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L 
 
 ^ 9 1 
 
 THE GLASS OF FASHION. 
 
THE GLASS OF FASH ION, 
 
THE 
 
 GLASS OF FASHION 
 
 <|l Euibirsal of (Social etiquette anii 3)omc 
 
 Cxtltttcc fof dailies aivii ©oivtlcmciv. 
 
 WITH COPIOUS AND PRACTICAL HINTS 
 
 UPON THE 
 
 MANNERS AND CEREMONIES OF EVERY RELATION IN LIFE, 
 
 AT HOME, IN SOCIETY, AND AT COURT. 
 
 itttcvspcrscb luith ifumcroivs ^itccbotpsf. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE LOUNGER IN SOCIETY. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 JOHN HOGG, PATERNOSTER ROW 
 
 i88i. 
 
 [All Rights Reserved 
 
te-u VV' 
 
 G-f4>3 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In the following pages an attempt has been made to treat 
 Etiquette from a' liberal point of view ; understanding it to 
 mean something more than those conventionalities of manners 
 which are commonly called politeness — to embrace, in fact, the 
 moral culture of the individual, and his relations to his fellows 
 ‘at home’ and ‘abroad.’ Of this wider etiquette, or courtesy, 
 good manners, as generally limited, form merely a part ; and I 
 ^ take it to be a truism that a mah'may be favourably known for 
 ' his polished bearing and graceful address, and yet be deficient 
 } in all the higher qualities which constitute the gentleman. While, 
 _ therefore, the smaller details of behaviour have not been over- 
 looked, the chief purpose of this volume is to lay down the 
 i broad, fundamental principles which should govern our inter- 
 course with society. It begins and ends in the home-circle 
 and in the course of its survey touches almost every situation 
 into which the ordinary business or pleasure of life can compel 
 us. But it everywhere insists upon the practice of generosity, 
 forbearance, self-sacrifice, patience, as the special virtues of the 
 gentleman, or gentlewoman. Anyone can learn to behave 
 decorously at the dinner-table ; anyone can learn how to dis- 
 pose of his hat and cane when he makes a ‘ morning call j 
 anyone can learn to move about in a drawing-room without 
 c treading on the toes of his fellow-guests, or involving some 
 
VI 
 
 PREFACE, 
 
 choice article of verUi in a disastrous crash : but the difficulty 
 is to learn how to control our temper ; how to treat our equals 
 with impartiality, and our inferiors with affability; how to 
 render our lives pleasant and gracious to ourselves and to 
 others. Only him who accomplishes this, and all that it 
 implies, will the general voice esteem a gentleman, and pro- 
 nounce him : 
 
 ‘ For courtesy, behaviour, language, 
 
 And every fair demeanour an example. ’ 
 
 Only of her whose gifts and graces are harmonised and- com- 
 pleted by the sweet excellence of her conduct and manner will 
 it be said that she worthily bears the title of gentlewoman. 
 
 It is sometimes asked, For whom are manuals of etiquette 
 intended ? And when we find their pages filled with such in- 
 structions in the minutise of behaviour as one is wont to 
 supply to children, we can scarcely wonder at the question. 
 If it be put in reference to the present book, however, I would 
 reply. For everybody who desires to obtain a general survey 
 of the art (or science) of etiquette, and to refresh his memory 
 with the leading principles of social culture. If I have not 
 failed egregiously in carrying out my design, it will be found 
 as useful by the habitue of the Mayfair drawing-room, as by tlie 
 neophyte who, with beating heart, aspires to soar above the 
 commonplaces of Bloomsbury. It is intended for both sexes 
 and for all ages, as well as for all classes of society; for the 
 quiet middle-class family whose ambition is restricted to an 
 ^ evening party ’ once a year, not less than for the upper-class 
 family whose members are ^presented at court,’ and whose 
 hours are spent in giving or attending matinees, ‘ at homes,’ 
 ‘ five o’clock teas,’ ^ croquet parties,’ and the thousand and one 
 devices by which the industriously idle endeavour to kill time- 
 I believe that its comprehensiveness will be generally admitted, 
 and, therefore, am not without hope that it will be accepted as 
 a guide, a companion, and a censor in all the various scenes 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 vii 
 
 which make up the drama — so dull in some of its phases, so 
 vivid and stirring in others — of social life. 
 
 It has been sought to give a character of freshness to some 
 of the following chapters by copious illustrations drawn from 
 literary sources — from poetry and fiction ; nor have I scrupled 
 to point the moral and enforce the caution by the application of 
 anecdote, jest, and parody. A book is nothing if not readable, 
 and readable I have tried to make this book. It is useless for 
 a man to preach if he preach his congregation asleep ; and an 
 author, if the public graciously incline to read his pages, may 
 surely be expected to provide them with amusement. 
 
 There are some critics who seem to consider that a book 
 upon manners is fair game for their cumbrous raillery. As they 
 contrive to dispense with manners themselves, they fancy 
 that they cannot be in general request. No doubt we are 
 all of us prone to undervalue what is not an acquisition or pos- 
 session of our own, but it will be well for the reader to set 
 against their stereotyped satire the weighty judgment of Edmund 
 Burke, which I have further insisted on in the course of the 
 following pages : ^ Manners,^ he says, ^ are of more importance 
 than laws. Upon them, in a great measure, the laws depend. 
 The law touches us but here and there, now and then,' whereas 
 ‘ manners give their whole form and colour to our lives.' Hence 
 we are all of us interested in their cultivation ; they affect us 
 wherever we are, whatever we do ; we cannot escape from 
 their influence, for it permeates our domestic as well as our 
 social relations. May it not be urged, then, that the writer who 
 essays, however humbly, to formulate and recommend a code 
 of manners deserves well of the commonwealth ? To such, 
 an admiring and grateful country ought surely to award ‘ the 
 civic crown !' 
 
 THE LOUNGER IN SOCIETY. 
 
ANALYTICAL TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 Preface 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 AT HOME. 
 
 ^ A dearer, svv^eeter spot than all the rest.’ 
 
 James Montgomery. 
 
 Social Etiquette — Influence of Good Manners — What is a Gentleman? 
 — Definition of John Ford, the Dramatist — Thackeray’s ‘ Colonel 
 Newcome ’ — Tennyson’s ‘ King Arthur ’ — What is a Lady? — Defi- 
 nition by George Chapman — The Subject further considered — Ex- 
 amples of English Gentlewomen — Mary Evelyn — Higher Education 
 of Women and its Influence — Qualifications of a Lady — Words- 
 worth’s sister, Dorothy — Coventry Patmore’s ‘ Angel in the 
 House ’ — Lady Maynard — Described by Bishop Ken — A Noble 
 Gentlewoman of the Seventeenth Century — Etiquette and Culture — 
 Housewifery and its Importance — A Letter of Margaret, Duchess of 
 Newcastle — Value of Method in a Household — How to make Home 
 happy — Richard Brathwait’s excellent advice — Home Happiness 
 promoted by Courtesy — The Virtue of Politeness estimated — Its 
 Potency — Spenser’s Sir Calidore, a mirror of courtesy — Politeness 
 in Trifles ; true Politeness no Trifle— Small Endeavours and their 
 Effect — Politeness a Domestic Duty — Home Happiness promoted 
 by Recreation — In praise of Music — Bishop Beveridge — Music in 
 the Home Circle — Instrumental Music — The Piano recommended — 
 Also the Violin — A Protest against the Cornet — Ungraceful Players 
 — Discretion necessary in the Choice of Pieces to be performed — 
 The Piano as an Instrument for Home use — Leigh Hunt’s Poetical 
 Address to the Pianoforte — Its Advantages touched upon — Singing 
 as an Aid to Home Happiness — Illustration from George Eliot’s 
 ‘ Daniel Deronda’ — Faults committed by A^mateur Singers — On the 
 necessity of Articulating distinctly — Shelley, ‘ To Constantia, Sing- 
 ing’ — Etiquette applicable to Music in the Drawing-room — Furni- 
 ture and Home Decoration as a branch of Home Culture — Good and 
 
X 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Bad of the ‘ Art at Home ’ Movement — Its Extravagances con- 
 sidered — Excess in the Use of Ornament reprehended — What to 
 avoid — The Cant of yEstheticism — Home Decoration must not over- 
 ride Home Comfort — The Drawing-room — The Dining-room — The 
 Bedrooms — Lady Barker’s Model Bedroom — An Antique Bed- 
 chamber as described by Mrs. Gaskell — Horace Walpole’s Descrip- 
 tion of a Georgian Dinner-party — Economy essential in Home 
 Decoration — Home Culture in the Country — A Love of Rural Plea- 
 sures recommended — Rural Sights and Sounds — A Rural Picture 
 from William Browne’s ‘ Pastorals ’ — Sir Walter Raleigh in praise 
 of the Country — The Study of Nature as a source of Enjoyment — 
 
 A Rural Picture from William Howitt — The Study of Rural Cus- 
 toms recommended — A Village Feast — The Statute Fair — Life 
 among the English Farmers — Market-day — The English Farmer in 
 1867 and now — A Dinner in the Country — Pastimes popular in 
 Rural Life — How far they are affected by Rules of Etiquette — 
 Gardening as a means of Recreation and an Exercise — Various kinds 
 of Gardens — Principles on which our Gardens should be arranged 
 — Corisande’s Garden and its Beauties — A Garden Picture from 
 Tennyson’s ‘Gardener’s Daughter’ — Miss Mitford’s Garden — 
 Described in a Letter to Elizabeth Barrett Browning - - i — 55 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 ABROAD. 
 
 ‘ Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.’ 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 ‘ ’Tis ever common, 
 
 That men are merriest when they are from home. ’ 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Society and its Duties — Horace Walpole upon Society — Its Observ- 
 ances must be Complied with — Visiting Cards — ‘ Calls ’ — A few 
 Words in Defence of the Custom — Ladies and Morning Calls — 
 Anecdotes — An Amusing Mistake — Invitations, Form of — Replies, 
 Form of — Receiving Guests ; some Useful Advice — Qualifications 
 of a Hostess — The late Lady Palmerston — A Perfect Host : the late 
 Lord Lansdowne — The Ostentatious Host and Hostess — The 
 Arrival of Guests : how they are to be Received — At a County Ball 
 — Before Dinner: ‘An Awful Pause’ — Washington Irving on 
 Genuine Hospitality — Visiting — Three Kinds, or Classes, of ‘ Calls ’ 
 — Visits of Ceremony — Letters of Introduction — Entering a Draw- 
 ing-room — Shaking Hands: a ‘Fine Art’ — The Wrong Ways of 
 Shaking Hands — Leigh Hunt and Hand-Shaking — Visits of Sym- 
 pathy-Calling on Married Couples — Calling on Families who have 
 sustained a Bereavement — General Calls— Etiquette for Host and 
 Guest — How to I.eave a Room — Introductions, how made, and 
 when — Some General Reflections — Provincial Society — A Grand 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 XI 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Party at Cranford, as described by Mrs. Gaskell — Various kinds of 
 Social Entertainments — Conversaziones, ‘At Homes,’ Receptions — 
 
 The Etiquette attaching to Conversaziones — Public Conversaziones — 
 
 Sir Walter Vivian’s, in ‘ The Princess ’ — Afternoon Parties : General 
 Remarks — ‘ Five o’Clock Teas ’ — ‘ Receptions ’ — How they may be 
 made Successful — A Panegyric on Tact — Private Musical Parties — 
 Private Theatricals — Amateur Theatricals in Literature — Miss 
 Austen in ‘ Mansfield Park ’ — Miss Edgeworth in ‘ Patronage ’ — 
 
 ‘ Zara ’ in the Drawing-room — Advice to Amateur Actors — About 
 Tableaux and Figure Scenes — A Tableau at Windsor Castle — Hints 
 on the Production of Tableaux — ‘The Sleeping Beauty’ as a Ta- 
 bleau’ — ‘ The Magic Mirror ’ — Subjects Suitable for Representation 
 — Acting Charades — How they should be got up — The Elizabethan 
 ‘ Masques ’ — ‘ Five o’Clock Teas’ again — Garden Parties — A Garden 
 Party in ‘Lothair’ — ‘Kettledrums’ — Picnics — Hints for a Cold 
 Collation — The Picturesque side of Picnics — End of the London 
 Season ; arranging Country Visits — Etiquette for Guests at Country 
 Houses ------- ^6 — 109 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF DINNERS. 
 
 ‘ Now good digestion wait on appetite. 
 
 And health on both.’ 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Importance of Dinner — Napoleon’s Estimate of it— -Political Oppor- 
 tunities — Royal Academy Dinner — Macaulay’s Account of it — 
 Macaulay’s own Dinners — Days of the First Empire — Baron Bunsen 
 at Windsor — Dining-room — Its Furniture and Appointments — Cheer- 
 fulness, Light, and Comfort — Decoration — Mrs. Gaskell — Flowers 
 and Crystal — Mrs. Loftie — Napkins — Archbishop Whately — Against 
 undue Display — Colonel Hanger’s Dinner to the Prince Regent — 
 Number of Guests — Mrs. Gaskell on Waiting and Mutual Assistance 
 — Its Disadvantages — Forms of Invitation and Reply — Selection of 
 Guests — Pendennis at a Dinner in Paternoster Row — Arrangement 
 of Guests — Particulars of Precedence — Reception of Guests — Places 
 at Table — Old-fashioned Carving — Role of the Hostess — The Menu, 
 or Bill of Fare — Proportion, not Excess — Elegance, not Ostentation 
 — Examples of Bills of Fare, according to number of Guests and 
 Seasons of the Year — Moderation in Wine — Wines and their Order 
 — Wine-drinking, Past and Present — Minute Vulgarisms — Punctu- 
 ality — Further Caveats against Vulgarity — Value of Observation — 
 Conversation at Dinner — Good Conversation demands Good Talking 
 and Good Listening — Dr. Johnson — Suppression and Delicacy in 
 Conversation — Cowper on ‘ Conversation ’ — Topics of Conversa- 
 tion — Lord Beaconsfield's ‘Lothair’ — ^Joining the Ladies — Mrs. 
 Haweis on the Dinner of To-day — Most Dinners are Failures — 
 Guests to be preferred to the Dinner - - - i lo — 1 50 
 
xii 
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 ‘ Y outh and Pleasure meet 
 To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.’ 
 
 Byron. 
 
 ‘ The music, and the banquet, and the wine — 
 
 The garlands, the rose odours, and the flowers — 
 
 The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments — 
 
 The white arms and the raven hair — the braids 
 And bracelets ; swan-like bosoms, and the necklace. 
 
 An India in itself, yet dazzling not 
 
 The eye like what it circled ; the thin robes. 
 
 Floating like light clouds ’twixt our gaze and heaven ; 
 
 The many-twinkling feet so small and sylph -like. . . . 
 
 All the delusion of the dizzy scene. 
 
 Its false and true enchantments . . . Art and Nature.’ 
 
 Ibid, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Bliss of the Ball — Its Drawbacks and Qualifications — Balls and Balls 
 — Luxury and Expense— Form of Invitation — Requisites and Ele- 
 ments of Success — Decorations — Flowers — Method of Lighting — The 
 Floor — Musical Instruments— Distribution of Dances — Ball Scene in 
 ‘ Daniel Deronda ’ — Ball-room Flirtations — Proposals — Engage- 
 ments — The Morning’s Repudiation — Mrs. Barrett Browning — The 
 Refreshment-room — The Supper-room — Its Provisions and Deco- 
 rations — Lines from Keats’s ‘ Eve of St. Agnes ’ — A Roman Supper 
 — Moderation in Dancing — To take Leave, or not to take Leave — 
 General Rules — Lord Byron - - - - 151 — 165 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF DRESS. 
 
 ‘ The glass 
 
 Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.’ 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 ‘ Costly the habit as thy purse can buy. 
 
