The Ladies' Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners

The women attending must take charge of the hoods, cloaks, shawls, over-shoes, &c.; rolling up together the things that belong to each lady, and putting each bundle in some place they can easily remember when wanted at the breaking up of the assembly.

It is now the custom for the lady of the house (and those of her own family,) to be dressed rather plainly, showing no desire to eclipse any of her guests, on this her own night. But her attire, though simple, should be handsome, becoming, and in good taste. Her business is, without any bustle or apparent officiousness, quietly and almost imperceptibly to try and render the evening as pleasant as possible to all her guests; introducing those who, though not yet acquainted, ought to be; and finding seats for ladies who are not young enough to continue standing.

The custom that formerly prevailed in the absurd days of crowds and jams, when dense masses were squeezed into small apartments, of removing every seat and every piece of furniture from the room, is now obsolete. A hard squeeze is no longer a high boast. Genteel people no longer go to parties on the stair-case, or in the passages. The ladies are not now so compressed that nothing of them is seen but their heads; the sleeves, skirts, &c., undergoing a continual demolition down below. We knew of a lady, who, at a late hour, went to a crowded party in a real blonde dress, which was rubbed entirely off her before she reached the centre of the room, and it was hanging about her satin skirt in shreds, like transparent rags dissolving into "air – thin air!" For this blonde she had given two hundred dollars; and she was obliged to go home and exchange its tatters for a costume that was likely to last out the evening.

In houses where space is not abundant, it is now customary to have several moderate parties in the course of the season, instead of inviting all your "dear five hundred friends" on the self-same night.

When the hour of assembling is designated in the notes of invitation, (as it always should be,) the guests, of course, will take care to arrive as nearly as possible about that hour. At large parties, tea is usually omitted – it being supposed that every one has already taken that beverage at home, previous to commencing the business of the toilette. Many truly hospitable ladies still continue the custom, thinking that it makes a pleasant beginning to the evening, and exhilarates the ladies after the fatigue of dressing and arriving. So it does. For a large company, a table with tea, coffee, and cakes, may be set in the ladies-room, women being in attendance to supply the guests with those refreshments before they go down. Pitchers of ice-water and glasses should also be kept in this room.

If there is no tea, the refreshments begin with lemonade, macaroons, kisses, &c., sent round soon after the majority of the company has come. If there is tea, ice-water should be presented after it, to all; otherwise, there will be much inconvenience by numerous ladies dispatching the servants, separately, to bring them some.

After a little time allotted to conversation, music is generally introduced by one of the ladies of the family, if she plays well; otherwise, she invites a competent friend to commence. A lady who can do nothing "without her notes," or who cannot read music, and play at sight, is scarcely enough of a musician to perform in a large company – for this incapacity is an evidence that she has not a good ear, or rather a good memory for melody – or that her musical talent wants more cultivation. A large party is no time or place for practising, or for risking attempts at new things, or for vainly trying to remember old ones.

Some young ladies rarely sit down to a piano in any house but their own, without complaining that the instrument is out of tune. "It is a way they have." We have known a fair amateur to whom this complaint was habitual, and never omitted; even when we knew that, to provide against it, the piano had really been tuned that very day.

The tuning of a harp immediately before playing is sometimes a very tedious business. Would it not be well for the harpist to come a little earlier than the rest, and tune it herself previous to their arrival? And let her deem that tuning sufficient for a while, and not repeat the operation more than once again in the course of the evening, especially in the midst of her first piece. However delicate may be her own ear, or exquisitely fastidious her own taste, she may be assured that few of her audience would detect any deficiency, if she only went quietly on, and did not herself imply that deficiency.

Unless a gentleman is himself familiar with the air, let him not, on "mounting guard beside the piano," volunteer to turn over the pages for the lady who is playing. He will certainly turn them over too soon or too late, and therefore annoy and confuse her. Still worse, let him not attempt to accompany her with his voice, unless he is an excellent musician, or accustomed to singing with her.

