The Mentor

“Immodest words admit of no defence,For want of decency is want of sense.”

“It is not easy to perceive,” says Lamont, “what honor or credit is connected with swearing. It is a low and paltry habit, picked up by low and paltry spirits who have no sense of honor, no regard for decency, but are forced to substitute some rhapsody of nonsense to supply the vacancy of good sense. The vulgarity of the practice can be equalled only by the vulgarity of those who indulge in it.”

The extent to which some men habitually interlard their talk with oaths is disgusting even to many that, on occasion, do not themselves hesitate to give expression to their feelings in oaths portly and unctuous.

Among the things that are studiously avoided in conversation by persons of taste is the use of old, threadbare quotations. He that can’t do better than to repeat such old, threadbare lines as “Variety is the spice of life,” “Distance lends enchantment to the view,” “A thing of beauty is a joy forever,” “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” and the like, would appear to better advantage by remaining silent.

“Sir” and “madam,” or “ma’am,” are far too much used by some persons in this country, especially in the South. In England neither “sir” nor “madam” is considered proper, under ordinary circumstances, except on the lips of inferiors. A man having occasion to address a lady that is a stranger to him should always address her as “madam,” never as “miss,” if she has reached the age of womanhood, in which case courtesy supposes that she has entered that state that all women should enter as soon as they are fitted for it.

One of the things that we should be most careful to guard against in conversation, if we would appear to advantage in the eyes of persons of the better sort, is undue familiarity. The man of native refinement, as well as the man of culture, is always careful to observe – in a greater or less degree, according to circumstances – the conventionalities that obtain in refined social intercourse. Perhaps the most repulsive character to be met with is the youth that seems to think it makes him appear vastly more manly to Jack, Jim, or Joe his acquaintances, in addressing them, and to speak of persons that he may, or may not, know in a familiar, disrespectful manner. To him Mr. Sheridan Short, if he has occasion to speak of him, is simply “Shed;” Mr. Lester Bullock is simply “Lester;” Mr. John Guthbert is simply “old John,” and so on. If this vulgar specimen of “Young America” has a father, he speaks of him as his “old man,” and middle-aged and elderly men, if they have grown-up sons, he designates as “old man Burt,” “old man Harrison,” etc. This kind of youth is always one of those loud-mouthed, guffaw fellows that think themselves, as the Kentuckian would say, “simply mountaneous.”

Story-telling in society is something that even those that tell stories well should indulge in but sparingly. All stories, unless well told, are tiresome; and then there is always the danger that to some of those that are compelled to listen they will be a “twice-told tale.” A serious fault of many story-tellers is that they themselves cannot refrain from laughing at the humor of their own anecdotes. All stories should be told clearly and tersely, and be so managed as to have a marked climax; and if the teller must laugh at them, he should be sure not to laugh until the climax is reached. The skilful do not think it incumbent on them to tell stories just as they hear them. Modifications that they think will render them more effective they do not hesitate to make.

He that never will confess his ignorance nor admit that he has erred in judgment publishes his weakness when he thinks he is concealing it. There are no surer indications of strength than candor and frankness. Men of sense do not expect to be looked upon as being all-wise and infallible, and they know that a frank confession that they are ignorant or have erred, always works to their advantage; and further, they feel that they are so wise and are so often right that they can afford to be frank in confessing their ignorance when they are ignorant and their errors when they have erred. “A man should never blush in confessing his errors,” says Rousseau, “for he proves by the avowal that he is wiser to-day than he was yesterday.”

Relatives and intimate friends should be careful, in their associations with others, not to make an indiscreet or ungenerous use of the knowledge they have gained of one another. The wise man is silent in regard to the weaknesses of those with whom he stands in close relations. Indeed, there is something generous and noble in the endeavor to make men think as well of one another as a regard for truth will permit. The habitual depreciator is one of the weakest and most unlovable of men.