 But not expressed in fancy ; rich, not gaudy. ’ 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Importance of Dress as a Social Agent — Its Use and Abuse contrasted 
 — A Man’s Dress an Index to his Character — Illustrations — How far 
 we may consult the Caprices of Fashion — Masculine Dress of the 
 present Day — Leigh Hunt’s Invective against ‘ Things as they were ’ 
 — The Philosophy of Dress conveyed in Twenty-two Axioms, amended 
 and adopted from ‘ Pelham ’ — Economy and Consideration in Dress 
 — Our Dress should be Suitable to our Means, Age, and Social 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Position — Richard Brathwait on the Becoming — The Etiquette of 
 Dress — Ladies’ Dress : a Mystery — Its various Changes — Mrs. Oli- 
 phant on the Ladies’ Dress of To-day — Principles by which it should 
 be Regulated — Ben Jonson’s Advice — The Grace of Simplicity — 
 Ruskin upon Dress — Robert Herrick upon Dress — On Plarmony of 
 Colouring — The Classification of Colours — Colours, and how they 
 should be Worn — Dress for Dinner Parties — Court Dress for I^adies 
 — Description of Dresses actually Worn in the present Season — At 
 Balls, Weddings, Races, State Concert, Garden Party — A Protest 
 against Exaggeration - . . . . i66 — 187 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE ART OF CONVERSATION. 
 
 ‘ The study of books is a languishing and feeble motion, that heats 
 not, whereas conference teaches and exercises at once. ... I love 
 stout expressions amongst brave men, and to have them speak as they 
 think.’— Thomas Fuller. 
 
 Quotation from William Melmoth — Advantages of Interchange 
 of Opinion — Dangers of Intellectual Isolation — Reciprocal Forma- 
 tion of Judgment — General Rules for the Use of Talkers — A 
 Caution against Compliments — Avoid Calumny, Exaggeration, Ill- 
 nature, Misrepresentation — An Anecdote of a Good Listener — Con- 
 versation in Modern Society — An Apology for Ball-room Small Talk 
 — The Art of Talking Platitudes well — Small Talk and very Small 
 Talk — Casting Pearls before Swine is Unprofitable — Hints for 
 Talkers in Miscellaneous Company — Frivolity and Vapidity of 
 Ordinary Conversation — Dean Swift upon Conversation — Talking 
 too Much — Talking of One’s Self — Repeating Old Jokes and Old 
 Stories — Interrupting Others and being Interrupted — The Witty 
 Element of Conversation and Small Talk — The Small Talker and 
 the Dinner Table — Very Small Talk — The Age of the Great Talkers 
 is Past — Luther, Scaliger, Perron, Menage — Lord Bacon as a Talker 
 — Lord Bacon on Conversation — Ben Jonson, Selden, Dr. Johnson 
 — Walpole, Chesterfield, and some other Great Talkers — Sydney 
 Smith and the Charm of his Conversation — A Warning against 
 ‘ Talking Shop ’ — Know when to be Silent — Hannay on the Talk of 
 To-day - - - . . . . 188—209 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE ETIQUETTE OF WEDDINGS. 
 
 ‘ Marriage is the mother of the world, and preserves kingdoms, and 
 fills cities, and churches, and heaven itself.’ — Bishop Jeremy Taylor. 
 
 Introductory Remarks — Marriages of Convenience — Tennyson’s 
 ‘ Locksley Hall ’ — Marriages of Affection — A Happy Pair — Advice 
 
XIV 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 to Young Men about to Marry {not PidicNs ) — A Warning against 
 ‘ Love ’ Marriages — And against Marrying without Love — Brathwait 
 on ‘Matching with your Equal’ — Advice to Women on the Choice 
 of a Husband — Sir Richard Steele on Married Life — ‘ Proposing ’ — 
 Hints to Bashful Young Men — Examples from the Novelists of Dif- 
 ferent Ways of Proposing — From ‘Lothair’ — From ‘ Middlemarch ’ 
 
 — From ‘Ernest Maltravers’ — From ‘Henrietta Temple’ — Quota- 
 tion from Sir Philip Sidney — Engaged — Behaviour of a Betrothed 
 Couple — The Etiquette of Delicacy — The Wedding-day — Bride and 
 Bridesmaids — Etiquette of Weddings — The Procession in the Church 
 — Spenser’s ‘ Epithalamium ’ — After the Service — The Wedding 
 Breakfast — Departure of the Newly-Married — Sir John Suckling’s 
 Ballad of a Wedding — Desirability of a Reform — Old Traditions and 
 Customs still Observed — The Honeymoon — The Bride’s Presents — 
 
 The Wedding Dress — Description of Dresses actually Worn by 
 Brides and Bridesmaids ----- 210 — 238 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 AT COURT. 
 
 » ‘ Seest thou a man diligent in his business? 
 
 He shall stand before kings.’ 
 
 Proverbs xxii. 29. 
 
 Presentations at Court — How they are to be Obtained — Rules by which 
 they are Governed — Regulations Observed at Levees and Drawing- 
 rooms — The Levee — Court Dress for Gentlemen — Arrival at St. 
 James’s — Scene in the State Apartments — Admission to the Presence 
 — A Striking Pageant — A Digression upon Beards — A Blaze of 
 Uniforms — Variety of Costumes — End of the Levee — Description 
 of a Levee — Privileges Enjoyed by Persons who have been 
 Presented — Drawing-rooms — Ceremony Observed on these Occasions 
 — Ladies’ Dress at a Drawing-room — Description of a Drawing- 
 room — Advice to Ladies attending Drawing-rooms — Drawing- 
 rooms at Dublin Castle — A Miniature Court and an Interesting 
 Spectacle — A State Ball at Dublin Castle - - - 239 — 257 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HINTS ABOUT TITLES. 
 
 ‘ The rank is but the guinea’s stamp, 
 
 The man’s the gowd for a’ that.’ 
 
 Rober.t Burns. 
 
 How to Address Persons of Title in Conversation — Titles by Virtue of 
 Inheritance and Titles of Courtesy — How to Address Persons of 
 Title by Letter — Forms of Superscription and Signature - 258 — 262 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 XV 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A HEALTHY LIFE. 
 
 ‘ Our bodies are our gardens, to whicli our wills are gardeners. ’ 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 ‘ Orandum est, ut sit mens sana in corpore sano.’ 
 
 Juvenal. 
 
 ‘ Crown’d 
 
 A happy life with a fair death.’ . 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 The Cultivation of the Body not less a Duty than Intellectual Cultivation 
 — Young Men and Young Women : Their Faults and Follies — A 
 Homily upon Cleanliness — Its Value is Admitted, but it is not suffi- 
 ciently carried out — Baths and Bathing — Hot, Tepid, and Cold 
 Baths — The Teeth — Tooth Powders and Tooth Washes — The Hair 
 — Brown, Black, and Blonde Flair — The Poets and the Tresses of 
 their Heroines — Spenser, Dryden, Byron, Tennyson — Cleansing and 
 Strengthening the Hair — Remarks upon Hair Dyes and Washes — 
 
 A Few Approved Recipes — The Breath and the Teeth — The Eyes — 
 
 On the Preservation of the Sight — White Hands — The Nails — 
 Belinda’s Toilet : A Thing to be Avoided — On the Care of One’s 
 Personal Appearance — The Feet — Exercise ; Its Therapeutic Effect 
 — Various Forms of Exercise — Walking the Best Form of Exercise — 
 Open-air Exercise : How to be Regulated — Other Forms of Exercise 
 Considered — Dancing — Riding — Etiquette of Riding — Hunting — 
 Three Classes of Exercise, and their Various Objects — The Abuse 
 of Exercise Reprehended — It must be kept within Reasonable 
 Limits — Mental Culture not to be Neglected — Combined Cultivation 
 of Mind and Body makes the True Gentleman — Character of a 
 Gentleman — The Close of Life — Funerals — Etiquette of Mourning 
 — Friends and their Expressions of Sympathy — Periods of 
 Mourning ------- 263 — 289 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 TWO CENTURIES OF MAXIMS UPON MANNERS. 
 
 ‘Manners {mores) or merit makythman.’ 
 
 William of Wykeham. 
 
 Introductions — Letters of Introduction — Introductions to Ladies — 
 Introductions at Dinners and at Morning Calls — Bowing and Hand- 
 shaking — Good Manners a Rare Gift — Their Popularity — Morning 
 Calls — Whom to Congratulate — Exclusiveness of Married Life — 
 Cards not to be Sent by Post — Precedence — Punctuality — Etiquette 
 of Dinners — Adaptability— Use of Knives, Forks, and Spoons — 
 Covers — Moderation in Wine — Grace — Proper Distribution of Wines 
 
XVI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 — Limitations of Smoking — Dressing Well — Hats, Boots, and. Gloves 
 — Harmony of Colours — Listening to Music — Singing — Forgetful- 
 ness of Self— Douglas Jerrold on Etiquette — Gentility a Mental 
 Quality — Stillingfleet on Politeness — How to Dance — Peace in the 
 Ballroom — Favourite Dances — Conduct in Intervals of Dancing — 
 Invitations to Balls — Reception of Guests — Royal Guests — Duty of 
 Dancing — Supper — Gratuities — State Balls — Ethics of Good Manners 
 ■ — Stiffness — Compliments — Proportion in Expenditure and in Gifts 
 — Wit — Good Temper — Ostentation — Attention to Fiancees and to 
 Brides — Cockades — Driving with Ladies — Friendships — Slang — 
 Silence is Golden — Calls — Correspondence — Monograms and Crests 
 — Chaperones and their Duties — Dispensing with Ceremony — Reality 
 — Favours — Conviction of Mistakes — Equality of Guests — Colonel 
 Llanger — Gossip — Secrets— Intrusion of Infirmities — Conversation — 
 Speaking of One’s Self and of Others — Discretion and Agreeableness 
 of Speech — Selection of Topics and Treatment — Self-respect — 
 Servility — Science of ‘Bowing’ — Rules of the Road — Entering a 
 Room — Arrogance — Self-consciousness - - - 290 — 312 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 ‘ He will command his children and his household.’ 
 
 ‘ She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the 
 bread of idleness. ’ 
 
 ‘Who then is a faithful and wise servant, whom his lord hath made 
 ruler over his household ?’ 
 
 The Happiness of a Household Dependent on the Relations between 
 Master and Servant — The Present Race of Servants Defended — 
 Servants are what their Masters make them — Servants in the Olden 
 Time no Better than their Successors — Duties of an Employer — 
 Good and Bad Masters — Necessity of Courtesy in Dealing with 
 Servants — The importance of setting a Good Example — Remarks on 
 Employers and Employed from a General Point of View — Functions 
 of Different Servants Glanced at — Each Servant should have his or 
 her Distinct Work — Sir Arthur Helps on the Art of Living with 
 Inferiors — Method Essential to a Well-ordered Household — 
 Punctuality — Anecdote of Beau Brummell — A Homily on Economy 
 — A Protest Against Keeping up Appearances — Social Ambition : 
 
 Its Good and Bad Side — Failures in Life, and their Causes — Need 
 of a Better Understanding between Classes — Why this Better 
 Understanding does not Exist — Superior and Inferior — Our Influence 
 on One Another — Want of Courtesy on the part of the ‘ Higher 
 Orders’ — Want of Self-respect on the part of the ‘Lower’ — Emerson’s 
 Fable, and its Application — Influence of a Well-ordered Household 
 on Society — Value of Etiquette as an Agent of Social Reform 313 — 325 
 
 Index 
 
 ■ 327— 334 
 
THE GLASS OF FASHION. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AT HOME, 
 
 ‘ A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest.’ 
 
 James Montgomery. 
 
 Social Etiquette — Influence of Good Manners — What is a Gentleman ? — 
 Definition of John Ford, the Dramatist — Thackeray’s ‘ Colonel New- 
 come ’ — Tennyson’s ‘ King Arthur ’ — What is a Lady ? — Definition by 
 George Chapman — The Subject further considered — Examples of 
 English Gentlewomen — Mary Evelyn — Higher Education of Women 
 and its Influence — Qualifications of a Lady — Wordsworth’s sister, 
 Dorothy — Coventry Patmore’s ‘ Angel in the House ’ — Lady Maynard 
 • — Described by Bishop Ken — A Noble Gentlewoman of the Seventeenth 
 Century — Etiquette and Culture— Housewifery and its Importance — A 
 Letter of Margaret, Duchess of Newcastle — Value of Method in a 
 Household — How to make Home happy — Richard Brathwait’s excellent 
 Advice — Home Happiness promoted by Courtesy — TheVirtue of Polite- 
 ness estimated— Its Potency— Spenser’s Sir Calidore, a mirror of courtesy 
 —Politeness in Trifles ; true Politeness no Trifle— Small endeavours and 
 their Effect- Politeness a Domestic Duty— Home Happiness promoted 
 by Recreation — In praise of Music — Bishop Beveridge — Music in the 
 Home Circle — Instrumental Music — The Piano recommended— Also 
 the Violin — A Protest against the Cornet — Ungraceful Players — Discre- 
 tion necessary in the Choice of Pieces to be'performed — The Piano as an 
 Instrument for Home use — Leigh Hunt’s Poetical Address to the Piano- 
 forte — Its Advantages touched upon — Singing as an Aid to Home 
 Happiness — Illustration from George Eliot’s ‘Daniel Deronda ’—Faults 
 committed by Amateur Singers — On the Necessity of Articulating dis- 
 tinctly — Shelley, ‘ To Constantia, Singing ’ — Etiquette applicable to 
 Music in the Drawing-room — Furniture and Home Decoration as a 
 branch of Home Culture — Good and Bad of the ‘ Art at Home ’ Move- 
 ment — Its Extravagances considered — Excess in the Use of Ornament 
 
 I 
 
2 
 
 ETIQUETTE TO BEGIN AT NOME. 
 
 reprehended — What to avoid — The Cant of ^stheticism — Home 
 Decoration mnst not override Home Comfort — The Drawing-room — 
 The Dining-room — The Bedrooms — Lady Barker’s Model Bedroom — 
 An Antique Bedchamber as described by Mrs. Cask ell — Horace Wal- 
 pole’s Description of a Georgian Dinner-party — Economy essential in 
 Home Decoration — Home Culture in the Country — A Love of Rural 
 Pleasures recommended — Rural Sights and Sounds — A Rural Picture 
 from William Browne’s ‘ Pastorals ’ — Sir Walter Raleigh in praise of 
 the Country — The Study of Nature as a source of Enjoyment— A Rural 
 Picture from William Howitt — The Study of Rural Customs recom- 
 mended — A Village Feast — The Statute Fair — Life among the English 
 Farmers — Market-day — The English Farmer in 1867 and now— A 
 Dinner in the Country — Pastimes popular in Rural Life — How far they 
 are affected by Rules of Etiquette — Gardening as a means of Recreation 
 and an Exercise — Various kinds of Gardens — Principles on which our 
 Gardens should be arranged — Corisande’s Garden and its Beauties — 
 A Garden Picture from Tennyson’s ‘Gardener’s Daughter’ — Miss Mit- 
 ford’s Garden — Described in a Letter to Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 PROPOSE to write a book upon social etiquette. I 
 do not know whether on this subject I shall be able 
 to say much that is startlingly new, for the main 
 principles of courtesy are only slightly variable ; but 
 it will be my aim to lay down only what is true and 
 permanent in principle, and to show its present application in 
 such details and instances as are accepted and observed in good 
 society, in whatever sphere of life the same may be found. Prac- 
 tices and observances change within the limits of principles, which 
 either do not alter at all, or alter very little ; it is the accidental 
 expression of the latter which is subject more or less to novelties 
 and reproductions. Especially is this the case in the fashions and 
 adaptations to which the art and practice of dress are liable ; 
 and it naturally follows that what I have to say about dress will 
 be at once the most novel and the most transitory. 
 
 I have observed that in most books upon etiquette, the writers 
 begin and end abroad, instead of beginning at home ; as if, some- 
 how or other, the sphere of home was not included within the 
 sphere of etiquette, and those wonderful laws of behaviour, those 
 codes of manners which they love to formulate, applied only to 
 our sayings and doings at our neighbour’s, and had no value or 
 applicability cAez notes. Now, it is my intention to start at 
 home, because I believe that the happiness of home may be 
 largely promoted by a nice attention to manners. And here 
 let me premise that etiquette, with me, will take a wide range, 
 and embrace much more than those particularities as to the 
 
' MANNERS DEFINED, 
 
 3 
 
 way in which we disport ourselves at table or in the ball-room, 
 in the salon or at the levee, to which it is usually confined. I 
 take it to mean our rule of conduct in all the minor morals of life. 
 What Burke says of manners conveys nearly my idea of social 
 etiquette : — ‘ Manners are of more importance than laws. Upon 
 these, in a great measure, the laws depend. The law teaches 
 us but here and there, now and then. Manners are what vex 
 or soothe, corrupt or purify, exalt or debase, barbarise or 
 refine us, by a constant, steady, uniform, insensible operation, 
 like that of the air we breathe in. They give their whole form 
 and colour to our lives. According to their quality, they aid 
 morals, they supply laws, or they totally destroy them.’ And 
 such being my estimate of etiquette or manners, it follows that 
 my notion of what constitutes the ‘ lady ’ or the ‘ gentleman ' is 
 not exactly the common one. I have met with ladies and 
 gentlemen in a very low rank of life indeed ; well-mannered 
 men and women, with a true instinct of refinement, with an 
 exquisite power of sensibility and sympathy, and a vivid appre- 
 ciation of the becoming — well-mannered men and women who 
 owed their ^ sweetness and light ’ to purity of heart and 
 amiableness of temper, their grace of motion and propriety of 
 demeanour to a natural faculty. I have met with persons 
 leading successfully a ‘gentle life' under conditions apparently 
 the most unfavourable. It will be as well for us to begin, then, 
 with a definition of ‘ lady ’ and ‘ gentleman ’ from the point of 
 view that will be taken in this book. 
 