For the hearers to crowd closely round the instrument, is smothering to the vocalist. Let them keep at a proper distance, and she will sing the better, and they will hear the better. It is so rude to talk during a song, that it is never done in company; but a little low conversation is sometimes tolerated in the adjoining room, during the performance of one of those interminable pieces of instrumental music, whose chief merit lies in its difficulty, and which (at least to the ears of the uninitiated,) is rather a bore than a pleasure. We have read a French novel, in which the only child of a farmer has just come home from a provincial boarding-school, and the seigneur, or lord of the manor, has volunteered a visit to these his respected tenants. The mother, amidst all the bustle of preparing a great dinner for the occasion, comes in to remind Annette that if the seigneur should ask her to play for him, she is to curtsey very low, and thank him for the honour. "And then, Annette," adds the good old dame, "be sure to play that tune which your father and I hate so much!"

By the bye, it is very old fashioned to return thanks to a lady for her singing, or to tell her she is very kind to oblige the company so often. If she is conscious of really singing well, and sees that she delights her hearers, she will not feel sensible of fatigue – at least till the agreeable excitement of conscious success is over.

It is ill-mannered, when a lady has just finished a song, for another lady to exclaim in her hearing – "Mary Jones sings that delightfully!" – or – "How charmingly Susan Smith gives us that ballad!" Let the glories of Mary Jones and Susan Smith rest, for that evening, within the limits of their own circle.

Do not ask any lady for a song that has already been sung on this very evening by another person.

People who have no idea of music sometimes make strange blunders in their requests. We know of a female who, at a large party, hearing a young lady accompany her voice on the national instrument of Spain, became very urgent to have the Battle of Prague performed on the guitar.

It is sometimes fashionable, when the company is not too large for what is called "a sitting party," to vary the amusements of the evening by introducing some of the numerous plays or games which are always the delight of fine children, and which, by way of variety, frequently afford much diversion to adults. It is not necessary that all these plays should become "a keen encounter of the wits," or that all the players should be persons of talent. But it is certainly desirable that the majority of the company should have some tact, and some quickness of parts; that they should have read some books, and mixed somewhat with the world – otherwise, they will not be clever even at playing plays. Those who are incapable of understanding, or entering into the spirit of a play, would do well to excuse themselves from joining in it, and prefer sitting by as spectators. Many young ladies can play nothing beyond "How do you like it?" and are not great at that – saying, when the question is put to them – "Me! I am sure I don't know how I like it – can't you pass me by?" You may as well take her at her word, pass her by, and proceed on to her next neighbour; for if she does concoct an answer, it will probably, if the word is "brush" be liked "to sweep the hearth with;" or if "Hat" is the word, it will be liked "of Beaver" – or something equally palpable.

Such plays as The Lawyer, and The Secret Word, are very entertaining in good hands, but complete failures when attempted by the dull or illiterate. The amusing game of Proverbs had best be given up for that evening, if, on trial, it is found that few of the ladies have any knowledge of those true, though homely aphorisms, that have been aptly called "the concentrated wisdom of nations."

We know a very ingenious gentleman who, in playing the Secret Word, contrives to introduce that word in some very short and very humorous anecdote.

A family, on one side of European origin, made a visit to the transatlantic continent, where they found, still living in a certain great city, a relative connected with an ancient branch of nobility. This rendered them more genteel than ever – and when, covered with glory, they returned to this poor republic of ours, the names of nobles, and even of princes, with whom they had associated, were "familiar in their mouths as household words." At a party where these personages were so engaged in talking, that they forgot to keep the run of the plays; a new game was commenced by a young gentleman slipping out of the room, and then returning with a very lugubrious visage, and announcing, in a melancholy tone, the death of a certain monarch, whom all the company were immediately to unite in lamenting loudly, on pain of paying forfeits unless they steadily persisted in their dismal faces. On the sad intelligence being proclaimed – "The king of Bohemia is dead!" – one of our travelled ladies mistaking it for a solemn truth, turned to her daughter with – "Ah! Caroline! did you hear that? The dear good king of Bohemia, who was so kind to us whenever we attended his court!" "Oh! mamma!" replied Caroline, putting her handkerchief to her eyes – "the news is really heart-breaking. He paid us so much attention all the time we were in – , in his dominions. It will be long before we cease grieving for the king of Bohemia."

The gentleman who brought this deplorable news also had recourse to his handkerchief, and slipped out into the hall to indulge his mirth; and several others slipped out after him for the same purpose. No one, however, undeceived these ladies, and for several days at their morning calls they continued to mourn for the king of Bohemia.

