The Mentor

Alfred John Majoribanks;

or

Lucy Carrington

And the fashion is a good one.”

Another English writer says: “To have ‘Francis Smith’ printed on the card without the prefix ‘Mr.’ would be a glaring solecism, and in the worst possible taste.” The writers are both “members of the aristocracy.”

Military or professional titles take the place of the “Mr.,” as, “Captain John Smith,” “Colonel John Smith,” “Rev. John Smith,” “Dr. John Smith,” etc.

“Visiting-cards can under no circumstances be sent by post; to do so would betray the greatest ignorance of what is done in society. Cards must be left in person,” says an English writer.

“It is for this ceremonious card-leaving that it is now proposed to send the cards by post, which sensible people in England are advocating, as well as sensible people here,” says an American writer.

The turning-down of the corner or the end of a card signifies that the owner left it in person. It is better usage, because more recent, to turn the end. In countries where great importance is attached to such little things, even those that send their cards by servants turn them across one end – usually the right end – as if they had left them in person.

Cards left on New Year’s Day, or on any other reception day, simply for the purpose of refreshing the memory of the hostess, are never turned down.

Usage in these matters varies not only in different countries, but often in the different large cities of the same country. Persons that are not sure that they are thoroughly informed should inquire.

On reception days the caller must go in; the simple leaving of his card on those days does not suffice.

P. P. C. cards are the only cards that it is universally considered permissible to send by post.

To return a call, made in person, with cards inclosed in an envelope is an intimation that the sender is not desirous to continue the acquaintance.

“As regards leaving cards upon new acquaintances,” says the English authority already quoted, “a gentleman may not leave a card upon a married lady, or the mistress of a house, to whom he has been introduced, however gracious or agreeable she may have been, unless she expressly asks him to call, or gives him to understand in an unmistakable manner that his doing so would be agreeable to her. This rule holds good, whether the introduction has taken place at a dinner-party, at a ball, at an ‘at home,’ at a country gathering, or elsewhere; he would not be authorized in leaving his card on her on such slight acquaintanceship; as, if she desired his further acquaintance, she would make some polite allusion to his calling at her house, such as, ‘I hope we shall see you when we are in town this season,’ or, ‘I am always at home at five o’clock, if you like to come to see us.’ If a woman of the world she would use some such formula, but would not use a direct one, in which case he would leave his card on her as soon afterward as convenient, and he would also leave a card for the master of the house, the lady’s husband or father, as the case might be, even if he had not made his acquaintance when making that of the lady.

“A gentleman may not under any circumstances leave his card on a young lady to whom he has been introduced, unless her mother, chaperone, or the lady under whose care she is for the time, gives him the opportunity of furthering the acquaintance in the manner we have just indicated. The young lady must not take the initiative herself, but must leave it to her mother or chaperone to do so. It would be considered ‘ill-bred’ were a gentleman to ask, ‘if he might have the pleasure of calling,’ etc.”

But in America, according to the author of “Social Etiquette of New York,” a young man may proceed quite differently. She says: “After a gentleman has been introduced to a lady, he may be in doubt whether the acquaintance will prove agreeable to her. He may be too delicate to give her the unpleasantness of refusing him permission to call on her, should he beg such an honor. Therefore, if he covet her acquaintance, he leaves his card at her residence, and her mother or chaperone will send an invitation to him to visit the family, or, perhaps, to be present at an entertainment, after which it is his duty to call and pay his respects. If the list of acquaintance be already too extensive, no notice need be taken of the card, and he will wait for a recognition from the ladies of the household when they meet again. If the acquaintance be really desirable, a prompt acknowledgment of his desire to become acquainted is admitted in some refined and acceptable form.

“A gentleman,” says the same writer, “will always promptly accept or decline an invitation to anything. It was once an unsettled question whether or not receptions, kettledrums, and the like gatherings, required the formality of a reply. That vague doubt is terminated. Every invitation should be answered, and then there can be no misunderstanding.”