One of the things we should be most studious to avoid in conversation is perversity. There are men that seem to think it their special mission in this world to set others right. Say what you may, and say it as you may, they will immediately proceed to show you that you are at least partly, if not wholly, wrong. As for agreeing with you, they never do, unless, in disagreeing with a third person, they agree with you accidentally. It is hardly necessary to say that this perverseness is not a characteristic of persons of a generous nature or a large understanding. It is the product of a feeling closely allied to envy, and is peculiar to men of overweening conceit and inordinate love of adulation. Quite unconsciously they oftentimes do little else than assail whatever is advanced by others, solely because they cannot brook the thought that the attention of the company be diverted from themselves.

The old injunction, “If you cannot speak well of people, speak of them not at all,” has never yet been heeded by any one, nor should it be, for it is by exchanging opinions of our acquaintances and by discussing their faults and weaknesses that we add to our knowledge of human nature, than which few things are more desirable. “There are two kinds of gossip,” says an English writer – “the good-humored and the scandalous – the gossip that touches lightly on faults and foibles, and amusing incidents and curious contrasts, and the gossip that peers into the privacy of domestic life, and invents or misrepresents. The latter no right-thinking person will indulge in or listen to; the former is the salt of ordinary conversation. We cannot help taking an interest in our fellows, and there is no reason why we should not, so long as that interest is not malignant.”

“Keep clear,” says Dr. John Hall, “of personalities in general conversation. Talk of things, objects, thoughts. The smallest minds occupy themselves with persons. Personalities must sometimes be talked, because we have to learn and find out men’s characteristics for legitimate objects; but it is to be with confidential persons. Poor Burns wrote and did many foolish things, but he was wise when he wrote to a young friend:

“‘Ay, tell your story free, off-hand,When wi’ a bosom crony;But still keep something to yoursel’You’ll scarcely tell to ony.’

“Do not needlessly report ill of others. There are times when we are compelled to say, ‘I do not think Bouncer a true and honest man.’ But when there is no need to express an opinion, let poor Bouncer swagger away. Others will take his measure, no doubt, and save you the trouble of analyzing him and instructing them. And as far as possible dwell on the good side of human beings. There are family-boards where a constant process of depreciating, assigning motives and cutting up character goes forward. They are not pleasant places. One who is healthy does not wish to dine at a dissecting-table. There is evil enough in men, God knows. But it is not the mission of every young man and woman to detail and report it all. Keep the atmosphere as pure as possible, and fragrant with gentleness and charity.”

Persons of kindly natures take pleasure in repeating the pleasant things they hear one acquaintance say of another; on the other hand, persons of an envious, jealous nature repeat the unpleasant thing they hear, or nothing. There is nothing that does more to promote kindly feeling than the repeating of pleasant things.

Never say, “It is my opinion,” or “I believe,” or “I think” – expressions that differ but little in meaning – when you are not thoroughly acquainted with the matter. In a matter of which a man has no knowledge he can have no opinion; he can, at the most, have an impression. Say, therefore, when speaking of a matter of which you know little or nothing, if you would talk like a man of sense, “My impression is,” or “from the little I know of the matter, my impression is,” or “I know only enough of the matter to allow myself an impression, and that is,” or something of the sort. Men that are always ready with their “opinion” generally have no opinions of anything.

“There is a kind of pin-feather gentility,” says “The Verbalist,” “that seems to have a settled aversion to using the terms man and woman. Well-bred men, men of culture and refinement – gentlemen, in short – use the terms lady and gentleman comparatively little, and they are especially careful not to call themselves gentlemen when they can avoid it. A gentleman, for example, does not say, ‘I, with some other gentlemen, went,’ etc.; he is careful to leave out the word other. The men that use these terms most, and especially those that lose no opportunity to proclaim themselves gentlemen, belong to that class of men that cock their hats on one side of their heads, and often wear them when and where gentlemen would remove them; that pride themselves on their familiarity with the latest slang; that proclaim their independence by showing the least possible consideration for others; that laugh long and loud at their own wit; that wear a profusion of cheap jewelry, use bad grammar, and interlard their talk with big oaths.”