Conundrums18 afford infinite diversion at a small party, provided the company, like Billy Black's cat, "almost always gives up." Long guessing occupies too much time; a commodity of which we Americans seldom have any to spare.

Early in the Mexican war, a premium was awarded in Philadelphia for a very clever conundrum, alluding to a certain "Bold Dragoon" at Palo Alto. "In what manner did Captain May cheat the Mexicans?" "He charged them with a troop of horse which they never got."

Our confectioners, in making up the bon bons called "secrets," instead of enfolding with the sugar-plumb a printed slip containing a contemptible distich, would do well to have good conundrums printed, (with the answer,) and enclosed in the ornamented papers. They would certainly be more popular than the old-fashioned mottoes – such, for instance, as

"My heart, like a candle of four to the pound,Consumes all the day, and no comfort is found."

Yet the above is one of the least bad. Most of these mottoes are so flat as to be not even ridiculous.

At a dancing party, the ladies of the house decline joining in it, out of politeness to their guests, till towards the latter part of the evening, when the company begins to thin off, and the dancers are fatigued.

We admire a charming girl, who, in her own house, being asked to dance by an agreeable man, has the self-denial to say to him – "Being at home, and desirous that my friends shall share as much as possible in the enjoyments of the evening, I would rather refrain from dancing myself. Let me present you to Miss Lindley, or to Miss Darwood; you will find either of these young ladies a delightful partner."

These amiable refusals we have heard from our amiable and unselfish young friends, and such, we hope, are heard often in what is truly "the best society."

Ladies who are strangers in the place, are, by courtesy, entitled to particular attention from those who know them.

We have sometimes seen, at a private ball, the least attractive woman dancing every set, (though acquitting herself very ill,) while handsome and agreeable ladies were sitting still. The mystery was solved on finding that the lady of the house carried her ultra benevolence so very far, as to make a business of procuring partners all the time for this unlovely and unprepossessing female, lest she should feel neglected. Now a certain portion of this officiousness is highly praiseworthy, but too much of it is a great annoyance to the victimized gentlemen – especially to those who, as a backwoodsman would say, are certainly "some pumpkins."

Even the most humane man, whatever may be the kindness of his heart, would rather not exhibit himself on the floor with a partner ni jeune ni jolie, who is ill-dressed, looks badly, moves ungracefully, can neither keep time to the music nor understand the figure, and in fact has "no dancing in her soul." If, with all the rest, she is dull and stupid, it is cruel for any kind friend to inflict her on a gentleman as a partner. Yet such things we have seen.

On one occasion we threw away a great deal of good pity on a youth, whom we thought had been inveigled into quadrilling with a lady who made the worst figure we ever saw in a ball-room. We afterwards learned that he had actually solicited the introduction; and we saw that he devoted himself to her all the remainder of the evening. She was a rich heiress.

Self-knowledge is a rare acquirement. But when a lady does suspect herself to be deficient in all the essential qualifications of a ball-room, she should give up dancing entirely, and be magnanimous enough always to excuse herself positively, when asked to dance; especially if verging on "a certain age." Let all "trippings on the light fantastic toe" be left to the young and gay.

A deformed woman dancing is "a sorry sight." She should never consent to any such exhibition of her unhappy figure. She will only be asked out of mere compassion, or from some interested and unworthy motive. We are asked – "Why should not such a lady dance, if it gives her pleasure?" We answer – "It should not give her pleasure."

When a lady is so unfortunate as to have a crooked, or misshapen person, it is well for her to conceal it as much as possible, by wearing a shawl, a large cape, a mantilla, a long sacque, (not a polka jacket;) and on no account a tight-bodied pelisse; or still worse, a spencer – than which last, nothing is more trying to the form of the waist, except a riding-habit.