Gentlemen, in making formal calls, ask if “the ladies are at home.” If they are not, some men leave a card for each, while others leave one card only, which, it would seem, should suffice.

If a gentleman calls on a young lady that is the guest of a lady he does not know, he will, nevertheless, ask to see her hostess.

If a gentleman receives an invitation from a new acquaintance, he should leave his card on host and hostess the day after the entertainment, whether he was present or not.

Rules with regard to card-leaving have little or no significance among intimate friends.

ODDS AND ENDS

Manners are what vex or soothe, corrupt or purify, exalt or debase, barbarize or refine us, by a constant, steady, uniform, insensible operation, like that of the air we breathe in. – Burke.

Desire and fear are the two great springs of human effort. Every fear supposes an evil; every desire a good. What are the real evils and the real goods? What are the means by which these may be obtained and those avoided? This research is the principal object of philosophy, which, without excluding any truth, has man for its study and wisdom for its object, and may be called the “Art of Living.” The other arts have but a momentary utility; the utility of this one is constant. It is of every country, of every age, of every condition. There is not a moment of our lives when it may not serve as a guide by pointing to the duties we should perform, the pleasures we may taste, the dangers we should shun.

Anger is the delirium of offended pride. It is rarely useful, and one of these brief paroxysms of folly may embitter one’s whole life. He that contends for his rights without losing his temper is not only more dignified, but is also more effective than he that loses it. To get angry with an inferior is degrading; with an equal, dangerous; with a superior, ridiculous, while toward all there is danger of being unjust. Few things are more impressive than to see calmness opposed to violence, refinement to vulgarity, or decorum to ruffianism.

“The late Douglass Jerrold likened civility to an air-cushion – possessing no tangible substance, yet serving to ease the jolts we encounter in our journeying through life. To say that a person is civil does not imply that he is agreeable, yet civility is the next step to being agreeable. Some persons pride themselves on being brusque or boorish, and it is well to let such have a wide berth in which to exercise their peculiarities. While wonders may be accomplished in being civil and agreeable, nothing can be gained by incivility. It is the manners that make the man or the woman. The presence of an agreeable person is like a ray of sunshine that warms and halos everything on which it falls, while a disagreeable fellow will chill the pleasantest company ever assembled; and it is one of those mysteries that can never be solved why they are permitted to flourish and have their venomous existence, unless they are to be considered as checks to prevent us from a surfeit of happiness in this world.”

Intellectual is more frequent than physical short-sightedness, and nothing is more frequent than for the important and the true to escape the vision of the vulgar. It is not a Socrates and his wisdom that are honored with a great following, but a Mahomet and his ignorance that establish a sect that numbers an eighth of the population of the globe. It is not the laws of the profound and magnanimous Lycurgus that have come down to us, but those of the pedant Theodosius and the cruel Justinian. If a truth comes down to us from heaven, it does wisely to first appear in the habiliments of folly in order to guard against being at first taken for an error.

“Always suspect a man that affects great softness of manner, an unruffled evenness of temper, and an enunciation studied, low, and deliberate. These things are all unnatural, and bespeak a degree of mental discipline into which he that has no purposes of craft or design to answer cannot submit to drill himself. The most successful knaves are usually of this description, as smooth as razors dipped in oil and as sharp. They affect the innocence of the dove, which they have not, in order to hide the cunning of the serpent, which they have.”