“Socially, the term gentleman,” says the London periodical, All the Year Round, “has become almost vulgar. It is certainly less employed by gentlemen than by inferior persons. The one speaks of ‘a man I know,’ the other of ‘a gentleman I know.’ Again, as regards the term lady. It is quite in accordance with the usages of society to speak of your acquaintance the duchess as ‘a very nice person.’ People who say ‘a very nice lady’ are not generally of a social class that has much to do with duchesses.”

“The terms lady and gentleman,” says the London Queen, “become in themselves vulgar when misapplied, and the improper application of the wrong term at the wrong time makes all the difference in the world to ears polite.”

“Bashfulness,” says Bacon, “is a great hindrance to a man both of uttering his conceit and understanding what is propounded unto him; wherefore it is good to press himself forward with discretion both in speech and company of the better sort.”

“Shyness,” says a modern writer, “cramps every motion, clogs every word. The only way to overcome the fault is to mix constantly in society, and the habitual intercourse with others will give you the ease of manner that shyness destroys.”

“In all kinds of speech,” says Bacon, “either pleasant, grave, severe, or ordinary, it is convenient to speak rather slowly than hastily; because hasty speech confounds the memory, and oftentimes drives a man either to a nonplus or unseemly stammering upon what should follow; whereas a slow speech confirmeth the memory, addeth a conceit of wisdom to the hearers, besides a seemliness of speech and countenance.”

The man of real dignity, of real intellectual strength, never hesitates to establish a sort of friendly relation with his servants and subordinates. If you see a man going about with a “ramrod down his back,” looking over the heads of his servants and subordinates, you may be sure that he knows just enough to know that his dignity is a nurseling and needs his constant attention.

Be not in haste to take offence; be sure first that an indignity is intended. He that calls you hard names, if they are unmerited, is beneath your resentment; if merited, you have no right to complain. In either case, nine times in ten, the better course is to say little and go your way. A well-bred man seldom if ever feels justified in indulging in recrimination. Altercations are as much to be avoided as personal encounters.

It often requires more courage to avoid a quarrel than to engage in one, and then the courage that keeps one out of a quarrel is the courage of the philosopher, while the courage that leads one into a quarrel is the courage of the bully. He that boasts of his prowess is a blackguard.

Steer wide of the stupid habit many persons get into of repeating questions that are asked them, and of asking others to repeat what they have said. If you take the trouble to observe, you will find your experience with these people to be something like this: “Will this street take me into Chatham Square?” “Chatham Square, did you say?” You go into a men’s furnishing store and ask: “Will you show me some sixteen-inch collars?” “Sixteen inch, did you say?” You ask an acquaintance: “How long have you been in New York?” “How long have I been in New York, did you say?” or, “Which do you think the prettier of the two?” “Which do I think the prettier?” or, “I think it will be warmer to-morrow.” “What did you say?” or, “Patti was ill and did not sing last evening.” “What do you say, Patti didn’t sing?” “When do you expect to break yourself of the habit of asking me to repeat everything I say, or of repeating everything over after me?” “When do I expect to break myself of the habit?” If you think you have been understood, all you have to do, as a rule, is to keep silent and look your interlocutor full in the face for a moment to be made sure of it.

There is a kind of comparatively harmless gossip that some men indulge in, that makes them appear very diminutive in the eyes of men of the world. I refer to the habit some men have of making what may chance to come to their knowledge of other people’s affairs and movements the subject of conversation. Though there is generally nothing malicious in the gabble of these busybodies, it sometimes causes a deal of unpleasantness. Men whose ambition it is to appear knowing, know, if they did but know it, far less than their discreet-mouthed neighbors.