 To formulate that definition in negatives would be easy. 
 As, for instance, we may say that a true gentleman does not 
 soil his conscience with falsehoods, does not waste his time 
 upon sensual indulgence, does not endeavour to make the 
 worse appear the better reason, does not ridicule sacred sub- 
 jects, does not wilfully give cause of offence to any, does not 
 seek to overreach his neighbour, does not forget the respect due 
 to womanhood or old age, the feeble or the poor. And so, too, 
 the true lady does not condescend to scandal or gossip, does 
 not profane her lips with ‘slang’ words, does not yield to 
 outbursts of temper, does not sacrifice modesty to fashion, does 
 not turn a deaf ear to the voice of distress. But to speak 
 affirmatively ; a gentleman is one whose aims are generous, 
 whose trust is constant, whose word is never broken, whose 
 honour is never stained, who is as brave as gentle, and as 
 
 1—2 
 
4 
 
 A TRUE GENTIEMART, 
 
 honest as wise, who wrongs no one by word or deed, and 
 devotes and embellishes life by nobility of thought, depth of 
 feeling, and grace of manner : Shakespeare’s Ferdinand, with 
 the air of Mercutio, the manliness of Edgar, the passion of 
 Romeo, and the constancy of Orlando. Says the elder Lord 
 Shaftesbury ‘ The taste of beauty, and the relish of what is 
 decent, just, and amiable, perfects the character of the gentle- 
 man.’ And of such an one we may say with John Ford : — 
 
 ‘ I read no difference between this huge, 
 
 This monstrous big word, lord, and gentleman, 
 
 More than their title sounds. For aught I know 
 The latter is as noble as the first, 
 
 I’m sure more ancient.’ 
 
 Thackeray has drawn a very admirable gentleman, except 
 that his simplicity is excessive, in his Colonel Newcome;* 
 Lord Lytton, in his Sir Sedley Beaudesert, though he has his 
 moral defects.t I prefer, however, Pisistratus Caxton himself, { 
 
 * ‘ “ By George, Tom Newcome,” said Baines, “ you’re just one of the 
 saints of the earth. If all men were like you there’d be an end of both our 
 trades ; there would be no fighting, and no soldiering, no rogues, and 
 no magistrates to watch them.” .... That kindness which lights up the 
 Colonel’s eyes, gives an expression to the very wrinkles round about them, 
 shines as a halo round his face, what artist can paint it ?’ — The Newcomes. 
 
 t ‘ If Sir Sedley Beaudesert had but been an egotist, he had been the 
 happiest of men. But, unfortunately for him, he was singularly amiable 
 and kind-hearted. He had the bonne digestion, but not the other requisite for 
 worldly felicity — the manvais coeur . . Indolent as he was, he had contrived 
 to open an extraordinary number of drains on his wealth. First, as a 
 landed proprietor, there was no end to applications from distressed farmers, 
 aged poor, benefit societies, and poachers he had thrown out of employment 
 by giving up his preserves to please his tenants. Next, as a man of pleasure, 
 the whole race of womankind had legitimate demands on him. From a 
 distressed duchess, whose picture lay perdu under a secret spring of his snuff- 
 box, to a decayed laundress, to whom he might have paid a compliment on 
 the perfect involutions of a frill. It was quite sufficient to be a daughter of 
 Eve to establish a just claim on Sir Sedley’s inheritance from Adam. Again, 
 as an amateur of art, and a respectful servant of every muse, all whom the 
 public had failed to patronise — painter, actor, poet, musician — turned, like 
 dying sunflowers to the sun, towards the pitying smile of Sir Sedley Beau- 
 desert. . . Sir Sedley never made debts, and he never gambled. . . He 
 had but to speak, to smile, in order to throw a whole cohort of dandies into 
 the shade. It was the expression of his countenance that was so bewitching ; 
 there was something so kindly in its easy candour, its benign good-nature.’ 
 — The Caxtons, 
 
 J The character of Pisistratus is developed, autobiographically, in ‘ The 
 Caxtons ’ with a good deal of skill, and the reader is attracted by his 
 prudence, honesty, manliness, independence, generosity, and love of truth. 
 
VARIOUS TYPES OF THE IDEAL GENTLEMAN. 
 
 who, in a very delicate conjuncture, acts ‘ like a gentleman/ 
 George Eliot has given us a gentleman siii generis in Felix 
 Holty'^ Lord Beaconsfield, in Ferdinand Armine.t The 
 reader, studying these various types, may be able out of them 
 to construct the ideal gentleman. Tennyson’s King Arthur 
 reaches, I think, ^the top of our ideal,’ though captious critics 
 pronounce him priggish, and I am free to confess I should like 
 him better if he had shown a little more temper towards that 
 ill-regulated queen of his, the frail Guenivere. But at least he 
 illustrates the poet’s own text, that 
 
 ‘ Manners are not idle, but the fruit 
 Of loyal nature, and of noble mind.’ 
 
 And this kingly knight, this knightly king, seems to me to set 
 forth the principal conditions of the type of a true gentleman, 
 when he requires of his knights — 
 
 ‘ To break the heathen and uphold the Christ, 
 
 To ride abroad, redressing human wrongs, 
 
 To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it. 
 
 To honour his own word as if his God’s, 
 
 To lead sweet lives in purest chastity. 
 
 To love one maiden only, cleave to her. 
 
 And worship her by years of noble deeds.’ 
 
 As for the true lady, she will be, of necessity, the counter- 
 part of the true gentleman : pure, refined, generous, sweet of 
 temper, gentle of speech, truthful to her heart’s core, shunning 
 the very shadow of evil, instant in well-doing, with the enthusiasm 
 of a Joan of Arc, the exquisite innocence of an Imogen, the 
 devotion of a Desdemona, the frank gaiety of a Rosalind, the 
 
 'Felix Holt, the Radical.’ 
 
 t ‘Young, lively, kind, accomplished, good-looking, and well-made, 
 Ferdinand Armine had in him all the elements of popularity. . . He was 
 not only popular, but proud of being popular. Fie was popular with the 
 governor, he was popular with his colonel, he was popular with his men, he 
 was popular throughout the garrison. Never was a person so popular as 
 Ferdinand Armine. He was the best rider among them, and the deadliest 
 shot ; and he soon became an oracle at the billiard-table, and a hero in the 
 racket-court. His refined education, however, fortunately preserved him 
 from the fate of many other lively youths : he did not degenerate into a 
 mere hero of sports and brawls, the genius of male revels, the arbiter of 
 roistering suppers, and the Comus of a club. His boyish feelings having had 
 their play ... he returned to his books, his music, and his pencil. He 
 became more quiet, but he was not less liked.’ — He7irietta Temple. 
 
6 
 
 A TRUE LADY. 
 
 boundless impassionateness of a St. Theresa. I find her 
 character fairly presented by the old poet, George Chapman : 
 
 ‘ Noble she is by birth.’ 
 
 This, however, is not an indispensable quality, and, as a 
 matter of fact, nobility of birth has long ceased to carry with it 
 as a natural corollary nobility of life — 
 
 ‘ Made good by virtue, 
 
 Exceeding fair, and her behaviour to it 
 Is like a singular musician 
 To a sweet instrument, or else as doctrine 
 Is to the soul, that puts it into act. 
 
 And prints it full of admirable forms. 
 
 Without which ’twere an empty, idle flame. 
 
 Her eminent judgment to dispose those parts 
 Sits on her brow, and holds a silver sceptre, 
 
 With which she keeps time to the several musics 
 Placed in the sacred concert of her beauties ; 
 
 Love’s complete armoury is managed in her 
 To stir affection, and the discipline 
 To check and to affright it from attempting 
 Any attaint might disproportion her, 
 
 Or make her graces less than circular ; 
 
 Yet even her carriage is as far from coyness 
 As from immodesty ; in j^lay, in dancing, 
 
 In suffering courtship, in requiting kindness. 
 
 In use of places, hours, and companies. 
 
 Free as the sun, and nothing more corrupted ; 
 
 As circumspect as Cynthia in her vows. 
 
 And constant as the centre to observe them ; 
 
 Truthful and bounteous, never fierce or dull ; 
 
 In all her courses ever at the full.’ 
 
 This I take to be the portrait of a true lady — a true 
 woman — such as a father would wish his daughter, such as a 
 lover believes his chosen maiden, to be. To such an one the 
 grace of fine manners would come naturally, as the necessary 
 outcome of all her admirable qualities of mind and heart. In 
 the home she adorned her presence would be as constant sun- 
 shine ; discord would flee before her ; her smile would subdue 
 the rebellious, her voice would persuade the obstinate, her 
 example would be to all an inspiration. It would be an em- 
 bodiment of courtesy, and her life would recommend it to 
 others. ^In her tongue,’ says Solomon, when speaking of a 
 perfect woman, ‘ is the law of kindness / and it would be not 
 only in her tongue, but in her heart. Of all such beauteous 
 creatures — thank God, they are not scarce in English homes ! — 
 
HER CHARACTERISTICS, 
 
 7 
 
 it may be said, as George Eliot says of her heroine Dorothea, 
 that the effect of their being on those around them is ‘incalculably 
 diffusive ; for the improvement of the world depends on acts of 
 which history takes no note ; and that things are not so ill 
 with us as they might have been is in no small degree owing to 
 the number of English ladies who, after living faithfully a noble 
 and devoted life, now sleep in unrecorded graves. Sympa- 
 thetic with their equals, gracefully deferential towards their 
 superiors, considerate and genial towards their inferiors, they 
 minister by a thousand words and deeds to the happiness of the 
 circles of which they are the centres, and all who know them 
 are, insensibly perhaps, the better for their lives. 
 
 ‘ A high-bred English lady,^ says Thackeray, ‘ is the most 
 complete of all Heaven’s subjects in this world. In whom else 
 do you see so much grace and so much virtue, so much faith 
 and so much tenderness, with such a perfect refinement and 
 chastity ?’ And by high-bred ladies, he adds, he does not mean 
 duchesses and countesses, who are not always or necessarily 
 ladies. Be they ever so high in station, however, they can be 
 no more. ‘ But almost every man,’ he says, ‘ who lives in the 
 world has the happiness, let us hope, of counting a few such 
 persons amongst his circle of acquaintances — women in whose 
 angelical natures there is something awful, as well as beautiful, 
 to contemplate ; at whose feet the wildest and fiercest of us 
 must fall down and humble ourselves in admiration of that 
 adorable purity which never seems to do or to think wrong.’ 
 It was said of a certain Lady Elizabeth Hastings, that to have 
 loved her was a liberal education ; just as of some other 
 women, devoted to purposes of religion and philanthropy, it 
 may be said that sympathetically to have known them is to 
 have received a Christian education. Such as these are true 
 women, true ladies, though differing in the nature of their in- 
 fluence and the sphere of their activity. Evelyn, the diarist, 
 and the author of ‘ Sylva,’ sketches in his daughter Mary a 
 gentlewoman of the purest, loftiest kind. The justness of her 
 stature, person, comeliness of countenance, and gracefulness of 
 motion, were theleastof her ornaments, compared with her mental 
 gifts. Of early piety, sincerely but not ostentatiously religious, 
 spending a portion of every day in private devotion, reading, 
 and religious exercises, she showed that a devout life is neither 
 an unhappy nor an ungraceful one. She had studied and 
 
THR HIGHER COURTESY. 
 
 mastered many works of history and geography. The French 
 tongue was as familiar to her as English ; she understood 
 Italian, and could render ^ laudable account ’ of what she had 
 observed, in which she was assisted by a faithful memory and 
 quick intelligence: Her knowledge of music was sound ; and 
 she sang with taste and refinement. No one could read verse or 
 prose better or with more judgment — a great accomplishment 
 in woman; and as she read so she wrote, not only with accu- 
 racy but with elegance. These intellectual gifts and graces 
 were as nothing, however, compared with the qualities that 
 adorned her soul. Most dutiful was she to her parents, most 
 loving to her sisters ; and she sweetened the home-life by the 
 cheerfulness and agreeableness of her humour. Condescending 
 to the meanest servant in the family, or others, she maintained 
 respect without the least pride. She would often read to them, 
 examine, instruct, and pray with them if they were sick, so as 
 she was exceedingly beloved of everybody. 
 
 It is impossible to regard without interest and satisfaction 
 the movement on behalf of the higher education of women that 
 has of late years attained to such very considerable proportions; 
 But while this movement will give us a race of educated 
 women, of cultured women not unfitted to contend with men in 
 the intellectual arena, we must not conclude that it will convert 
 them into ladies. As a rule, education brings with it a certain 
 refinement of taste, perhaps even a certain refinement of manner; 
 but to make up the higher courtesy something more is wanted 
 than taste and politeness. There must be good temper — not 
 the good temper arising from indifference or indolence, but that 
 which is due to a thoughtful observance of one's duties towards 
 one's fellows. There must be sympathy — sympathy which is the 
 golden chain that links hearts and souls together in a permanent 
 and intimate alliance. There must be generosity — a readiness 
 to make allowance for faults and foibles, and a willingness to 
 put the best construction on all that is said and done by those 
 with whom we are brought in contact. Good temper, sym- 
 pathy, generosity — these are the three pillars which support the 
 radiant fabric of a noble and elevated courtesy. But its crown 
 and capital must be purity — the highest, the most stainless 
 purity, like that of the snow fresh fallen on the mountain-top, 
 before even the wind has ruffled it, or the sunshine touched its 
 virginity — purity of thought and feeling, lighting up and con- 
 
THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE, 
 
 9 
 
 secrating the soul. So it was said by Coleridge of the poet 
 Wordsworth’s sister, Dorothy : — ‘ In every motion her innocent 
 soul outbeamed so brightly that who saw her would say, Guilt 
 was a thing impossible with her.” ’ And so Coventry Patmore 
 sings of his Angel in the House : — 
 
 ‘ In mind and manners how discreet, 
 
 How artless in her very art ; 
 
 How candid in discourse : how sweet 
 The concord of her lips and heart. 
 
 How simple, and how circumspect ; 
 
 How subtle, and how fancy-free ; 
 
 Though sacred to her love, how decked 
 With unexclusive courtesy.’ 
 
 Few of my readers, I suppose, will have met with Bishop 
 Ken’s funeral sermon on Lady Maynard. It contains, how- 
 ever, a very fine portrait of a genuine, noble, tender gentle- 
 woman, which may be studied with much advantage. So 
 dutiful was she as a child, that her mother was able to say that 
 in no one instance had she ever offended her. I fear that the 
 reverence once paid by children to their parents has disap- 
 peared with other customs and habits of the past we could 
 spare much better ; yet without that reverence no household 
 can be well-ordered, and no household that is not well-ordered 
 can be happy. For nine years of her life Lady Margaret was 
 exposed to the trials and temptations of Society, but they were 
 powerless against her ; she more than conquered the world — 
 she triumphed over it. While leading no ascetic or morose life, 
 she disdained all merely frivolous amusements ; and no empty 
 pomps could occupy that serene soul, whose satisfaction was 
 found in the service of God, and whose recreation it was to do 
 good and to seek the happiness of others. ‘We are to seek for 
 comfort and joy,’ she would say, ‘from God’s ordinances, and 
 not to take the usual course of the world, to drive away melan- 
 choly by exposing ourselves to temptation.’ 
 
 At peace with God, with her own conscience, with all the 
 world, she was so little given to talk about herself, and was so 
 careful to conceal the activity of her benevolence, that it did 
 not appear at first sight. Yet, after a time, her virtues would 
 break out, whether she would or no. Like Moses, her face shone, 
 and she knew not of it. 
 