To the vulgar, the most sublime truths are only prejudices because they accept them as they accept error – without examination. What is more humiliating to contemplate than the universality of opinion and of faith in the same community! We find a whole people, with few exceptions, of one way of thinking, and a little farther on, another people with directly opposite ideas, while each are equally convinced of the correctness of their views. There is not a ridiculous custom, an absurd opinion, or an inhuman atrocity that, in one century or another, has not had the sanction of the law and the approbation of the public. If it is the custom to worship certain animals or plants, as among the ancient Egyptians, for example – among whom, however, this worship was only symbolic – the whole nation prostrate themselves before them, and pronounce those that differ from them heathen dogs or impious barbarians. This clearly demonstrates that he that follows the dictates of conscience – a thing always of cultivation – may follow one of the worst of guides. When among the Greeks and the Carthaginians, and among nearly all the people of the North, they sacrificed human victims to the gods Orus, Agrolos, Kronos, Molock, Thor and Woden; when their altars ran with the blood of innocence, a mother sacrificing her son, a son his father; or when, in nearer times, one neighbor butchered another, one brother another, it was the dictates of conscience that they followed. But we need not go to history for evidence of the insufficiency of conscience as a guide; we have only to look about us. Truth and justice are always the same, and are always within the reach of reason, while conscience varies to infinity. It is one in Vienna and another in Constantinople, one in New York and another in the city of Mexico, one at Dover and another across the Channel at Calais. The highest intelligence examines before it accepts, and rejects all that is opposed to reason.

“Never show that you feel a slight. This is worldly wise as well as Christian, for no one but a mean person will put a slight on another, and such a person always profoundly respects the one who is unconscious of his feeble spite. Never resent publicly a lack of courtesy; it is in the worst taste. What you do privately about dropping such an acquaintance must be left to yourself. To a person of a noble mind the contests of society must ever seem poor and frivolous as they think of these narrow enmities and low political manœuvres, but we know that they exist, and that we must meet them. Temper, detraction and small spite are as vulgar on a Turkey carpet and in a palace as they are in a tenement house; nay, worse, for the educated contestants know better. Never show a factious or peremptory irritability in small things. Be patient if a friend keeps you waiting. Bear, as long as you can, heat or a draught rather than make others uncomfortable. Do not be fussy about your supposed rights; yield a disputed point of precedence. All society has to be made up of these concessions; they are your unnumbered friends in the long run. We are not always wrong when we quarrel; but if we meet our deadliest foe at a friend’s house we are bound to treat him with perfect civility. That is neutral ground. Burke said that manners were more important than laws.”

Modesty is an admirable thing for a man to have, in appearance; a questionable thing for him to have, in fact. That that most tends to make men modest is the recollection of the stupid things they have done and said.

“As learning and honor,” says Chesterfield, “are necessary to gain you the esteem and admiration of mankind, so politeness and good breeding are necessary to make you welcome in society. Great talents are above the generality of the world, who neither possess them themselves nor judge of them rightly in others; but all are judges of civility and an obliging manner.”

“Good sense must, in many cases, determine good breeding; because the same thing that would be civil at one time and to one person, may be quite otherwise at another time and to another person.”

There is no surer sign of vulgarity than the discourteous treatment of those below us in the social scale. Let your manner toward servants be gentle and courteous, but not unduly familiar. Ask rather than command. It is better to inspire love than fear. The master that is beloved is better served than the master that is feared. The world over, the members of the old aristocracy are more popular – because they are more affable – with the lower orders, than are the newly rich.

Avoid eccentricities. They are sure indications of weakness, of vanity, and of a badly balanced brain. Do as other people do, dress as other people dress, and in all things conform to established usages. Yet while we bear in mind that whatever is outré is vulgar, we should also bear in mind that blind obedience to the mandates of fashion is repulsive.

We occasionally meet with persons that pride themselves on their candor and their frankness. Upon a nearer acquaintance we generally discover that the candor of which they boast is but an exhibition of their egotism, and that their frankness is what considerate people call rudeness.