We saw Frederika Bremer at an evening assemblage, and she was so judiciously attired, that her personal defects did not prevent her from looking really well. Over a rich black satin dress, she wore a long loose sacque of black lace, lined with grey silk. From beneath the short sleeves of her sacque, came down long wide sleeves of white lace, confined with bracelets round her fair and delicate little hands. Her throat was covered closely with a handsome collar of French embroidered muslin, and her beautiful and becoming cap was of white lace, white flowers, and white satin ribbon – her light hair being simply parted on her broad and intellectual forehead. With her lively blue eyes, and the bright and pleasant expression of her countenance, no one seemed to notice the faults of her nose, mouth, and complexion – and those of her figure were so well concealed as to be scarcely apparent. And then her lady-like ease, and the total absence of all affectation, rendered her graceful and prepossessing. True it is, that with a good heart and a good mind no woman can be ugly; at least, they soon cease to be so considered, even if nature has been unkind to them in feature, figure, and complexion. An intelligent eye, and a good humoured mouth, are excellent substitutes for the want of regular beauty. Physiognomists say that the eye denotes the mind, and the mouth indicates the heart.

Now as a deformed lady may render herself very agreeable as a good conversationist, we repeat that she has no occasion to exhibit the defects of her person by treading the mazes of a cotillion, or above all, in going down a country dance, should those "never-ending, still beginning" performances come again into fashion. Young men say that an ugly, misshapen female, who waltzes, or joins in a polka, or redowa, or mazurka, deserves the penitentiary.

We deprecate the practice of keeping the small children of the family up all the evening, running and scampering in every one's way, or sleeping about on the chairs and sofas, and crying when wakened up to be carried to bed. Would it not be much better to have them sent to bed at their usual time? We knew two well-trained little boys, who submitted obediently to go to bed at their customary hour, on the night of their mother's party, of which they had seen nothing but the decorations of the parlours. They told their parents next morning, that still they had a great deal of pleasure, for after the carriages began to arrive, they had lain awake and "heard every ring."

At a large party, or at a wedding, there is generally a supper table; lemonade and cakes having been sent round during the evening. The host and hostess should see that all the ladies are conducted thither, and that none are neglected, particularly those that are timid, and stand back. It is the business of the host to attend to those himself, or to send the waiters to them.

If the party is so large that all the ladies cannot go to the table at once, let the matrons be conducted thither first, and the young ladies afterwards. If there is a crowd, it is not unusual to have a cord (a handsome one, of course,) stretched across the door of the supper-room, and guarded by a servant, who explains that no more are to pass till after that cord is taken down. Meanwhile, the younger part of the company amuse themselves in the adjacent rooms. No lady should take the liberty of meddling with the flowers that ornament the table, or of secreting "good things" to carry home to her children.

Apropos to flowers. – The stiff, hard bouquets are now obsolete, where the flowers (stripped of their natural green leaves,) were tied en masse on a wooden skewer, against a flat back-ground of cedar sprays. The more elegant arrangement is revived of arranging them in a full round cluster, with a fair portion of their real leaves; the largest and finest flowers in the centre, (large white ones particularly); those of middle size next; and the light, long, and branchy sprays and tendrils at the extremities, the smallest near the bottom of the bouquet, which is not so large and massy as formerly, but more graceful and select. The bouquet may be carried on the young lady's arm, suspended to a long and handsome white ribbon tied in a bow – a coloured ribbon will disturb the effect of the flowers. There should be nothing to interfere with their various and beautiful tints.

At a ball, let no coloured chalks or crayons be used for the floor. They will rub off on the white shoes of the ladies, and spoil them.

When, instead of setting a supper-table, refreshments are handed round to the ladies, the fashion has long since gone by of a gentleman walking beside each waiter, and "assisting the ladies." It is now found that if the articles are properly arranged, and of the proper sort, the ladies can much more conveniently help themselves, and with less risk of staining or greasing their dresses. Unless the gentleman was "a thorough-going party-man," and stereotyped as such, he often committed rather vexatious blunders, particularly if he was not au-courant to the new improvements, and accustomed to being "at good men's feasts;" or rather, at women's good feasts. One evening at a party, we saw an "ingenuous youth," whose experience in that line must have been rather limited, officiously undertake the portioning out to the ladies of a composition hitherto quite new to himself. This was "a trifle," being the contents of a very large glass bowl, filled with macaroons, &c., dissolved in wine, &c., with profuse layers of custard, sweetmeats, &c., and covered in at the top with a dome of whipt cream heaped high and thick over the whole. The pea-green youth assisted the ladies to nothing but saucers of froth from the top, thinking that was the right way. At last, the mulatto man, whose superior tact must have been all this time in a state of suffering, explained to the novice in trifles, that a portion of all the various contents of the glass bowl should be allotted to each saucer. "That!" said the surprised doer of honours, "I thought all that was only the grounds!" The coloured man relieved him by taking the silver server round a second time to all the ladies, who had hitherto missed the sediment of the syllabub.