 Her countenance was always placid rather than cheerful. 
 Her conversation was even and serious, yet easy and affable. 
 
LAi))^ MARGARET MAYNARD. 
 
 to 
 
 Her interpretations of what others said and did were always 
 conceived in a candid and charitable spirit. Out of humour 
 she could not be ; and she remembered the Scriptural injunc- 
 tion, ‘ Be angry and sin not.’ She was never heard to give an 
 ill character, to pass a hard censure, to speak an idle word* 
 For small talk she had as little liking as for scandal; she 
 ‘ opened her mouth in wisdom, and in her tongue was the law of 
 kindness.’ Her reproofs were grave and just, but tempered with 
 mildness. To the afflicted she administered consolation from 
 her own manifold experience of the Divine goodness ; for she 
 behaved with so condoling a tenderness, that she seemed to 
 take the burden of their anguish upon herself. 
 
 For all in misery her sympathy was prompt. Besides her 
 private alms, which were so bestowed that her left hand knew 
 not what her right hand gave, she was a ‘ common patroness’ to 
 the poor and needy, and a common physician to her sick 
 neighbours. Often would she with her own hands dress their most 
 loathsome sores, and sometimes keep them in her family, where 
 she gave them both diet and lodging till they were cured. She 
 would then clothe them, and send them home to give God 
 thanks for their recovery. If they died, her charity accom- 
 panied them sometimes to the very grave, and she took care 
 even of their burial. 
 
 In her family she united Martha and Mary together. While 
 assiduously attentive to her domestic duties, she did not neglect 
 ^ the better part.’ The business of every day she managed with 
 a wise frugality, with a constant deference to God’s merciful 
 providence, and with entire freedom from either covetous fears 
 or restless anxiety. She lovingly endeavoured to make all who 
 attended her more God’s servants than her own, and treated 
 them with meekness, indulgence, and condescension, like one who 
 was always mindful that she too had a Master in heaven. Her 
 frequent employment in such hours as she could properly spare 
 to herself was prayer and praise. She had devotions suited to 
 all the primitive hours of prayer, for which she had transcribed 
 many excellent forms out of several authors. With David (and 
 like Bishop Andrewes) she praised God seven times a day, or 
 supplied the want of these solemn hours by a kind of perpetuity 
 of ejaculations, which she had ready to answer all occasions, 
 and to fill up all vacant intervals. And if she chanced to be 
 wakeful in the night, she was never unprovided with proper 
 
THE IDEAL OE A TRUE LADY, n 
 
 prayers. ‘Thus did this gracious soul, having been enkindled 
 by fire from heaven in her baptism, live a continual sacrifice, 
 and kept the fire always burning, always in ascension, always 
 aspiring towards heaven, from whence it fell.’ 
 
 To prayer she added meditation and study of the Holy 
 Scriptures and of other serious and devout books, in which she 
 spent most of her time. Her religion was not grounded on the 
 indifference of an unceasing faith, or imbibed from education 
 only, but proceeded from intelligent conviction, after careful 
 study dire'cted by God’s Holy Spirit, whose guidance she daily 
 invoked. Her choice was made — it rested immovable as a 
 rock ; and so well satisfied was she in the Catholic Faith as 
 professed and set forth by the Church of England, that to the 
 strictness of a primitive saint she joined, we may believe, the 
 resolution of a martyr. In an age when the generality of the 
 nation were like children, tossed to and fro with every wind of 
 doctrine, she clung steadfastly to the Communion of the Church 
 of England. When the priests and services of God were driven 
 into corners, she daily resorted, in spite of every difficulty, to 
 the public prayers. Nor did her zeal, stimulated by opposition 
 into energy, grow faint and languid in the hour of prosperity. 
 Morning and evening she offered up to God the public offices, 
 and when she was not able to go to the House of Prayer she 
 had them read to her in her chamber. Her devotions were 
 enlarged on the fasts and festivals of the Church, but especially 
 on the Lord’s Day, the hours of which she divided between the 
 church and her closet. She never failed, when opportunity 
 offered, to approach the Holy Altar. 
 
 When she returned home, she called to mind and wrote 
 down from memory abstracts of the sermons she heard in 
 church, that she might be not only a hearer of the Word, but a 
 doer also. 
 
 To her husband she was the immediate gift of God, sent by 
 propitious heaven, for a good angel, as well as for a wife. As 
 a mother, she evinced an unspeakable tenderness and loving 
 thoughtfulness towards her children. The servants respected 
 her, and her friends loved her. 
 
 Such was Lady Maynard, a woman of the seventeeth cen- 
 tury. I set her at full length before my readers, not because 
 any one of them will fulfil their duties in exactly the same 
 manner, or act upon the same views of life ; but because I am 
 
12 
 
 AJV INDIFFERENT HOUSEWIFE, 
 
 persuaded that the nearer they approach to her example, the 
 nearer will they approach to the ideal of a true lady. I offer it 
 as a contrast, moreover, to the example of too many women of 
 the present day in the higher social circles, who seem to regard 
 life as made up of levities, and whose chief cares seem to be 
 the out-vying one another in a luxuriousness of dress, which 
 often touches on the very verge of indecorum, the exhibition of 
 themselves in a strange variety of photographic representations, 
 and the feverish pursuit of the lower and meaner kinds of 
 pleasure. 
 
 Women of fashion pay more heed to the requirements of 
 etiquette than the conditions of culture ; but the true gentle- 
 woman will neglect neither. And while studying the art of 
 good breeding, and cultivating her mind and taste with 
 assiduity, she will not be unobservant of the responsibilities of 
 the household-manager. She will know how completely the 
 happiness of home depends on her orderliness, her method, 
 her punctuality, her preservation of a firm but gentle rule. 
 The lady will not forget that she should also be the housewife. 
 The famous Duchess of Newcastle, who w^as so conspicuous a 
 figure among the ladies of the Court of the Restoration, who 
 wrote ‘ The World's Olio ' and ‘ Philosophic Fancies,^ flirted 
 with men of science, and disported herself in all the bravery and 
 pageantry of rank and wealth, but ‘ understood the keeping of 
 sheep and ordering of a grange indifferently well,' has left on 
 record a lively sketch of what she conceived to have been her 
 educational deficiencies. ‘ My thoughts,' she writes, ‘although 
 not my actions, have been so busily employed about house- 
 wifery these three or four days, as I could think of nothing 
 else.' Having heard her neighbours say that her waiting-maids 
 were spoiled with idleness, she resolved to set them an example 
 of industry, and personally superintend their work. Therefore, 
 she writes : — ‘ I sent for the governess of my house, and bid her 
 give orders to have flax and wheels bought, for I wish my maids 
 would sit and spin. 
 
 ‘ The governess, hearing me say so, smiled to think what 
 uneven threads I would spin. “For," said she, “though 
 nature has made you a spinster in poetry, yet education has 
 not made you a spinster in housewifery, and you will spoil more 
 flax than get cloth for your spinning." 
 
 ‘ Then I bid her leave me to consider of some other work 
 
METHOD IN HOUSEHOLD WORK. 
 
 13 
 
 and, when I was by myself alone, I called into my mind 
 several sorts of wrought works, most of which, though I had 
 will, yet I had no skill to work ; for which I did inwardly com- 
 plain of my education, that my mother did not force me to 
 work with a needle. At last I pitched upon making silk 
 flowers, for I did remember when I was a girl I saw my sisters 
 make silk flowers, and I had made some, although ill-favouredly ; 
 whereupon I sent for the governess of my house again, and 
 told her that I would have her buy several coloured silks, for I 
 was resolved to employ my time in making silk flowers. She 
 told me she would obey my commands, but, said she, 
 
 Madam, neither you, nor any that serves you, can do them 
 so well as those who make it their trade ; neither can you make 
 them so cheap as they will sell them out of their shops, where- 
 fore you had better buy these toys, if you desire them.’^ 
 
 ‘ Then I told her I would preserve, for it was summer-time, 
 and the fruit fresh and ripe upon the trees. She asked me for 
 whom I would preserve, for I seldom did eat sweetmeats my- 
 self, nor made banquets for strangers, unless I meant to feed 
 my household servants with them. ‘‘ Besides,’’ said she, you 
 may keep half a score of servants with the money that is laid 
 out in sugar and coals, which go to the preserving only of a few 
 sweetmeats.” ’ 
 
 The duchess’s little narrative may be accepted as a warning 
 against the folly of undertaking work that is specially a servant’s, 
 or work that is superfluous and expensive ; but it remains a fact 
 that to the comfort of home the direct and constant supervision 
 of the mistress is essential. And it is part of a lady’s duty to 
 give that supervision. 
 
 Method is the oil that makes the wheels of the domestic 
 machine run easily. The master and mistress of a house who 
 desire order, and the tranquillity that comes of order, must 
 insist on the application of method to every branch and depart- 
 ment of the household work. To be well done, a thing must 
 be done at the proper time and in the proper way. There must 
 be a time and a place for everything; and everything must be 
 in its proper time and place. Nothing is more fatal to home- 
 comfort than the habit of dawdling, of lingering over a little 
 task in a desultory and indolent spirit, of going from one bit 
 of work to another, and finishing neither. Example is better 
 than precept; and if the rulers of the household display a 
 
14 TRIVIAL WORRITS AND HOW TO TREAT THEM, 
 
 vigorously active spirit, all who serve under them will be 
 animated by it. 
 
 So much of our lives is spent at home that everybody is 
 interested in making and keeping home happy. Among the 
 indispensable elements of this happiness will be found not only 
 good temper, and method, and industry, but a disposition to 
 temperate enjoyment. Some persons ensure their own misery 
 and the misery of others by the inordinate prominence they 
 give to trivial worries — the fly in the ointment, the flaw in the 
 sheet of glass — magnifying them until they assume a bulk 
 which seems to shut out everything else from their gaze. So 
 irritable and apprehensive is their temperament, and so great is 
 their want of self-control, that the smallest crosses affect them 
 profoundly ; their sensitive skin feels a pin-prick as keenly as 
 if it were a spear- thrust. Persons thus constituted inflict upon 
 themselves an almost incalculable amount of misery ; misery 
 not ^the less real because it is not justified by any actual con- 
 dition of things, but originates in supersensitiveness and 
 timidity, or in vanity and overweening self-conscicusness. I 
 have known a man worried all day by a crease in his coat, and 
 a woman by the discovery that her cook had followers. 
 Heaven help the poor wretches who thus clothe themselves in 
 hair-shirts of their own making, and persist in travelling about 
 with the peas in their shoes unboiled ! Why not treat these 
 petty vexations with cool indifference, so that they may cease 
 to have the power to annoy you ? Why devote yourselves to 
 lamentations, doleful as those of Jeremiah, and microscopic 
 annoyances which it is easy to keep under-foot? Put your heel 
 upon them, and have done with them, but do not lift your heel 
 until they no longer have the power to wound you. Is it a 
 bluebottle that buzzes in your ear ? Brush it aside, my friend, 
 and don’t fret yourself into a belief that you are haunted by 
 some winged monster ! 
 
 Excellent is the advice given by Richard Brathwait to ladies 
 who have to lead their households by their example, and 
 govern them by their wise words : — ^ Let not an action proceed 
 from you,’ he says, ‘ which is not exemplary good. Those that 
 are followers of your persons, will be followers likewise of your 
 lives. You may wean them from vice, win them to virtue, and 
 make them your constant followers in the serious practice of 
 piety. Let your virtues clothe them within, as their veils do 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF FINE MANNERS. 15 
 
 without. They deserve not their wage who desist from imitating 
 you in actions of worth. Your private family is a familiar 
 nursery; plants of all sorts are there bestowed. Cheer and 
 cherish those that be tender ; but curb and correct those of 
 wilder temper. Free and fruitful scions cannot be improved 
 till the luxurious branches be pruned. But above all things 
 take especial care that those vices spread not in you, which are 
 censured by you. You are sovereignesses in your families ; 
 neither extend your hand too much to rigour, neither contract 
 it by showing too much remissness. Let neither virtue pass 
 unrewarded, nor vice, if it grow domineering, pass un- 
 reproved.' 
 
 At home, as abroad, what we should specially cultivate is — 
 manners. An accomplished person is, unquestionably, a 
 social boon ; we are all indebted to, and learn to take an inte- 
 rest in, a person who plays well, sings well, draws well, or 
 dances well : who thus contributes to everybody’s enjoyment. 
 But a fine-mannered person is even of greater benefit to the 
 domestic or the social circle. His influence makes the wheels 
 of the machine move so much more easily ; we are uncon- 
 sciously affected by his example, and learn from him (or her) 
 to speak more gently, to behave to one another with greater 
 forbearance, to evince a greater readiness to oblige one another. 
 Our comfort in life depends very much upon trifles. We can’t 
 sleep well if the feathers in our pillow are collected in little 
 heaps. The gravy is spoiled if a cinder fall into it. A smoky 
 chimney will disorganise a household for the week. Now, the 
 philosophy of fine manners is based on attention to trifles, 
 such trifles as manuals of etiquette set forth with so much 
 elaboration ; and hence its importance to the general well- 
 being. If George slam the door as he leaves the room, or 
 Kate give a pettish answer to Florence’s question, the family 
 peace may be disturbed for the rest of the day. It is an unfor- 
 tunate fact that many of us put off our manners as we put off 
 our boots, on the threshold of home, and seem to imagine that 
 politeness is not for ‘consumption on the premises.’ You 
 may hear a brother reply to his sister in a tone which if used 
 towards Neaera, would ensure his speedy dismissal, and a sister 
 often snaps and snarls at her brother with an acerbity which 
 she would shrink from betraying in conversation with a stranger. 
 But courtesy is not like a dress-suit, to be worn only on 
 
1 6 DEFINITION OF TRUE POLITENESS. 
 
 ^company occasions.’ It ought to be the motive principle of 
 all our conduct, ought to enter into every part of our daily life. 
 It should be as natural to us as our speech or sight. For 
 though it is greatly concerned with trifles, it is upon no trifle 
 that it takes its stand ; the law that supports, and cherishes, 
 and controls it was laid down by a Divine law-giver : ‘ Do unto 
 others as you would that others should do unto you.’ This is 
 the whole secret of good manners. In these few words is 
 comprehended the whole code of courtesy. Put everybody 
 upon the same level as yourself, and put yourself into every- 
 body’s place. Neither lightly give nor take offence. Let your 
 word bind you as surely as your oath. Say not a word 
 more or less than that which you conceive to be the truth. 
 Apply these main considerations to the daily affairs of life, and 
 you will be justly reputed for your fine manners. ‘ Good 
 manners,’ says Swift, is the art of making those people easy 
 with whom we converse.’ I go farther, and say that good 
 manners is the art of making happy those people whom we 
 live with. The great Lord Chatham defines politeness as 
 benevolence in trifles, or the preference of others to ourselves 
 in little daily, hourly occurrences in the commerce of life, and 
 this seems to me the better definition. He continues : ‘ A better 
 place, a more commodious seat, priority in being helped at 
 table, and the like, what is it but sacrificing ourselves in such 
 trifles to the convenience and pleasure of others ?’ And this 
 -constitutes true politeness. It is a perpetual attention — by 
 habit it grows easy and natural to us — to the little wants of 
 those we are with, by which we either prevent or satisfy them. 
 Bowing, ceremonious formal compliments, stiff civilities, will 
 never be politeness ; that must be easy, natural, unstudied, 
 manly, noble. And what will give this but a mind benevolent 
 and perpetually attentive to exert the amiable disposition in 
 trifles towards all you converse and live with ? Benevolence 
 in greater matters takes a higher name, and is the germ of 
 virtues. It is possible to teach the laws of etiquette, because 
 these are very conventional ; but the laws of politeness cannot 
 be taught, they spring from the heart. Fine manners, in their 
 highest manifestation, are the expression of a generous temper, 
 a refined taste, and a cultivated mind ; they are part and 
 parcel of the individual ; not that manners make the man, 
 but that the man makes the manners. Therefore, what 
 
MANNERS AW RE IMPORTANT THAN LAWS. 
 
 
 a man is in the home circle he will be in society. If he be 
 cheeiful, impetuous, egotistic, selfish at home, so will he be 
 abroad, though he may deceive for a time a careless observer 
 by assuming the varnish of conventionality. 
 
