very cross in the afternoon, or when dressed for show. And no wonder, for in her show-costume she was tortured with necklace, sleeve-loops, and bracelets of fine branchy, or rather briary coral, scratching and irritating her delicate skin, and leaving the print in red marks. On our representing this to the mother as the probable cause of the baby's fretfulness, the thorny ornaments were left off, and the child became amiable. Gold chains are also very irritating to the neck and arms of an infant. Coral beads of a smooth round form, strung evenly on a simple thread of silk, without any intermingling of gold chain, are, perhaps, the most comfortable necklaces for children, and are also very becoming; but as they are not expensive, they are of course not fashionable.

Fortunately, the days of worked caps are over. Young ladies are no longer expected to cover pieces of cambric with elaborate cotton embroidery for the babies of their married friends, and the tender heads of the babies are no longer chafed with rough needle-work rubbing incessantly upon them, or heated with a silk lining to the cambric already thickened all over with close, heavy patterns. We wish also that mothers, generally, were less proud of seeing their babies with "luxuriant heads of hair," which if it has no natural tendency to curl, disfigures the child and gives it a wild, ungenteel look. If it does curl, it still heats the head and neck, and is said to draw away much strength from the system. The most healthy infants we have seen, had very little hair, or it was judiciously kept closely cut. To curl children's hair in papers is barbarous. They pay dearly for the glory of appearing in ringlets during the day, if they are made to pass their nights lying upon a mass of hard, rough bobs, about as pleasant as if they had their heads in a bag of hickory-nuts. But then the mother has the gratification of hearing their curls admired!

Among other sufferings inflicted on babies is that of sending them out in bleak winter days with brimless hats, that, so far from screening their faces from the cold wind, do not even afford the slightest shade to their eyes, which are winking and watering all the time from the glare of the sun and snow. We have seen false curls pinned to these babies' hats, and dangling in their eyes.

Another detestable practice is that of making the waists of children's frocks ridiculously long and painfully tight; particularly over the chest and body, which are thus pressed flat, to the utter ruin of the figure, and the risk of producing incurable diseases – such as consumption of the lungs, and projection of the spine; to say nothing of the various complaints connected with the stomach, which is thus squeezed into half its natural compass. Also, the sleeve-holes are so small and tight as to push up the shoulders. Then the hips are pressed downward far below their proper place, and the legs are consequently in danger of becoming short and bandy. Is it possible this vile fashion can continue much longer? – and are "the rising generation" really to grow up with high shoulders, round backs, flat chests, bodies that seem longer than their legs, and hips almost where their knees ought to be?

Also, these limbs must suffer from cold in winter with no other covering than cotton stockings, the skirts of the dress scarcely reaching to the knees – the little boys disfigured with the ugliest of all garments, short knee-breeches.

Add to all the rest of these abominations, tight boots with peaked toes, and can we wonder that children, even beyond the period of infancy, should, at times, be cross, irritable, and unamiable. How can they be otherwise, when they seldom feel comfortably? Then, if the parents can afford it, (or whether or not,) the unhappy children are bedizened with all manner of expensive finery, and interdicted from romping, lest they should injure it. But, what matter if the children suffer – the mother's vanity must be gratified, and she must have the delight of seeing that her boys and girls are as fashionably dressed as the little Thomsons and Wilsons and Jacksons.

We look back with regret to the days when little girls, as well as boys, wore their hair closely cropped; convenient and cool, and showing to advantage the form of the head, till they were twelve or thirteen – and they wore only washable dresses, descending far below the knees, and with pantalets down to their ankles. In summer their frocks had short wide sleeves, and were not close up to the throat. The bodies were of a natural length, the outside gathered full upon a moderately tight lining. If there is no lining to a full frock-body it will puff out at the back and front, and give the waist a look of deformity before and behind. Then the little girls went out in close cottage-bonnets of straw in summer, and beaver in winter – shading and screening their faces – and were kept warm when out of doors with long wide cloaks or coats of cloth or merino, instead of the fantastic short things now worn, with open sleeves and open fronts. Then, when at home, how innocent and childlike they looked in their long-sleeved convenient bib-aprons! – so much better than the short silk ones now worn, trimmed and bordered and ribboned, and rendered so fine that the children are expected to be as careful of injuring their showy aprons as of soiling their showy frocks.