All writers on the amenities of conversation agree that the discussion of politics and religion should be excluded from general society, for the reason that such discussions are very liable to end unpleasantly. Yet this would never be the case, if we were sufficiently philosophic to reflect that we are all what circumstances have made us, and that we, with only now and then an exception, should be of the same opinions as our neighbors had we been reared under like influences. When we censure another for his way of thinking, if we did but know it, we find fault not with him, but with the surroundings amid which he has grown up. There are but very few men in the world that have opinions that are really their own, i. e., that are the product of their own, independent judgment. Most men simply echo the opinions that have chanced to fall to their lot, and had other opinions chanced to fall to their lot – though directly opposed to those they now entertain – they would, in like manner, have echoed them – have fought for them, if occasion offered. But as there are very few of us that are not swayed by prejudice rather than guided by philosophy, politics and religion are, and are pretty sure to remain, dangerous topics to introduce into the social circle, and that, too, for the simple reason, as already intimated, that they are subjects upon which people generally feel so deeply that they cannot discuss them calmly, courteously, and rationally.

We sometimes meet with persons that lose no opportunity to say sharp things – things that wound. They are occasionally persons of some wit, but they are never persons of any wisdom, or they would not do what is sure to make them many enemies. Good manners without kindliness is impossible.

Persons of the best fashion avoid expressing themselves in the extravagant. They leave inflation to their inferiors, with many of whom nothing short of the superlative will suffice. From them we hear such expressions as “awfully nice,” “beastly ugly,” “horridly stuck up,” “frightfully cold,” “simply magnificent,” and “just divine,” while persons of better culture, to express the same thoughts, content themselves with “very pretty,” “very plain,” “rather haughty,” “very cold,” “excellent,” and the like. Intemperance in the use of language, like intemperance in everything else, is vulgar.

CALLS AND CARDS

Custom is a law

As high as heaven, as wide as seas or land.

– Lansdowne.

An English authority tells us that the chief things to be considered in making calls are the occasions and the hours. Between friends there is little need of ceremony in the matter, as a friendly visit may be made at almost any time and on almost any occasion.

A man that can command his time may make ceremonious calls, in most of the large cities, at any hour between two and five in the afternoon, and the man that has not the leisure to call during the afternoon may make calls in the evening after half past eight. The careless, ignorant, or over-eager sometimes call earlier, for fear the lady may be out; but this is not considered good usage.

Calls may be divided into three classes:

1. Visits of ceremony.

2. Visits of congratulation or sympathy.

3. General calls.

Ceremonious calls are those made to present letters of introduction, or after dinners, parties, or balls.

In calling to present a letter of introduction, the caller does not go in, but simply leaves the letter, with his card and address.

In returning a call made with a letter of introduction, the caller must go in, if the person on whom he calls is at home.

If your letter of introduction is for a special purpose – which purpose should be mentioned in the letter – you will send it in with your card, and ask for an interview.

In giving letters of introduction, you take a great responsibility. You should, therefore, give them only to persons that have your entire confidence and for whom you are willing to be responsible. They should be left open, in order that their bearers may acquaint themselves with their contents.

A call should be made within a week after balls, dancing parties, or dinners to which you have been invited, whether you accepted or not. Such calls, some one has said, should resemble wit in their brevity, not exceeding the length of a reasonable sermon – say twenty or thirty minutes at the most.

If during your call another visitor should arrive, you should not appear to shun him, but should wait two or three minutes, and join in the conversation before you take leave. Persons that out-sit two or three callers, unless there is some special reason for their doing so, are in danger of being called bores, who are persons that have not sufficient tact to know when they should take leave.

It is often no easy matter either to know when to take leave or how to take leave gracefully. As a rule, avoid all such observations as, “Well, I think it is time for me to be going,” and do not look at your watch. The best way to make one’s exit, whether the conversation has begun to flag or not, is to say something effective, as Pelham was wont to do, and withdraw immediately thereafter. Above all, do not prolong your leave-taking. When you start to go, go. Interminable leave-takers are very tiresome.