 From this point of view politeness becomes a virtue and a 
 brilliant one, for it is nothing less than a form of self-denial. 
 You make way for this person, you fall behind that, you give 
 up your seat to a third, because it will please those persons ; 
 therefore you consult their pleasure rather than your own. 
 Carry this motive into all your daily conduct, and see how it 
 will be elevated and transfigured ! The noblest charity, the 
 loftiest self-denial, the truest generosity, these, we see, centre 
 in and are bound up with good manners. It was because he 
 regarded them in this light that Burke declared them to be 
 of more importance than laws. ‘ Upon them,’ I repeat his 
 dictum, ‘ in a great measure, the laws depend. The law 
 touches us but here and there, now and then. Manners are 
 what vex cr soothe, corrupt or purify, exalt or debase, barbarise 
 or refine us, by a constant, steady, uniform, insensible opera- 
 tion, like that of the air we breathe in. They give their whole 
 force and colour to our lives. According to their quality they 
 aid morals, they supply them, or they totally destroy them.’ 
 
 It is for this reason that we are all of us so intimately in- 
 terested in the existence of good manners. In no small degree 
 our happiness, or, at least, the ease and tranquillity of our lives, 
 depends upon them. I have already intimated my opinion of 
 the extent to which they influence the domestic life, and I 
 suppose that most of my readers have had personal experience 
 of their genial power. The members of a family circle will 
 have fallen upon some topic which originates opposite opinions; 
 they differ, and express their difference in animated language ; 
 the language grows hotter and stronger as the dispute is pro- 
 longed ; frowns daiken every brow, and every eye flashes with 
 an unloving light ; retorts are exchanged and biting sarcasms — • 
 the rupture is complete. But, suddenly, in upon the stormy 
 scene comes a new presence : it is that of a brother or sister, 
 father or mother, imbued with the true spirit of Christian cour- 
 tesy. In a few minutes all is changed. A judicious word or two, 
 a kindly smile, the influence of a calm and equable manner, 
 have set the disputants at peace with one another, although they 
 are probably ignorant of the magic that has wrought the altera- 
 
 2 
 
tS MANNERS COMPATIBLE WITH MANLINESS, 
 
 tion. And so, too, at a so-called friendly gathering, you see every- 
 thing going wrong : the guests separated one from another by 
 a constantly-increasing barrier of reserve, and a general air of 
 gloom settling down upon the whole, when, all at once, a 
 person enters who seems gifted with a spell like that of the old 
 magicians, before which the evil spirits vanish, the gloom dis- 
 appears, the ice thaws, the partition-walls of conventionalism 
 are overthrown, and everybody settles down to the enjoyment of 
 a pleasant evening ! 
 
 Wonderful power of manners ! I should be inclined to 
 ascribe to them as great a potency as beauty possesses. No 
 doubt they go far to supply the want of beauty, and constitute 
 the secret of that fascination which we so often see exerted by 
 persons who cannot claim to be beautiful. Spenser is surely 
 right when he explains the attraction exercised by Sir Calidore 
 in the court of the ‘ Faerie Queene,’ as centring in this all- 
 powerful grace. Amongst all the knights of the Fairy Court, 
 he says, none was more courteous than Calidore, and he was 
 beloved of all. In him it seemed that — 
 
 ‘ Gentleness of spright 
 And manners mild were planted natural ; 
 
 To which he added comely guise wiihal, 
 
 gracious speech did steal ineii's hearts away : 
 
 Nathlesse thereto he was full stout and tall. 
 
 And well-approved in battailous affray. 
 
 That him did much renown, and for his fame display.’ 
 
 The poet here indicates that the most exquisite courtesy is 
 not incompatible with manliness of spirit and the highest 
 physical courage. Effeminacy is not politeness, and, in truth, 
 the feeble can never attain to the perfection of fine manners. 
 
 ‘Ne was there knight, ne was there lady found. 
 
 In Fairy Court, but him did dear embrace 
 For his fair tcsage and conditions sound. 
 
 The which in all men’s liking gained place. 
 
 And with the greatest purchast greatest grace, 
 
 Which he could wisely use and well apply, 
 
 To please the best and th’ evil to embase ; 
 
 For he loathed leasing and base flattery. 
 
 And loved simple truth and steadfast honesty.’ 
 
 I must touch, however, upon some of the minor observances 
 by which the vulgar judge of a man’s courtesy. ‘Nothing,’ 
 says a shrewd man of the world, ‘ nothing more clearly in- 
 
ERRORS OF CONDUCT, 
 
 19 
 
 dicates the true gentleman than a desire evinced to oblige or 
 accommodate,, whenever it is possible or reaso?iablc ; it proves 
 the broad distinction between the well-bred man of the world, 
 and the coarse and brutal crowd — the irreclaimably vulgar — 
 vulgar, not from their inferiority of station, but because they are 
 coarse and brutal. Nevertheless, we often find persons so 
 selfish and supercilious, and of so equivocal an importance, 
 that they fancy any compliance with the wishes of the many 
 would tend to lessen their dignity in the eyes of their com- 
 panions, and who foolishly imagine that a good coat places 
 them above the necessity of conciliating the feelings of the 
 multitude by the performance of an act of courtesy. It is 
 evident there cannot be a greater mistake, since even the 
 lower classes (whatever their own practices may be) kindly 
 appreciate, and gratefully acknowledge, the slightest considera- 
 tion shown to them by their superiors. That persons should 
 be found weak enough to believe themselves above courtesy is 
 lamentable, as such silliness can only expose them to the 
 ridicule of their equals, and the contempt of their superiors.’ 
 
 True politeness requires that the young shall respect the 
 old, the strong the feeble, and man woman. He who in a 
 public place of entertainment or a public conveyance seats 
 himself while a lady is standing, receives at once the emphatic 
 reproach of being ‘no gentleman.’ The man who, at a rail- 
 way station, let us say, or wherever else men and women may 
 be congregated, takes his stand in front of the fire, with his 
 coat-tails expanded so as to concentrate all the warmth, is — 
 ‘no gentleman.’ He who, while conversing with a lady, con- 
 tinues to puff away at cigar or pipe, so that the smoke is carried 
 into the delicate nostrils, is — ‘no gentleman.’ He who, when 
 people are taking their tickets, pushes headlong through them — 
 past half-a-dozen ladies, or men far advanced in years, is — ‘ no 
 gentleman.’ Nor, again, is he a gentleman who, presuming on 
 his large house in Westbournia and the big balance at his 
 banker’s, stalks to and fro, with nose in the air, as if all the 
 world were far beneath him, and loses no opportunity of pro- 
 claiming his wealth and his servile devotion to it. 
 
 It is the duty of every member of a family, I repeat, to do 
 all he can to promote the happiness of the other members. It 
 is necessary, therefore, to bear and forbear ; to make mutual 
 concessions ; to keep down selfishness ; to cultivate a love of 
 
 2 — 2 
 
20 COURTESY A MATTER OF HOUSEHOLD CONCERN, 
 
 justice and honour ; to get rid of our petty likes and dislikes ; 
 to conquer and control our temper. Much may be done by a 
 nice attention to the requirements of etiquette ; by an ob- 
 servance of those laws which govern the decencies and pro- 
 prieties of life. There is no reason why a husband should not 
 treat' his wife with exquisite politeness ; why a wife should not 
 remember that her husband has a claim to be treated like a 
 gentleman ; why the finest manners should not be observed by 
 brothers and sisters. This mutual courtesy, inspired by mutual 
 love, would purify the atmosphere of home, and invest with a 
 new dignity our domestic relations. Let us make etiquette a 
 matter of household concern ; seeing it touches us as nearly as 
 the price per pound of soap, salt, or sugar. Why are we to 
 throw off our politeness, like a cloak, when we cross our own 
 threshold ? Why should not our mother or sisters claim from 
 us those graceful observances which we make it a point of 
 honour to vouchsafe to strangers ? The man who stands with 
 his hat on in the presence of his mother and sister, manifests 
 thereby such a want of apprehension of the requirements of 
 filial and fraternal reverence and affection — of the rudiments of 
 true domestic loyalty — as, if circumstances do not combine to 
 correct him, will in the long-run render him fit for treason, 
 stratagems, and spoils ; he sets at nought feelings and prin- 
 ciples which would interpose one of the most important 
 barriers between himself and crime. It would not be sur- 
 prising if such a man were to finish his career in the dock or the 
 hulks 1 he lacks the true nobility and elevation of sentiment, 
 without which he will not, and he cannot, come to good. 
 
 The happiness of home will be promoted by a due attention 
 to recreation. The heads of a family should see that its younger 
 members are provided with wholesome amusements ; and the 
 cultivation of music or drawing, the reading aloud of good 
 books, the introduction of a dance or a round game, will help 
 wonderfully to facilitate the smooth passage of the hours. Man 
 cannot live by bread alone ; his mind must be cheered, his heart 
 lightened by the supply of refining pastimes. Duke est desipere 
 in loco ; that is, in the bosom of one’s family, for nowhere else 
 will enjoyment be purer or more genuine. The gloom which 
 lies about some households is distressing : the father never 
 smoothes the furrows of his brow, the mother’s countenance 
 never loses its shadow, the daughter’s lips never brighten into 
 
IN PRAISE OF MUSIC, 
 
 21 
 
 a smile, the son’s voice never breaks out into hearty laughter. 
 They keep their weariness and sadness for home consumption. 
 
 I am willing to subscribe to whatever anyone may say in 
 praise of music. It is one of God’s greatest gifts for making 
 men happy. It is the only form in which we can express those 
 thoughts and feelings which are too noble to be embodied in 
 words, even in the words of the poets. It is the revelation of 
 the inner harmonies of our spiritual nature. Carlyle calls it a 
 kind of inarticulate, unfathomable speech, which leads us to 
 the edge of the Infinite, and lets us for moments gaze into 
 that ; but I ask any true lover of music whether it is, indeed, 
 inarticulate? Unfathomable it may be, in the sense that we 
 have not yet dived into all its meanings. Thinking thus of 
 music, I am glad that the cultivation of it enters into the 
 ordinary curriculum of modern education. It is a great social 
 instrument — to look at it in no higher light — and in the home- 
 circle its influence purifies, elevates, and strengthens. There 
 will be no want, I think, of affection or confidence in the 
 family where the young men and maidens help to make home 
 happy in the evenings by their combined performances, their 
 skilful blending of voices and instruments. A twofold harmony 
 is created ; a harmony outward and inward ; a moral harmony 
 as well as a harmony of sounds. Did you ever reflect what a 
 void would be left in the world if music, or the art of it, could 
 be forgotten ? What would become of our pageants, our proces- 
 sions, our public welcomes of kings and statesmen ? What would 
 become of the pomp of royalty ? How the martial array would 
 suffer when not inspired by the strain, and attuned to the measure, 
 of ‘ flutes and recorders ’! Where would be the awe and majesty, 
 or the exultation and tenderness, of our religious services ? All 
 the charms of truth and pleasure would lose their joyaunce ! 
 Love would be denied its choicest vehicle of expression ; mirth 
 would be limited to laughter, which has but a poor faculty of 
 significance. To lose the sublime swell and roll of the organ, 
 which always seems to me to carry with it the mystery of the 
 sea ; to lose the ringing notes of the clarion ; to lose the won- 
 derful compass of the violin ; to lose the blare of the trumpet 
 and the liquid melody of the flute — ah me ! who can estimate 
 the full extent of such a loss ? The world without music would 
 be a voiceless desert ; life without music would be wanting in 
 its purest inspiration. 
 
22 
 
 MUSIC AT HOME, 
 
 But I am wandering from my object, which is to proclaim 
 the value of music as an accomplishment. Everybody with an 
 ear should learn an instrument ; everybody with a voice should 
 learn to sing; and this not so much for the entertainment of 
 others as for his own personal advantage. ‘ That which I 
 have found the best recreation both to my mind and body,’ says 
 Bishop Beveridge, ‘ whensoever either of them stands in need 
 of it, is music, which exercises at once both my body and soul ; 
 especially when I play myself, for then, methinks, the same 
 motion that my hand makes upon the instrument, the instru- 
 ment makes upon my heart. It calls in my spirits, composes 
 my thoughts, delights my ear, recreates my mind, and so not 
 only fits me for after-business, but fills my heart, at the present, 
 with pure and useful thoughts ; so that when the music sounds 
 the sweetliest in my ears, truth commonly flows the clearest into 
 my mind. And hence it is that I find my soul is become more 
 harmonious by being accustomed to so much harmony, and so 
 averse to all manners of discord, that the least jarring sounds, 
 either in notes or words, seem very harsh and unpleasant to 
 me.’ To pause in the day’s occupations, and play a sonata of 
 Beethoven, or one of Mendelssohn’s lieder^ or a bit of Mozart or 
 Bach, or to sing some manly English ballad, or some tender air 
 of Bellini or Gounod, or take part in a good glee, is to the mind 
 like a bath to the tired body — it refreshes and invigorates. The 
 nervous system is happily composed ; the imagination gains a 
 fresh activity ; the judgment grows clearer ; we put on the 
 new man. 
 
 There is ample choice of instruments. For men, if they 
 have the requisite musical faculty, I know of none more fit 
 than the violin, but it is not to be mastered except by the most 
 resolute perseverance. Certain sins, it is said, can be con- 
 quered only by fasting and prayer — the same may be said of 
 the violin. Giardini, I think, asserted that to become a 
 good violinist you must play twelve hours a day for twenty 
 years ; but you may well be content with a shorter probation 
 and a less complete absorption of your time. Two hours a day 
 of good, steadfast, intelligent practice will, in three or four 
 years, enable you to get a glimpse of what can and should be 
 done by the violin. He who scrapes at its chords to produce 
 a jerking polka or a commonplace waltz knows as little of its 
 real capabilities as a child who has just learned the alphabet 
 
ABOUT THE CORNET 
 
 23 
 
 knows of the capacities of written speech. He may be a toler- 
 able fiddler, but he is nothing of a violinist. Do not, my dear 
 sir, on the strength of your rendering of certain polka airs, pre- 
 sume to inflict yourself and your instrument on your friends 
 and acquaintances. You must not make their drawing-rooms 
 your place of practice. They don’t w^ant your oddities, your 
 imperfections ; they can w^ait, and so can you. The annals of 
 the Inquisition record nothing equal to the tortures wdiich are 
 every day inflicted upon innocent people by barbarous 
 amateurs, — young men who have been ^ learning ’ the violin 
 for three or six months, and then presume to harass Society 
 with their catgut exasperations. Once when I accompanied 
 some country cousins through the Towner of London, an at- 
 tendant beefeater showed us an instrument of torture called 
 the ‘ scavenger’s daughter.’ It was uncanny, I grant you, but 
 nothing compared to a violin in the hands of a bad or inexpe- 
 rienced player. But stop ! There is one thing worse — a 
 cornet — a badly-played cornet-a~pisto7i. You know what it is in 
 the hands of a fine musician. But you don’t know, perhaps, 
 what it is in the hands of an audacious youth engaged in 
 brutally murdering ^ Casta Diva !’ I think that even the bag- 
 pipe can convey no greater agony to the soul. Clarence, when 
 describing that bad dream of his, speaks of ‘ a dreadful noise 
 of waters ’ in his ears. He lived before the invention of the 
 cornet, or he would have been aware of a noise more dreadful 
 still. 
 
 The cornet is not for ladies, happily. Minerva, w^e know, 
 was partial to the flute until she discovered that in playing it 
 she distorted her countenance most unlovelily ; but the dis- 
 figurement caused by the mild ^ tootling ’ of the flute is as 
 nothing compared to the hideous expansion of the cheeks 
 induced by the action of the cornet. A lady with a cornet 
 would be 7nonst7'um hor7'e7idit7n, I dare not admit the possible 
 realisation of the poet’s vision : 
 
 Lo ! in that house of misery 
 A lady with a horn I see, 
 
 Steal thief-like through the gloom, 
 
 And flit from room to room. 
 
 And oh, in no sweet dream of bliss, 
 
 The tearful listener turns to kiss 
 The shadow, as it falls 
 Upon the echoing walls, 
 
24 
 
 THE VIOLIN AND THE PIANO, 
 
 For ’tis as if a wail should be 
 Raised by some soul in misery, 
 
 When each sad-sounding note 
 Gasps in the o’er-strain’d throat. 
 
 That frightful cornet echoes long 
 The fragment of a broken song, 
 
 No sadder e’er could be 
 Set in the key of D. 
 