Formerly, children learned to play various amusing games, such as "Hot buttered beans," "Blind-man's bluff," &c. Now their play is chiefly running and squealing, and chasing each other about, without any definite object, except that of making a noise. Then, at a juvenile party, the amusement was chiefly in the varieties of these entertaining games. Now it is dancing – for as many as can find places to dance – and nothing at all for those who cannot, but to grow tired and sleepy. In former times, children's parties commenced at two o'clock in the afternoon in winter, and at four in summer. They played till they were summoned to a large and well-supplied tea-table, and were sent for to come home by eight o'clock, being then quite tired enough to go to bed and sleep soundly, and waken with pleasant recollections of yesterday. If the party was very large, the elder children sat round the room, and tea, &c. was handed to them, while the little ones were accommodated at a table where the hostess presided. The children of that time really enjoyed these parties, and so would those of the present time, if they could have such. The juvenile-party dress was then but a simple white muslin frock with a ribbon sash. We have since seen little girls at a summer party steadfastly refuse strawberries and cream, in obedience to the interdiction of their mothers; who had enjoined them to do so, lest they should stain or otherwise injure their elegant silk dresses.

Fortunately, it is no longer fashionable for mothers to take their children with them on morning visits. On these occasions small children rarely behave well. They soon grow tired, and restless, and begin teazing to go somewhere else. Their presence is (or ought to be) a restraint on conversation, as much may be said during a visit that is not well for them to hear. They comprehend certain things far more easily than is supposed. Great mischief has ensued from allowing children to sit and listen; and there is no dependence on their discretion or secrecy.

It is not well to put a small child "through its facings," by trying to make it exhibit any of its little feats before strangers. They are generally very reluctant to make this exhibition. Sometimes they are bashful, sometimes perverse; but if the mother persists in her attempt to show them off, it will probably prove a complete failure, and end in a cry, or that outbreak usually called a tantrum. By-the-bye, there is no better way of stopping a tantrum than quietly to divert the child's attention to something else.

Beware of trusting an infant, too confidingly, to an European nurse; and when she carries out the baby, it would be well if an older sister or the mother herself could go along. Instead of carrying it to one of the public squares, or to some other place where there is air and shade, she may take it into dirty alleys, on a visit to some of her own relations, perhaps newly arrived in an emigrant ship, with the filth and diseases of a steerage passage still about them. This we know to have been done, and the child has in consequence taken a disgusting disease. Or, believing it a meritorious act, an Irish nurse may secretly carry the infant to a priest, and have it baptized in the Catholic church, herself standing godmother. Of this there have been numerous instances. Young children frequently acquire, from being too much with ignorant and vulgar nurses, bad habits of talking that are exceedingly difficult to eradicate – so lasting are early impressions. We have heard an Irish brogue from infantine lips; and the letter H sadly misused by the American nursling of a low Englishwoman. Above all, do not permit your own children to play with the children of their nurse. No good ever accrues from it.

Children should not be brought to table till they are able to feed themselves, first with a spoon, and next with a fork. And not then, unless they can be depended on to keep quiet, and not talk. The chattering of children all dinner-time is a great annoyance to grown people. The shrill voice of a child can be distinguished annoyingly amid those of a whole company. They should be made to understand that if they talk at table, they are to be immediately taken away to finish their dinner in the nursery. On no consideration should they be admitted to table when there is a dinner-party. The foolish custom of having all the children dressed for the purpose, and brought in with the dessert, is now obsolete. It never was very prevalent, except in England.

We have seen children so well and so early trained that they could be trusted to come to table every day without the least fear of their misbehaving by talking or otherwise. They sat quietly, asked for nothing, took contentedly whatever was put on their plates, made no attempt at helping themselves, and neither greased nor slopped the table-cloth; and when done, wiped their mouths and hands on their napkins, before they quitted their chairs, which they did at a sign from their mother; going out without noise, and neither leaving the door open nor slamming it hard. It is very easy to accustom children to these observances. Also, they may be taught very early, how to behave to visiters. For instance, not to pass between them and the fire, not to hang on the back of a lady's chair; or to squeeze close to her; or to get on her lap; or to finger her dress; or to search her reticule, or her pocket; or to ask a stranger for pennies or sixpences; or to tell her that she is not pretty; or to enquire "why she wears such an ugly bonnet?"

We have known a fine little boy, not three years old, who, on the entrance of a friend of his mother's, would haul up a chair for her, and invite her to a seat near the fire, place a footstool at her feet, ask her to let him take her bonnet, and invite her to stay to dinner, to stay all day, and to "stay for ever," adding, "I try to be polite."

There are very little girls who, if their mother is from home, can do the honours in her place; seat the visiter on the sofa, and press her to stay till their mother comes in; and if the lady declines doing so, they will ask her at least to stay awhile, and rest herself, and have a glass of cool water; and while she stays, they will do their best to entertain her. Such children always grow up with polished manners, if not removed from the influence that made them so in early life.