“How often a bitter speech that has caused keen pain to the hearer has been followed by such words as these, as if in justification of the unkindness shown: ‘I’m a plain, blunt person, and I have to speak out just what I think. People must take me as the Lord made me.’ Anything meaner than such an attempt to throw the responsibility for one’s ugliness of temper off on the Lord it would be hard to imagine. Frankness of speech is one thing, but harshness is a very different thing. The Lord never endowed any man with such a disposition or put him in such circumstances that he was obliged to make stinging, cruel remarks. Some men have more difficulty than others in being sweet-tempered and kindly spoken, but when one fails it is his own fault. The very attempt to justify harshness in such words as we have quoted is evidence of an uncomfortable consciousness of guilt, and proves that the speaker does not believe what he says. Let the repulsiveness of such utterances when we hear them teach us how they seem to others when we make them.”

As it is not possible always to avoid being either too ceremonious or too familiar, our greatest care should be not to err on the side of familiarity, which, the old proverb truthfully says, breeds contempt.

He that domineers over and insults those below him is sure to cringe and truckle to those above him.

In most things it is well to follow the fashion, but in all things it is ill to follow the fashion without discretion. The man that allows other people to think for him in small things is incapable of thinking for himself in great ones.

“All ceremonies,” says Chesterfield, “are in themselves very silly things; yet a man of the world must know them. They are the outworks of manners, which would too often be broken in upon if it were not for that defence that keeps the enemy at a proper distance. For that reason I always treat fools and coxcombs with great ceremony, true good breeding not being a sufficient barrier against them.”

The hearths of tyrannical, bullying fathers and of scolding, complaining mothers are always the scenes of continual bickerings. There, there is never union but ever disunion. If, in such families, there exists any affection among their members, there is no show of it.

If you are a father, be the companion of your children, not their drill-master. If their love for you does not suffice to induce them to do your bidding, the fault is yours, not theirs. Your wishes should be their law, and they will be, if it has been your habit to affectionately appeal to their reason, to their sense of right – in short, to their nobler instincts.

Not only right thinking men, but wrong thinking men that are sensible, are prompt in the keeping of their engagements, whether of business or of pleasure.

Be slow to make promises, but having made a promise do your uttermost to keep your word. Every time another breaks his word with you, resolve anew never to fail to keep yours. Bad examples tend either to demoralize or to elevate. They elevate those in whom the good naturally predominates.

Men of sense are often looked upon as being conceited for no other reason than that the fools know they look upon them as being so many donkeys.

There are many ignoble, foolish, unbred men in the world whose policy is so shortsighted that they continually bow to place rather than to worth. They forget that he that is up to-day may be down to-morrow, and that no man is so insignificant that he is powerless to do them good or harm. Such men have not even the politeness of enlightened selfishness.

Little men in authority, as a rule, are on the look-out for small occasions on which to show their importance, while in matters of any magnitude they readily yield the lead to others.

The man of sense never does anything simply for flourish, to show off, for “splurge.” He never makes presents to any one that he cannot abundantly afford to make. He never goes to any expense that his means do not justify. He assumes that those with whom he associates, that he entertains, that he extends civilities to are sensible people, and he remembers that sensible people always look upon every kind of ostentation as vulgar.

A recent writer on the amenities of social intercourse says: “Don’t say ‘Miss Susan’ or ‘Miss Mary.’ This strictly is permissible with servants only. Address young ladies by their surname, with prefix of Miss, except when in a family of sisters a distinction must be made, and then give the name in full.” On this injunction, the breezy little St. Louis Spectator comments, with as much sense as humor, essentially, thus: “I think that such a rule of etiquette as this is rather Utopian when one considers the impossibility of its practical enforcement. Suppose, for instance, that Mr. Blank is playing whist with three sisters of the Turtletack family, when suddenly Miss Sempronia Turtletack asks:

“‘What led the last time round?’

“‘Clubs, Miss Sempronia Turtletack,’ answers Mr. Blank.

“‘Are you sure?’

“‘Quite sure. I led a small club, Miss Theodosia Turtletack followed suit with a small card, Miss Elvira Turtletack played her king, and you, Miss Sempronia Turtletack, trumped.’”

It is hardly possible that any such custom as this exists in any circle of society in any country; but if such a custom does anywhere exist, it is in a circle so starched and stayed that it would be difficult for an every-day mortal to breathe in it, and so stilted and stupid that no sensible mortal would want to breathe in it.