 Few ladies adopt the violin, though some, as everybody 
 knows, have obtained a wonderful command of it, and I do 
 not see why it should not become a lady’s instrument. It 
 does not exact more time for practice than the piano, nor does 
 it entail greater labour, and it is by no means ungraceful when 
 properly managed. I have seen a lady play it without an un- 
 graceful attitude or any of those facial contortions by which 
 some players apparently hope to impose themselves upon you 
 for inspired sibyls. But, now that the harp has fallen out of 
 favour, there is probably no instrument so popular among 
 ladies of all ages as the piano. Unfortunately, popular as it is, 
 and many as are the hours devoted t.) its practice, one seldom 
 hears it well played by amateurs. The school of musical pyro- 
 techny has still too many followers ; and when a young lady 
 sits down to the piano, as a rule, we may expect an immediate 
 display of digital fireworks. And if it be rare to meet 
 with good players, players possessing a thorough sympathy 
 with the instrument, and imbued with the spirit of the great 
 masters, it is rarer still to meet with graceful players. 1 could 
 almost believe some ladies consider it essential to the success 
 of their drawing-room performances that the listeners (or spec- 
 tators) shall be startled into contemplation of their engaging 
 attitudes. Some ‘ wobble ’ upon their tripod as if it were a re- 
 production of the Laurentian gridiron ; others throw them- 
 selves alternately to right and left, as if preparing for the 
 trapeze ; others sit bolt upright, like a grenadier on parade. 
 Some there are who bring their hands down upon the unoffend- 
 ing instrument with a crash like that of a paviors hammer ; 
 others there are who fling them up into the air at every pause, 
 as if supplicating pardon from St. Cecilia. Note also your 
 nervous player, who drops her handkerchief half-a-dozen times, 
 is unable to seat herself comfortably upon her stool, upsets the 
 music-book just as she begins to play, and, after stammering 
 through broken chords and lam.e arpeggios, suddenly breaks 
 
DIFFERENT KINDS OF FLA YERS. 
 
 25 
 
 down with the pitiful declaration that her memory is, ^ Oh, 
 really — yes — so bad, you know !’ and hurries to hide her 
 blushes in the obscurest corner. On the other hand, you 
 sometimes meet with the serenely- audacious player. Opened 
 full before her is the well-wrought composition of a great 
 master ; for the nonce it is hers, to work her wicked will with 
 it. Away she fires, ‘ through^ bush, through briars,’ through ex- 
 quisite undulations, up complex crescendos, along cunning 
 cantabiles, always with the same breathless velocity, and always 
 with the same heartlessness ; omitting a bar here, dropping a 
 chord there, striking half-a-dozen erroneous notes in every page 
 — blurring, confusing, disorganising the composer’s fair ideas — 
 and, at the conclusion of the massacre, rising with a smiling 
 face as if to demand the applause of her despairing auditors ! 
 
 It is the mistake, not seldom, of skilled musicians to put 
 before a drawing-room audience a composition of inordinate 
 length. To what they choose they do justice; but ah, life is 
 short and art is long — sometimes eighteen pages long ! — and 
 at an evening entertainment there is no time for so much 
 ‘linked sweetness long drawn out.’ Believe me, at times one 
 may have too much of a good thing, even of a very good 
 thing. It is with a feeling of despair that one sits and watches 
 their composed passage from page to page when one is longing 
 to cross the room and sit ‘ with Amaryllis in the shade.’ Music 
 is not a substitute for conversation ; but the two, like wine and 
 walnuts, should be taken together. At evening parties the 
 piece selected should be short and agreeable movements ; the 
 best music undoubtedly — it is a waste of time to listen to bad 
 or indifferent music — but movements which will not fatigue the 
 hearer nor, by their complex character, make too much demand 
 upon his attention. 
 
 In the family circle the piano is a constant treasury of delight, 
 and a perennial source of refined enjoyment. How dull would 
 be the winter nights without it ! How should we entertain 
 ourselves, or our friends, when they come for ‘ cosy evenings,’ 
 if we could not recur to this enchanting instrument, which en- 
 ables us to unlock the secret riches of the genius of Mozart, 
 and Bach, and Beethoven, and many another illustrious 
 musician ? It soothes us in our hours of despondency — and 
 even the brightest, happiest lives cannot escape such hours ; it 
 affords us an eloquent means of expressing our lighter feelings 
 
26 
 
 LEIGH HUNT ' TO THE PIANOFORTE: 
 
 in our hours of pleasure and exultation. I never sit down to it 
 without recalling those graceful verses of Leigh Hunt, in which 
 he seeks to do justice to this old and universal friend, whom 
 we barely value enough because its presence is so familiar : 
 
 ‘ O friend, whom glad or grave we seek, 
 
 Heaven-holding shrine ! 
 
 I ope thee, touch thee, hear thee speak, 
 
 And peace is mine. 
 
 No fairy casket, full of bliss. 
 
 Outvalues thee ; 
 
 Love only, wakened with a kiss. 
 
 More sweet may be. 
 
 ‘ To thee, when our full hearts o’erflow 
 In griefs or joys. 
 
 Unspeakable emotions owe 
 A fitting voice : 
 
 Mirth flies to thee, and love’s unrest, 
 
 And Memory dear. 
 
 And Sorrow, with his tightened breast. 
 
 Comes for a tear. 
 
 ‘ Oh, since no joy of human mould 
 There waits us still. 
 
 Thrice bless’d be thine, thou gentle fold 
 Of peace at will. 
 
 No change, no sullenness, no cheat, 
 
 In thee we find ; 
 
 Thy saddest voice is ever sweet. 
 
 Thine answer kind.’ 
 
 And the same writer, in his pleasant, picturesque prose, 
 reminds us, very justly, that a pianoforte is really a most agree- 
 able object. It is a piece of furniture with a soul in it, which 
 at our touch w^akens into life, and charms us with the power of 
 its beauty. Open or shut, it is (or should be) pleasant to look 
 at, though it looks best when it is open, and seems to smile at 
 us with its ivory keys, Mike the mouth of a sweet singer.’ The 
 keys of a pianoforte are in themselves an agreeable spectacle : 
 the colour of the white keys is not a cold white, for whereas in 
 white marble there is always an idea of coldness, there is no 
 such idea in the white of ivory. The black furnish a kind of 
 tesselation, like Roman pavements ; and all are deliciously 
 smooth and easy to the touch. Then there is another advantage 
 in the piano which amateurs can appreciate ; the tone is ready 
 made. Touch the keys, and the music flows at once, like 
 water from the rock when Moses struck it. Another advantage 
 is, that it contains within its case a small orchestra \ each of 
 
SINGING IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 27 
 
 your fingers plays the part of a separate instrument. No other, 
 except the organ, furnishes such a combination of sounds ; and 
 the organ itself cannot do for you what the pianoforte does. The 
 organ is less manageable, less convenient, and less flexible. It is 
 the leviathan of instruments, and whatever it does, it does in 
 the fashion of a leviathan. It will not play anything and 
 everything for you, as the piano does, which, while excelling in 
 light and lively music, renders even the grandest with force and 
 expression. 
 
 People who own a pianoforte — and who does not nowadays ? 
 — will naturally use it as an accompaniment to singing. This 
 is an accomplishment which adds immeasurably to the grace 
 and happiness of home. I know of nothing more delightful 
 than a domestic glee-party — father, and mother, and children 
 beguiling the sweet evening hours by the performance of those 
 glees and part-songs in which English music is so rich. Or a 
 brother and a sister joining in a duet — or a fair young wife 
 warbling with full and liquid voice, while her husband sustains 
 her on the piano — can anything be more delightful ? Or the 
 household performance, in the quiet of a Sunday evening, of 
 some noble anthem, or of those fine hymns which we owe to 
 the genius of Webbe, and Dykes, and Barnby, and Sullivan? 
 What a charm, what an air of poetry is thus thrown over our 
 domestic relations ! How the music seems naturally to enter 
 into them, softening, elevating, inspiring, and controlling them ; 
 becoming, as it were, a constant fountain of peace, and confi- 
 dence, and love ! There can be no quarrels, no discords, in a 
 family thus bound together by the golden bond of music ; the 
 habit of taking their proper parts in the compositions they 
 render with so much enjoyment, will accustom them to take 
 their proper parts in the household order, and all will work 
 harmoniously together. 
 
 As to singing for one’s friends, in the drawing-room or at 
 amateur concerts, one should certainly be willing to do so, 
 always provided one can sing. But to sing, one requires — first, 
 a voice ; second, an ear. Nor is this all ; one must have 
 natural taste, and be well taught. We have no right — none of 
 us — to inflict imperfection on our friends ; what we give them 
 should be of the best. If we cannot sing well enough to make 
 it worth while for people to listen, we may still amuse ourselves 
 in our own chamber, 
 
28 
 
 ERRORS OF AMATEURS. 
 
 ‘Will you not join in the music ?’ says Deronda to Gwendo- 
 lin, in George Eliot’s novel. 
 
 ‘I join in it by listening/ she replies. ‘I am fond of music.’ 
 
 ‘ Are you not a musician ?’ 
 
 ‘ I have given a great deal of time to music. But I have not 
 talent enough to make it worth while. I shall never sing 
 again/ 
 
 ‘ But if you are fond of music, it will always be worth while 
 in private^ for your own delight says Deronda. ‘ I make it a 
 virtue to be content with my middlingness — it is always pardon- 
 able, so that one does not ask others to take it for superiority.’ 
 
 It is a serious fault of amateur singers that they perseveringly 
 select songs beyond the compass of their voice, and out of the 
 range of their powers — dashing operatic bravuras and scenas 
 which only a trained vocalist can give successfully ; which, even 
 when sung by professional skill, produce little effect for want 
 of their theatrical accessories. An amateur singer should be 
 careful to keep within her measure ; to choose nothing which 
 she cannot execute without strain ; to take good heed that the 
 music is not only within her vocal range, but suitable to her 
 style. What can be more ridiculous than to hear a dumpy 
 little woman screeching through the prima donna’s air in 
 ‘ Semiramide,’ or to witness a comfortable-looking, round-faced, 
 smiling young lady, who has never felt a pang and does not 
 know what emotion means, labouring through some passionate 
 utterance of heart-broken love? Male amateurs notoriously 
 err in this direction. Decent Algernon Jones, whose appear- 
 ance is the very impersonation of sleek good-humour, breaks 
 out into a furious demand for vengeance ; and burly Planta- 
 genet Fitzboodle, with his hirsute countenance and Anak-like 
 proportions, endeavours to tone down his rough hard voice to 
 a despairing swain’s ‘ andantino cantabile.’ 
 
 Another caution may be administered to amateurs. Do 
 not imagine that in singing you need not articulate your 
 words ; your hearers have a right to feel offended if you will 
 not take the trouble to speak plainly. Choose a good song, in 
 which true poetry is happily wedded to true melody, a song 
 adapted both to your voice and style, and articulate it so that 
 the words, as well as the notes, shall be distinctly heard, and 
 you will receive the hearty thanks of your audience. This was 
 the secret of the success of the poet Moore’s singing. His 
 
ETIQUETTE APPLICABLE TO DRA WING^ROOM MUSIC. 29 
 
 voice was limited and weak, but he had some good notes in it, 
 and he was careful that the songs he chose should bring them 
 out ; and then, every word he uttered was clearly audible, 
 every word told, and every word was given with due expres- 
 sion. The same effect, we read, was produced by the 
 singing of the late Mrs. Lockhart, the daughter of Sir Walter 
 Scott. She generally sang her father’s poetry set to music, and 
 her taste, her feeling, and truth of expression riveted the atten- 
 tion, though her voice had little power. The great charm of 
 Jenny Lind’s singing was this bell-like clearness of articulation. 
 And obviously there can be no reason why a song should be 
 muttered and mouthed like the incantation of some juggling 
 necromancer. Do you know Shelley's lines ‘ To Constantia, 
 singing’ ? The poet exclaims : 
 
 ‘ Her voice is hovering o’er my soul — it lingers 
 O’ershadowing it with soft and lulling wings, 
 
 The blood and life within those snowy fingers 
 Teach witchcraft to the instrumental strings. 
 
 My brain is wild, my breath comes quick — 
 
 The blood is listening in my frame.’ 
 
 How absurd these lines would seem if addressed to ninety- 
 nine out of every hundred amateur singers ! Absurd for this 
 very conclusive reason, that the hearer cannot distinguish a 
 word they say — can never extract any meaning from the jumble 
 of syllables they pour into his perplexed ears. Some profes- 
 sional vocalists make the same mistake. It is said of Catalani 
 that once, when she was singing ‘ Kathleen Mavourneen,’ one 
 of the audience carefully took down in writing, her version of 
 its words, and the line ^ She was bold as the hawk and as fresh 
 as the dawn ' came out, according to Catalani, in this astounding 
 form, ^She poulticed the hock and salted it down !’ 
 
 A lady, when asked to sing, should at once comply. The 
 little farcical comedy of insincere excuses and pretended apo- 
 logies in which some indulge is an insult to the hostess and 
 her company. Assent at once, or at once decline if you have 
 a satisfactory excuse to offer. When you have finished, rise 
 from the piano, and do not be induced to sing again immedi- 
 ately, unless in very unusual circumstances. There are others 
 waiting to sing, who will resent your monopolising time and at- 
 tention : and the audience, I fear, in spite of their professions 
 of interest and expectancy, will secretly be conscious of a sense 
 
30 
 
 ART AT HOME. 
 
 of weariness. Nor will you be doing justice to yourself : your 
 voice will be fatigued, will lose its freshness, and your intona- 
 tion will grow uncertain. No person should sing more than 
 twice in the same evening. 
 
 It is not advisable, at an evening party, to allow the songs to 
 succeed one another too closely. Intervals should be allowed 
 for conversation ; everybody is not a musical enthusiast. ‘ A 
 song now and then,^ says ‘ is very desirable, as it is a 
 
 relief to conversation ; but half a dozen consecutively, even 
 from St. Cecilia in person, would become a bore. Besides which, 
 people are now accustomed to hear popular songs executed by 
 those whose profession it is with a superiority rarely attainable 
 in private life, so that amateurs seldom do more than provoke 
 unfortunate comparisons. However, when highly-gifted musi- 
 cians are found in private society, we have generally observed 
 their delicacy to be in proportion to their excellence.’ The 
 hostess should not sing more ^han once, or at the utmost twice, 
 lest censorious tongues should whisper that she has collected her 
 friends for no other purpose than to display before them her 
 gifts as a vocalist. And if her gifts be few and doubtful, how 
 those tongues will wag, to be sure ! 
 
 Let us turn for a moment to another branch, or side, of 
 home culture. We are largely influenced by our surroundings; 
 and it is difficult to live a refined life unless everything around 
 us breathes refinement. When, in some of our large towns, I 
 see those long hideous rows of two-storied tenements of brick, 
 with their dull fagades unrelieved by the smallest attempt at 
 ornament, and know that the interior in each case matches 
 the exterior in hideous uniformity — the ceilings of a dingy 
 white, with mean mouldings of plaster ; the walls hung with 
 paper-hangings of the worst design, the most obtrusive patterns 
 imaginable — I ask myself if it be a matter of wonder that the 
 lives lived within them are equally monotonous, equally devoid 
 of grace, equally drear, dingy, and dismal ? What touch of 
 poetry, what gleam of romance, ca7i enter into an existence 
 passed in one of those brick and mortar dungeons ? And even 
 if we ascend higher in the social scale, we seldom meet with 
 ‘ houses ’ which indicate any culture or aspiration on the part 
 of their occupants. We find ostentation, perhaps luxury, and, 
 it may be, a certain amount of coarse comfort ; we note the 
 evidences of a considerable expenditure of money ; but seldom 
 
HOME DECORATION, 
 
 31 
 
 of any expenditure of thought and feeling. Such carpets, such 
 curtains, such mirrors, such couches, such chairs — one can fancy 
 that the Genius of Taste regards them with pity, heaves a sigh 
 of mingled compassion and despair, and hastily flies from the 
 miserable scene ! People who inhabit amidst these signs and 
 memorials of barbarism must necessarily grow barbarous them- 
 selves. Any sympathies with better things, any yearnings after 
 a higher ideal, which may have fluttered within their souls, must 
 inevitably perish, oppressed. 
 