At a summer evening party, the refreshments are of a much lighter description than at a winter entertainment; consisting chiefly of ice-creams, water-ices, fresh fruit, lady-cake, and almond sponge-cake. Also strawberry or raspberry charlottes, which are made by arranging in glass bowls slices of cake cut in even and regular forms, and spread thickly over with the fruit mashed to a jam with white sugar – the bowls being heaped with whipt cream.

The dresses of the ladies are of clear muslin, or some other light material, and without any elaborate trimming. The hair is simply arranged – curls being inconvenient in warm weather; and the only head ornaments are ribbons, or real flowers.

At summer evening-parties the veranda is always put into requisition, being cooler than any part of the house.

At summer dinner-parties, let the dessert be served in another and cooler apartment; the company quitting the dining-room as soon as they have done with the meats, &c. The beauties of the dessert appear to greater advantage, when seen all at one view on a fresh table.

We will introduce a minute account of a very fashionable English dinner-party, obtained from a friend who was one of the guests. It may afford some hints for the routine of an elegant entertainment, à l'Anglais, in our own country.

The guests were twenty-four in number, and they began to assemble at half past seven, punctually. They were received in the library, where the host and hostess were standing ready to receive them, introducing those who were strangers to each other. When all had arrived, the butler entered, and going up to the lady of the house, told her in a low voice that "dinner was served." The hostess then arranged those that were not previously acquainted, and the gentlemen conducted the ladies to the dining-room; the principal stranger taking the mistress of the house, and the master giving his arm to the chief of the female guests. In England, these arrangements are made according to the rank of the ladies – that of the gentlemen is not considered. A duchess takes precedence of a marchioness, a viscountess of a countess, a baroness of a baronet's lady, &c., – for a baron is above a baronet. Going into the dining-room, the company passed by the butler and eight footmen, all of whom were stationed in two rows. The butler was dressed entirely in black – the footmen in their livery. According to a new fashion, they may now wear long gaiters. White kid gloves are indispensable to the footmen.

The table was set for twenty-six – and standing on it were elegant gilt candelabras. All the lights were wax candles. Chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling. In the middle of the table was a magnificent plateau, or centre ornament of gold; flowers surmounted the summit; and the circular stages below were covered with confectionery elegantly arranged. On each side of the plateau, and above and below, were tall china fruit-baskets. In the centre of each basket were immense pine-apples of hot-house growth, with their fresh green leaves. Below the pine-apples were large bunches of purple and white hot-house grapes, beautifully disposed, with leaves and tendrils hanging over the sides of the baskets. Down each side of the whole long table, were placed large, round, saucer-shaped fruit-dishes, heaped up with peaches, nectarines, pears, plumbs, ripe gooseberries, cherries, currants, strawberries, &c. All the fruits not in season were supplied from hot-houses. And alternating with the fruit were all the entremets in covered dishes, placed on long slips of damask the whole length of the table. All the plate was superb. The dinner-set was of French china, gilt, and painted with roses. At every plate was a caraffe of water, with a tumbler turned down over it, and several wine-glasses. The napkins were large. The side-board held only the show-silver and the wine. The side-tables were covered with elegant damask cloths. On these were ranged, laid along in numerous rows, the knives, forks, and spoons to be used at dinner. The dessert-spoons were in the form of hollow leaves, the stems being the handles. They were beautifully engraved in tasteful patterns. The fruit-knives had silver blades and pearl handles. There were two soups (white and brown,) standing on a side-table. Each servant handed the things in his white kid gloves, and with a damask napkin under his thumb. They offered (mentioning its name in a low voice,) a plate of each soup to each guest. After the soup, Hock and Moselle wine were offered to each guest, that they might choose either. A dish of fish was then placed at each end of the table – one was salmon, the other turbot. These dishes were immediately taken off to be helped by the servants, both sorts of fish being offered to each person. Then the appropriate sauce for the fish – also cucumbers to eat with the salmon. No castors were on the large table, but they were handed round by the servants. Directly after the fish came the entremets, or French dishes. The wine following the fish was Madeira and Sherry.