A man should never offer to shake hands with persons on whom he calls. If, however, those on whom a man calls offer him their hands when he arrives, he may offer them his hand when he takes leave; but this is by no means necessary.

A man, in making calls, should always carry his hat into the drawing-room. He may carry his cane also into the drawing-room, if he chooses to do so, but there is no special reason why he should. The carrying of one’s hat is sufficient intimation that one has not come to remain. Authorities differ with regard to what a man shall do with his hat when he gets into the drawing-room. One English authority says: “The hat should never be laid on a table, pianoforte, or any article of furniture, but must be held properly in the hand. If you are compelled to lay it aside, put it on the floor.” Another English authority says: “A gentleman holds his hat until he has seen the mistress of the house and shaken hands with her. He would then either place it on a chair or table near at hand, or hold it in his hand until he took leave.” Men of sense and a little independence will do as they please. What objection can there be to a man’s putting his hat on a chair, a table, or a piano? In making short calls, a man should hold his hat, unless he should want to use both hands for some other purpose.

But whether it is permissible or not for a man to put his hat on some article of furniture, it is certain that if he carries hat and cane into the drawing-room, he should put them down somewhere, or hold them still, and not betray his gaucherie by flourishing the one or twirling the other.

A man should never say, “Excuse my glove,” nor, if he is neatly gloved, should he remove his glove to shake hands with any one.

Never take a seat on a sofa, unless invited to do so; nor in an arm-chair, uninvited, unless there are several in the room unoccupied; nor is it permissible to leave your chair to get nearer the fire.

A gentleman should, generally, rise when a lady enters the drawing-room, and remain standing till she is seated; and, though a stranger, he should place a chair for her, if there is not one convenient; but not his own, if there is another at hand.

A gentleman should also generally rise if a lady leaves the drawing-room, and remain standing until she has passed out.

Never take any one to call on ladies of your acquaintance before asking their permission to do so.

When going to spend the evening with a friend that you visit often, it is quite proper that you should leave your hat in the hall.

Never take a dog into a drawing-room when you make a call. For many reasons a visitor has no right to inflict the society of his dog on his acquaintance.

A gentleman that is invited by a lady to call cannot, without showing a want of courtesy, neglect to pay her a call within a week or ten days.

Visits of condolence are paid within a week, or ten days at most, after the event that occasions them. Personal visits of this kind are made only by relatives and intimate friends, who should be careful to make the conversation as little painful as possible.

In paying visits of congratulation, you should always go in, and be hearty in your congratulations.

“There are many great men,” says “The Man in the Club-Window,” “who go unrewarded for the services they render humanity. Nay, even their names are lost, while we daily bless their inventions. One of these is he, if it was not a woman, who introduced the use of visiting-cards. In days of yore a slate or a book was kept, and you wrote your name on it. But then that could be done only when your acquaintance was ‘not at home.’ To the French is due the practice of making the delivery of a card serve the purpose of the appearance of the person, and with those who may have a large acquaintance this custom is becoming very common in large towns.”

The fashion of cards as to size, material, style of engraving, and the mode of using them, is very variable. Visiting-cards, at present, should be small, and printed on fine, thin bristol-board, in Italian script without any flourishes. The address in the right-hand corner, and if a member of a club, the name of the club in the left-hand corner. Glazed cards, fac-similes and ornamental styles of letters are entirely out of fashion.

The black borders of mourning cards vary in width according to circumstances, the maximum width being three eighths of an inch, which is denominated “extra extra wide.”

Nearly all New York men have “Mr.” on their cards, and yet in England, where the custom originated, according to two authorities before me, the practice is going out of fashion. One of them says: “Some gentlemen and unmarried ladies have adopted the continental custom of omitting the ‘Mr.’ and ‘Miss’ upon their cards; as