 The ‘Art at Home’ movement, of recent origin, has there- 
 fore much to recommend it, though it be carried in not a few 
 instances to a ridiculous excess. There is room for improve- 
 ment in the decoration and furnishing of our homes ; though, 
 cn the other hand, we need not convert them into museums, 
 or decorate our sitting-rooms with heterogeneous articles, until 
 they assume the appearance of Wardour Street curiosity shops. 
 The younger members of a family may And in this direction a 
 field for the exercise of their taste and the occupation of their 
 leisure. I do not propose that they should turn cabinet-makers 
 or upholsterers ; but they can employ deft and dexterous figures 
 in embellishing their bedrooms or their boudoirs with evidences 
 of refinement and ‘things of beauty;’ and they may, at a small 
 expense — for the costly is not always the artistic — secure for 
 their homes a general air of grace, elegance, and simplicity. 
 
 I think it cannot be denied that, after all the reservations are 
 made which a rigid criticism will suggest, that the domestica- 
 tion of Art (if I may be allowed the phrase), to which I have 
 referred, has already had a good effect upon the decorative 
 arrangements of our houses ; but I still question whether 
 at the present day it is not being developed to an almost 
 grotesque extreme ; or, rather, whether a barbarous reaction is 
 not taking place under the cover of this supposed artistic 
 development. It does not seem necessary or desirable to go 
 to Japan or China for the designs and devices with which to 
 embellish an English drawing-room ! In many of the recent 
 innovations the ungenial character of our climate has been 
 wholly overlooked, and arrangements adopted which, admirable 
 enough under the warm blue sky of the East, are sadly out of 
 place in our misty and dirty atmosphere. One leading prin- 
 ciple of the new art-revival I take to be, revolution ; that is, 
 we must abolish everything which has hitherto prevailed, and 
 
32 
 
 ABSURDITIES OF ^STHETICISM, 
 
 ‘go in’ for novelty. The result very often is, that our living- 
 rooms are turned into museums, into cabinets of curiosities, 
 where no one thing is like any other thing; where Japanese 
 tapestry hangs in juxtaposition to Greek vases, and Chelsea 
 china reposes on a Mediaeval sideboard. The old English 
 idea of ‘ comfort ’ is banished in favour of a vulgar imitative- 
 ness euphemistically designated Art in the House. Marble 
 mantelpieces are disguised with velvet hangings ; the rich gold 
 frames of the mirrors which helped to light up our apartments 
 in the dark days of winter are set aside in favour of ‘ velvet- 
 bands/ which rapidly grow dull and dusty ; the warm soft 
 carpet which hushed the noisy footfall, must give place to a 
 cold glittering parquet, covered with geometrical figures. Why 
 the old style should be so hopelessly vulgar and the new so in- 
 effably artistic does not appear ; nor does any rm/ superiority on 
 the part of the latter exist, except, indeed, in the imagination of 
 the decorators who profit by the caprices of fashion. 
 
 In the leading ladies’ newspaper I read as follows: ‘Japanese 
 fabrics are much in favour at the present moment.’ Well, in 
 what their attractions consist I for one am unable to compre- 
 hend ; but that they are artistic, as the old artists understood 
 art, I venture to deny. Some ladies, it appears, adorn the 
 walls of their drawing-rooms with these materials. A ‘good 
 effect ’ was produced in a drawing-room of the day by a dado 
 being formed of Japanese tapestry placed in a narrow oak bead 
 frame, and reaching about three feet in height from the floor, 
 extending around the whole room. It is now ‘ quite a feature ’ 
 to ornament the panels of the drawing-room doors with pictures 
 painted for the purpose, and let in under glass, so that the door 
 presents a level surface, the panels being thus filled up ; or the 
 panels of the doors are painted with floral designs, and the 
 headings are painted black, red, blue, or gold, to harmonise 
 with the style of decoration. ‘ Some ladies make use of both 
 drawing-room doors as occasion serves, according as in which 
 room (sR) they may be sitting ; others make a point of making 
 use of the back drawing-room door only, save at receptions or 
 large afternoon teas ; and, when not used, the panels of the 
 front drawing-room door giving on the landing are sometimes 
 filled in with plate-glass ; and we have seen shelves covered 
 with velvet placed across these panels to hold china ornaments, 
 the glass forming the background. Some adopt the plan of 
 
A PROTEST AGAINST EXTREMES. 
 
 33 
 
 placing a shelf for china ornaments and jars at the top of the 
 drawing-room door inside the room ’ — where any artistic ex- 
 cellence they possess cannot possibly be appreciated ! ‘ Beakers 
 and handsome jars of every description of china are placed 
 upon massive bog oak brackets at a considerable height on the 
 walls, so that the jars are but a few inches fro7n the cornice of the 
 ceiling.’’ Practically, they might as well be out of sight alto- 
 gether ! ‘ The much sought for blue china jars on red brackets 
 
 have a good effect/ Have they? The contrast is hardly 
 artistic ! ‘ The supports of the mantelpieces are often panelled 
 
 in the same way as the doors, and some even grace the shutters 
 of the windows and the walls on either side of the pier-glasses 
 with floral designs, interspersed with veils or arabesques.' 
 In fact, there is no limit to the multiplication of ornament, 
 however incongruous it may be, or however inappropriate. 
 
 No one doubts that the old Georgian style of furnishing and 
 decorating a house was far from satisfying the ‘ aesthetic ’ taste, 
 but I am not convinced that the new Victorian is a whit more 
 genuinely artistic. It is well to enrich our living rooms with 
 ‘things of beauty’ — with a graceful statue or a waving fern — 
 and there was much to be done in this direction, so that the 
 eye might be unconsciously educated into a love and apprecia^ 
 tion of the graceful and harmonious. But this is not incom- 
 patible with the retention of the convenience and comfort that 
 have so long been associated with the ideal English home \ 
 nor does it call for that absolute clearance of even the best 
 features of the ‘ old order,’ which is insisted upon by the 
 fanatic apostles of the ‘ Art in the House ’ movement— those 
 enthusiasts who carry their aesthetics into coal-scuttles, and 
 whose highest conception of an artistic drawing-room is that of 
 an ‘ old curiosity-shop,’ hung about with shelves and brackets, 
 and loaded with china jars ! 
 
 What egregious nonsense some of these people write may be 
 inferred from the following specimens which I select from a 
 book not wholly deficient in useful hints, but rendered ridicu- 
 lous by its affectations and insincerities : 
 
 ‘ The old flowery carpet, bravely discarded, will form an excel- 
 lent lining for a simpler substitute more gracefully gay, which 
 might be made up to a square or oblong, or to suit the shape of 
 the room. The new carpet, surrounded by a thick woollen 
 fringe matching prevailing colours, will form a pleasing ground- 
 
 3 
 
34 
 
 THE CANT OF ^STHETICISM, 
 
 work on which one old Eastern rug will work wonders of rich- 
 ness, The formed judgment which discreetly chose 'the carpet 
 would find real relish and enjoyment in the beauty of the rug, 
 to the better recovery of good taste and the enrichment and 
 refinement of ideas, to be hereafter exhibited to the benefit of 
 future floors and carpets/ 
 
 ‘Looking-glass is not in itself a beautiful object, and in 
 large masses is even unpleasant ; it should always have some 
 prettiness to multiply, for then it becomes reasonable and 
 acceptable. This accounts fairly for our total objection to a 
 lofty mirror, the greater part of which reflects nothing but the 
 ceiling and upper walls, where usually there is blank space.’ 
 But if the wall be covered with a warm soft paper, carefully 
 chosen, or richly lighted up with a spot of colour in the form 
 of a well-painted landscape, the lofty mirror will have some- 
 thing reasonable and acceptable to reflect ; and in any case it 
 serves to concentrate and reflect whatever light is admitted 
 into the room. 
 
 ‘To guard the hearth we have an old brass fender, which 
 by its beautiful golden colour and delicate workmanship must 
 and will give pleasure, be it in winter by firelight, or in summer 
 by sunlight. Such fenders must now be sought for seriously (!), 
 and when found, purchased as a kind of investment ; their solid 
 and conscientious make will stand much doing up, and each 
 day they are becoming more rare and more expensive, because 
 more in fashion.’ 
 
 ‘ If rooms be small, and ornaments and treasures varied, 
 great scope is given to ingenuity and contrivance to gain a 
 suitable resting-place for each art-object. It is excellent prac- 
 tice for the eager mind to have to battle with inconvenience, 
 and to fight out a clear, if not perfect, path from the difficulties 
 of trying to make the best of ugly proportions and coarse 
 shapes ; but there difficulties end, for colour is one^s own to 
 choose, and may cover a multitude of other sins.’ 
 
 Sterne was of opinion that of all cants the cant of criticism 
 was the most detestable, but the cant of aestheticism runs it a 
 neck-and-neck race. The exaggeration employed is calculated, 
 moreover, to defeat its object by exciting a sentiment of disgust 
 in a sober and thoughtful mind. Such an one will probably 
 say to itself that there is other and better work to beMone in 
 life than choosing Persian carpets and Japanese tapestries, 
 
ON REFINEMENT AND GRACE. 
 
 35 
 
 constructing elaborate overmantels, and heaping shelves with 
 Algerian flower-pots and Chinese fans. ‘ Ugly proportions ’ 
 and ^ coarse shapes ’ are bad ; but there are many things much 
 worse, against which it is still more decidedly one’s duty to do 
 battle. Thus reasoning, one may be tempted to underrate that 
 law of beauty which should govern our surroundings as well as 
 our actions, and to think that ugly proportions and coarse 
 shapes are preferable to aesthetic jargon and pseudo-artistic 
 fanaticism. 
 
 I confess, with Lady Barker, I like a room to look as if it 
 were inhabited, which your aesthetically-furnished and artistic- 
 ally-decorated room never does. I like home to have its bits 
 of grace and beauty, but still to look homely. Who on earth 
 would set up his Lares and Penates in apartments decorated 
 with portieres and etageres, serious brackets, thoughtfully- 
 designed overmantels, curtained doorways, glazed windows, 
 and all the other fids and fads of the new school ? One would 
 be tempted to think one’s self a stranger in an auction-room, 
 and would be constantly looking round for a catalogue to price 
 the different wares. Let there be refinement and grace, on 
 every side the evidences of a cultivated taste ; but I submit that 
 refinement and grace are not studied by the present system 
 of art-decoration, with its restlessness, its eccentricity, and its 
 exaggeration. 
 
 Ascending from the drawing-room to the bedroom, we de- 
 mand as the essential conditions of successful treatment ample 
 light and adequate ventilation ; that there must be due pro- 
 vision for warmth in winter, and for comfort all the year round. 
 The eye must also be studied, and a simple but graceful 
 treatment adopted of every detail. The purest art is, I think, 
 the most simple, and an artistic bedroom may be contrived at 
 a very small expenditure, and without having recourse to any 
 of the crotchets of our aesthetic friends. You may cover your 
 walls with a pretty paper — say, rose-buds spotted on a white 
 ground — or drape them with chintz, or muslin. Your windows 
 m.ay be curtained with any soft, light material. Your furniture 
 will be chosen for its simplicity and elegance ; and a corner 
 may be fitted up as a boudoir, with a couch and writing-table, 
 and partly curtained off from the rest of the room. Do not 
 use gas if you can help it : what is superior to the soft equal 
 radiance of a good oil-lamp or of wax-tapers ? A hanging shelf 
 
 3—2 
 
36 
 
 A CHARMING BEDROOM, 
 
 will support a row of your favourite books. A carved bracket 
 or two will enable you to gratify yourself with a fern or a 
 statuette. A good picture — a water-colour par preference — 
 and an oval mirror will complete your decorations. Here 
 are the materials for making up a charming little bedroom — a 
 nest of peace and beauty, in which you may enjoy pleasant 
 dreams and pleasanter waking thoughts — a sanctuary to which 
 you will retire, with your purer self, from the toil and moil of 
 the work-day world. 
 
 Lady Barker sketches what seems to me as pretty a bedroom 
 as youth and beauty can desire. ‘ I know,’ she says, ‘ a rural 
 bedroom with a paper representing a trellis and Noisette roses 
 climbing over it ; the carpet is shades of green without any 
 pattern, and has only a narrow border of Noisette roses ; the 
 bouquets, powdered on the chintzes, match, and outside the 
 window a spreading bush of the same dear old-fashioned rose 
 blooms three parts of the year. That is a bower indeed, as well 
 as a bedroom. Noisette roses, and rose-buds half-smothered in 
 leaves, have been painted by the skilful fingers of the owner ot 
 this room, on the door-handles and the tiles of the fire-place, 
 as well as embroidered on the white quilt and the green cover 
 of the writing-table. But then I acknowledge it is an excep- 
 tionally pretty room to begin with, for the dressing-table stands 
 in a deep bay-window, to which you ascend by a couple of 
 steps. Belinda herself could not have desired a fairer shrine 
 whereat to worship her own beauty.’ 
 
 Contrast with this picture the ideal one of the old bedroom 
 at Hamley, which occurs in Mrs. Gaskell’s charming ‘Wives 
 and Daughters.’ ‘ All the furniture in the room was as old- 
 fashioned and as well-preserved as it could be. The chintz 
 curtains were Indian calico of the last century — the colours 
 almost washed out, but the stuff itself exquisitely clean. There 
 was a little strip of bedside carpeting ; but the wooden flooring, 
 thus liberally displayed, was of finely-grained oak, so firmly 
 joined, plank to plank, that no grain of dust could make its 
 way into the interstices. There were none of the luxuries of 
 modern days : no writing-table, or sofa, or pier-glass. In one 
 corner of the walls was a bracket, holding an Indian jar filled 
 with pot-pourri ; and that and the climbing honeysuckle out- 
 side the open window scented the room more exquisitely than 
 any toilette perfumes.’ 
 
the dining-room. 
 
 37 
 
 In this connection it is proper that I should say a few words 
 about the dining-room. The canons of taste at which I have 
 already hinted must also come into general application here ; 
 and the leading ^ notes ’ or ‘ marks ’ of the apartment should 
 be simplicity, refinement, comfort. But I fail to see why the 
 room in which we dine should be so strangely ordered as an 
 altogether separate and exclusive room ; why its furniture must 
 possess so peculiar and individual a character. Who does not 
 know the dining-room en 7'egle ? The telescopic table, por- 
 tentously heavy and even cumbrous ; the massive sideboard, 
 which appals by its gaunt solidity; the substantial chairs, to 
 lift which is an exercise in gymnastics ; the family portraits, or 
 the game and fruit pieces, glaring out of huge gilded frames on 
 the crimson flock-papered walls ; the sombre red curtains hang- 
 ing idly against the windows : who is not familiar with these 
 traditional horrors, that lend to the art of dining a barbarous 
 and cannibalistic character ? You remember Sidney Smithes 
 jesting remark to the Bishop of New Zealand about ‘cold 
 missionary on the sideboard ?’ It is just the dish that would 
 become so grim an article of furniture ; and if Narcissa had 
 proved herself worthy of the poet’s satire, and ‘ for a wash had 
 gladly stewed a child,’ the said viand might suitably have 
 figured on an English dining-table ! There is no reason why 
 ‘the chief meal of the day’ should not be taken in any room, 
 nor why the room appropriated to the purpose of refreshment 
 should not be a bright and radiant one. The old style implied 
 large dinner-parties, for whom special accommodation must be 
 provided — an ‘ hospitable board,’ at which four-and-twenty 
 guests might find places. But no wise host or hostess — except 
 at official dinners — now asks tw^enty-five unhappy creatures at 
 one time ; he has more compassion for them and for himself. 
 When men and women sat at dinner for the whole of a long 
 evening, it was natural enough that table and sideboard should 
 be solidly constructed. Horace Walpole tells of a dinner 
 which contrasts vividly enough with the moderate ‘prandial 
 repasts’ of the present day. ‘ I was to dine at Northumberland 
 House,’ he says, ‘and came there a little after four. There I 
 found the countess. Lady Betty Mackinsy, Lady Stratford, my 
 Lady Finlater — who was never out of Scotland before — a tall 
 lad of fifteen, her son. Lord Drogheda, and Mr. Worsley. At 
 five arrived Mr. Mitchell, who said the Lords had commenced 
 
38 
 
 HORACE WALPOLE AT A DLNNER PARTY, 
 
 to read the Poor Bill, which would take, at least, two hours, 
 and, perhaps, would debate it afterwards. We concluded 
 dinner would be called for, it not being very precedented for 
 ladies to wait for gentlemen. No such thing ! Six o’clock 
 came — seven o’clock came — our coaches came ! Well, we 
 sent them away ; and excuses were, we were engaged. Still, 
 the countess’s heart did not re’ent, nor uttered a syllable 
 of apology. We wore out the v ind and the weather, the 
 opera and the play, Mrs. Comely’s and Almack’s, and every 
 topic that would do in a formal circle. We hinted, represented 
 — in vain. The clock struck eight. My lady, at last, said she 
 would go and order dinner ; but it was a good half-hour before 
 it appeared. We then sat down to a table of fourteen covers ; 
 but, instead of substantial, there was nothing but a profusion 
 of plates, striped red, green, and yellow — gilt plate, blacks, and 
 uniforms. My Lady Finlater, who never saw these embroidered 
 dinners, nor dined after three, was famished. The first course 
 stayed as long as possible, in hopes of the Lords ; so did the 
 second. The dessert at last arrived, and the middle dish was 
 actually set on, when Lord Finlater and Mr. Mackay arrived ! 
 Would you believe it ? — the dessert was remanded, and the 
 whole first course brought back again ! Stay — I have not 
 done ! Just as this second first course had done its duty, Lord 
 Northumberland, Lord Stratford, and Mackinsy came in, and 
 the whole began a third time. Then the second course, and 
 the dessert 1 I thought we should have dropped from our 
 chairs with fatigue and fumes. When the clock struck eleven, 
 we were asked to return to the drawing-room, and take tea 
 and coffee ; but I said I was engaged to supper, and came 
 home to bed.’ 
 