I go out of my way to give the following extract wider publicity, but there is so much in it that many persons would do well to take to heart, that I cannot resist the temptation to reprint it. I find it in Our Continent, and it is from the facile pen of Mrs. Louise Chandler Moulton.

“Good breeding, like charity, should begin at home. The days are past when children used to rise the moment their parents entered the room where they were and stand until they had received permission to sit. But the mistake is now made usually in the other direction of allowing to small boys and girls too much license to disturb the peace of the household. I think the best way to train children in courtesy would be to observe toward them a scrupulous politeness. I would go so far as to say that we should make it as much a point to listen to children without interrupting them and to answer them as sincerely and respectfully as if they were grown up. And indeed many of their wise, quaint sayings are far better worth listening to than the stereotyped commonplaces of most morning callers. Of course, to allow uninterrupted chatter would be to surrender the repose of the household, but it is very easy, if children are themselves scrupulously respected, to teach them in turn scrupulously to respect the convenience of others, and to know when to talk and when to be silent.

“If a child is brought up in the constant exercise of courtesy toward brothers and sisters and play-mates, as well as toward parents and uncles and aunts, it will have little left to learn as it grows older. I know a bright and bewitching little girl who was well instructed in table etiquette, but who forgot her lessons sometimes, as even older people do now and then. The arrangement was made with her that for every solecism of this sort she was to pay a fine of five cents, while for every similar carelessness that she could discover in her elders she was to exact a fine of ten cents, their experience of life being longer than hers. You may be sure that Mistress Bright Eyes watched the proceedings of that table very carefully. No slightest disregard of the most conventional etiquette escaped her quick vision, and she was an inflexible creditor and a faithful debtor. It was the prettiest sight to see her, when conscious of some failure on her own part, go unhesitatingly to her money-box and pay cheerfully her little tribute to the outraged proprieties.

“The best brought-up family of children I ever knew were educated on the principle of always commending them when it was possible to do so, and letting silence be the reproof of any wrong-doing that was not really serious. I have heard the children of this household, when their mother had failed to say any word of commendation after some social occasion, ask as anxiously as possible, ‘What was it, mamma? I know something was wrong. Didn’t we treat the other children well, or were we too noisy?’ In that house reproof was never bestowed unsought – only commendation, of whatever it was possible to commend, was gratuitous.

“I think this system would be as good for those grown-up children, the husbands and wives, as for those still in the nursery. I once asked the late Hepworth Dixon, with whom I happened to be talking on this subject, what he thought was the reason why some women held their husbands’ hearts securely and forever, while others were but the brief tenants of a few months or years. ‘What,’ I asked, ‘is the quality in a woman that her husband loves longest?’

“‘That she should be a pillow,’ answered Mr. Dixon, and then meeting the inquiry in my eyes, he went on, ‘Yes, that is what a man needs in his wife – something to rest his heart on. He has excitement and opposition enough in the world. He wants to feel that there is one place where he is sure of sympathy, a place that will give him ease as a pillow gives it to a tired head. Do you think a man will be tempted to turn from the woman whose eyes are his flattering mirror – who heals where others wound?’

“And surely he was right. We are grateful for even a too flattering faith in us, and if there is any good in us at all, we try to deserve this faith. But tenderness in the conjugal heart is much more common than grace in the conjugal manner. Since, however, next to that supreme good of being satisfied in one’s own conscience is that second great good of being satisfied in one’s own home, surely no details of manner that tend to such a result are too slight to be observed. I believe in making as pretty a toilet to greet the returning husband as one put on to await the expected sweetheart; and, when the husband comes, he makes a mistake very fatal to his own interests if he fails to notice what he would have praised in other days. It is a trite saying that life is made up of trifles; but surely the sum of all these domestic trifles amounts to the difference between happiness and unhappiness.”