 We have improved on the manners, if not on the morals, of 
 our eighteenth century forefathers ; and it is well that we should 
 also improve on their dining-room arrangements. We want 
 nothing more than a room in which we and our guests (fit but 
 few !) may dine delicately, sip our wine moderately, and talk 
 wisely. Such a room should have about it something of the 
 charm and grace wherewith we invest our drawing-rooms. Nor 
 is it intended primarily for the reception of guests ; it is there 
 that, every day, we and our family must pass several hours. 
 Why, then, should it not be tricked out lightsomely, and graced 
 with the equipment necessary to our domestic comfort? 
 
HOME CULTURE. 
 
 39 
 
 With one brief caution we quit this part of our subject. 
 Study refinement and comfort, but study economy also. Do not 
 let your house be too big for your income ; do not fill it with 
 sumptuous furniture, the payment of which may cripple you for 
 years. Many young married couples begin housekeeping on 
 too grand a scale ; forgetting that a large house means a large 
 household — a large annual expenditure upon appearances — a 
 large outlay for which they realise no return. Their circle of 
 acquaintances will be in proportion ; and a large circle of 
 acquaintances entails a continual drain upon the young couple's 
 resources, when, as a rule, these are least able to bear it. At 
 the outset go to sea in a small but well-found barque ; you can 
 sail a three-master when you have gained experience and can 
 command the necessary capital. 
 
 The process of home culture must be worked out in the 
 country as well as in town, though it will necessarily assume a 
 different character. The facilities for making home happy — 
 which is the object of home culture — are as many there as else- 
 where, though they are not the same. It is amusing to hear 
 some people talk of the annual migration to the country as if 
 it were a sad and lamentable event ; as if their departure from 
 the joys of town was a thing to weep over, like the expulsion 
 of Adam and Eve from the delightful bowers and glades of 
 -Eden : 
 
 * They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld 
 
 Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, . . . 
 
 Some natural tears they dropt, but wiped them soon . . .’ 
 
 as, let US hope, our urban fanatics will do when experience has 
 revealed to them the pleasures of a rural life. For my own 
 part, I firmly believe, with Cowper, that ‘ God made the country, 
 and man made the town,^ if, indeed, in the making of the latter 
 a certain Power and Presence of grisly repute were not very 
 intimately concerned. It is to me always a moment of intense 
 intellectual and moral pleasure when I turn my back upon the 
 great city, with its hurrying crowds, its noisy streets, its worship 
 of Mammon, its greed, its cares, its petty ambitions, its barren- 
 ness, and bend my steps towards fresh woods and pastures 
 new ; towards the cool shadows of the leafy woods, and the 
 green hedgerows, and the sparkle of silver streams in the 
 meadows, and the glow of golden harvests upon the fertile 
 plains, and the gleam of white cottages among the purple 
 
40 
 
 COUNTRY VERSUS TOWl^. 
 
 treasures of the orchard. No doubt the country, like the 
 town, has its cares and sorrows, its greed and ambition ; but 
 they seem to assume a less repulsive shape, and^ are not forced 
 so prominently upon your notice. You may give yourself up 
 to the song of birds and streams, and heed them not — be 
 ignorant even of their existence. Let them alone ; cast them 
 behind you utterly, and go forth into the odorous recesses of the 
 woodland, where the blackbird is piping out his very soul in 
 joy; or climb the green hilltop, and watch the waves of light 
 and shade as they roll over the tremulous blades of the young 
 green corn ; or linger on the pleasant lea, where the colt watches 
 your approach with gentle, steadfast eye, to scamper away with 
 a toss of the free young head when you approach too near ; or 
 pace to and fro the ‘ ribbed sand,’ and take into your heart that 
 mighty music of the sea which means so much that can never 
 be translated into words. When you know all that a country 
 life puts within your reach, all the sights and sounds of beauty 
 and sweetness which it makes yours, all the graceful and 
 glorious and wonderful images and fancies with which it will 
 fill your mind, I think you will cease to speak of it as dull, or to 
 look forward to it with the apprehension of one who waits his 
 exile from his native land. 
 
 I like at times — and I trust the custom is not distasteful to my 
 readers — to embellish my prose with the charms of poetry, and 
 draw upon the stores of our sweet singers for illustrations of 
 the subject with which I am led to deal. And I remember a 
 passage in William Browne’s ‘ Britannia’s Pastorals’ — a poem, 
 or series of poems, pregnant with the breath of rural life — 
 which will find here an appropriate niche. It is a country pic- 
 ture which he sketches with sweet simplicity, and I ask you 
 to contrast it with those ‘ afternoon teas ’ and ‘ at homes ’ 
 which absorb so much of your attention and consume (to little 
 purpose !) so much of your energy : 
 
 L . . Here, the curious cutting of a hedge, 
 
 There, in a pond, the trimming of the sedge ; 
 
 Here the fine setting of well shaded trees. 
 
 The walks there mounting up by small degrees. 
 
 The gravel and the green so equal lie. 
 
 It, with the rest, draws on your lingering eye ; 
 
 Here the sweet smells that do perfume the air, 
 
 Arising from the infinite repair 
 Of odoriferous buds and herbs of price — 
 
 As if it were another Paradise — 
 
THE POETS AND THE COUNTRY, 
 
 41 
 
 So please the smelling sense, that you are fain 
 Where last you walked to turn and walk again.’ 
 
 No doubt of it ! Once taste those fresh and pure enjoy- 
 ments, and you will crave for more of them ; the wider grows 
 your knowledge, the more serene will be your satisfaction. 
 Such pleasures never pall upon the appetite, because there is 
 always in them a something which you have never before dis- 
 covered. 
 
 ‘ There the small birds with their harmonious notes 
 Sing to a spring that smileth as she floats. . . .’ 
 
 Is not that a lovely line ? Observe its pleasant alliterative 
 melod}^ 
 
 ‘ For in her face a many dimples show 
 And often skips as she did dancing go . • . 
 
 This with no small delight retains your ear, 
 
 And makes yon think none blest btit who live there, , 
 
 Not even the denizens of Tyburnia or Belgravia, not even the 
 ladies and cavaliers who, in the hot summer afternoons, per- 
 form the penance of fashion in the sultry length and breadth 
 of Rotten Row ! 
 
 ‘ There in another place the fruits that be 
 In gallant clusters decking each good tree. 
 
 Invite your hand to nip them from the stem. 
 
 And, liking one, taste every sort of them : 
 
 Then to the arbours walk, then to the bowers. 
 
 Thence to the walks again, thence to the flowers. 
 
 Then to the birds, and to the clear spring thence. 
 
 Now pleasing one, and then another sense.’ 
 
 Eye and ear, heart, soul and brain, are alike entertained, 
 refreshed and invigorated by the sights and sounds with which 
 a country life surrounds us. It is in rural retirement that we 
 can think most clearly, that we can form the wisest resolves, 
 decide upon the loftiest purposes, and cherish the holiest affec- 
 tions. No man ever saw more of the picturesque side of town 
 life than Sir Walter Raleigh, who shone in Elizabeth's court 
 among the most brilliant of her favourites — soldier and states- 
 man and courtier — and yet, from the courtly state and pageantry 
 that glittered around him, he turned a wistful eye towards the 
 sweet Eden-like scenes of the country, with their promise of 
 tranquillity and the fulness of their innocent and enduring 
 
4^ THE STUDY OF NATURE. 
 
 pleasures. How from his heart arises the almost passionate 
 benediction : — 
 
 ‘ Blest silent groves ! O may ye be 
 For ever Mirth’s best nursery ! 
 
 May pure contents 
 For ever pitch their tents 
 
 Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these mountains. 
 
 And Peace still slumber by these purling fountains !’ 
 
 In country life the study of Nature will, of course, be a prin- 
 cipal source of enjoyment. There is so much to be seen and 
 understood — from the daisy that closes its pink-tipped petals 
 in the gloaming, to the character and axis of the strata that 
 compose the bulk of yonder hill. Every tree has its indi- 
 viduality, every flower has something rare and beautiful in its 
 structure. You cannot pass a hedgerow which is not rich in 
 points of interest; not a stream swirls across the meadows 
 without a meaning in its music. The croft, the coppice, the 
 meadow, the cornfield — all offer their abundant materials to 
 the student. Insect life is an inexhaustible mine of wonders ; 
 or the birds will claim your closest and most intelligent atten- 
 tion. The colour and outline of the landscape will also repay 
 your investigation, and you will be charmed by its beauty or 
 awe-stricken by its sublimity. Perhaps it is such a scene as the 
 forest-land still, in some parts of the country, presents to the 
 gratified eye, where the tall trees spread for miles their con- 
 tiguity of shade, with stalwart trunks and gnarled boughs that 
 have withstood the storms of centuries. There the squirrels 
 make merry in the oaks, and the deer rove in the ferny 
 glades. Ah, what haunts for poets ! What silver-shining 
 brooks carry the sunshine into cool sylvan bowers! What 
 sloping grassy banks smile with convolvulus and pimpernel 1 
 Or it may be a scene on the threshold of the haunted region of 
 Devonshire — a valley echoing with the sullen voice of the 
 deep, dark river, and lifting up huge ruddy tors into the clear 
 thin air. Or it may be the bright orchard-scenes of Hereford 
 and Worcester, all rich in bloom and fragrance ; or the fairy 
 dales of Derbyshire ; or the purple wolds of Yorkshire ; or the 
 fens of Anglia, with their eerie colouring ; or the wooded 
 ridges of Staffordshire ; or the beautiful valleys and hills of 
 Lancashire ; or the broad, undulating, grassy downs of Sussex. 
 You need not go far afield to find and partake of these delights. 
 The railway and the factory have encroached upon old England, 
 
IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF GREAT TOtVNS. 43 
 
 but still, at this very day, the fresh green country runs up 
 to the immediate borders of our large towns. From London, 
 a short ride takes you to the charming landscapes among the 
 northern hills, or to the leafy villages that line the valley of 
 the upper Thames, or to the sweet nooks and corners of Kent 
 and Surrey. Within three or four miles of Manchester, of 
 Leeds, of Hull, of Bristol, of Birmingham, you may revel in all 
 that is most characteristic of country life. To many persons 
 the name of Nottingham would suggest no grateful idea, and 
 yet its neighbourhood has much to delight and inspire an artist. 
 Those who know Bramcote, and Attenborough,, and Newstead, 
 and Birkland, and Harlowe Wood wilt wonder that so few 
 singers have celebrated their charms, and will own that country 
 life may there be studied under its most picturesque aspects. 
 William Howitt has written very graphically and lovingly of a 
 forest-bit — near Oxton — a fragment of ballad-haunted Sher- 
 wood which, I think, might find acceptance even with the most 
 inveterate of anti-bucolics. You get your first glimpse of its 
 picturesque beauty at a little bridge which crosses a clear and 
 rapid trout-stream, and looking from thence, you throw your 
 gaze into a long valley filled with sedges, glancing in the dis- 
 tance with the light of waters. Below you the stream widens 
 into a little lake, dimpling round a grassy islet, and in this 
 lakelet the water-hens are busy, darting ever and anon into the 
 masses of tall hassocky sedge which cluster about its banks. 
 Further down, the view is bounded by cool woods and green 
 copses ; but upward the valley stretches like a cantle cut out of 
 Paradise, with the wild moorland on the right and pastoral 
 fields on the left. 
 
 Cross the heathy uplands and you find yourself surrounded 
 by sights of beauty, by sweet odours, and musical sounds. 
 You come at length to a shepherd^s hut, built up of heath and 
 turf, which furnishes a convenient resting-place. It seems a 
 favourite resort of the birds, for we are no sooner seated than 
 to the woodland just below it come a host of feathered visitors ; 
 yellow-hammers, rosy-breasted gorse-linnets, pied wagtails, and 
 graceful yellow wagtails, whinchats of the richest colours, titlarks, 
 and luscious wheatears, all mingling their songs and cries in one 
 various chorus. Beautiful is it to see them, thinking them- 
 selves unseen, and disporting in unrestrained freedom. Into 
 the lucid water they wade up to the very necks, and twitter, 
 
44 
 
 SOCIAL ASPECTS OF COUNTRY LIFE, 
 
 and flutter, and chirp, and break into joyous song; while some 
 stand perfectly still, enjoying the cool liquid as it streams 
 through their feathers, and others dip, and dive, and sprinkle 
 it over their feathers, and yield themselves up to an ecstasy of 
 delight which you cannot witness without sympathy. Many 
 fly away, but their places are immediately filled by new-comers. 
 Here have we a peep into the life of these little lowly creatures 
 which is rarely attained, and for the rareness of which we have 
 to thank our tyranny. 
 
 But we proceed, and in a, few moments come upon the 
 margin of a mere which reminds us of that lonely lake into 
 which Sir Bedivere, at King Arthur’s bidding, flung the sword 
 Excalibur. Out of it the wild fowl rise in numbers, and on 
 clanging wings fly to more remote waters ; and when they are 
 gone we become aware of little voices which have been drowned 
 in their louder ones. These are the cries of large flocks of 
 ducklings, young teal, coots, and other ^ aquatics,’ which have 
 been left behind, and now sail to and fro amongst the tall 
 pillars of sedge, ever and anon emerging from beneath their 
 drooping nests of leaves, with open beaks intent upon their 
 insect-prey. Now comes the cuckoo with its cowering motion 
 and leaden-hued plumage, and that quaint guttural note which 
 listeners in general are too distant to hear, catching only its 
 ordinary articulate chant, that ‘ minor third ’ whence it derives 
 its name. 
 
 Here I must stop my pen. The reader’s quick imagination 
 will doubtlessly create the scene in all its varied details, or 
 scenes as attractive, if dissimilar in character. To seek such 
 scenes and study them, and master all their significance, is one 
 of the prime delights of country life. 
 
 Then there are the social aspects, customs, and observances 
 of country life demanding our investigation. In many parts of 
 the country harvest-home lingers still, and the village bells ring 
 out their merriest chime as the loaded wains pass, creaking 
 and groaning, into the farmer’s yard. It is sometimes said that 
 much of the old picturesqueness has been destroyed by the intro- 
 duction of machinery, and that the mower, the reaper, and the 
 gleaner are being rapidly improved off the face of rural England. 
 But is there nothing picturesque in the machinery itself? in 
 the swift action of the reaping machine and the automatic pre- 
 cision of the steam-mower as it cuts and lays down the hay in 
 
A VILLAGE FEAST. 
 
 45 
 
 regular swathes ? Is there nothing in them regarded as evidences 
 of the successful application of human ingenuity, and of the 
 adaptation of the motive power of the steam-engine to purposes 
 undreamed of by its inventors? Plough Monday is no longer 
 celebrated, or its celebration is confined to the children ; but 
 the Foresters, or the Gardeners, or the local Friendly Society 
 have their annual feast and holiday, which calls into requisition 
 all the resources of the village. 
 
 By five o’clock in the morning the band m.usters in the 
 village street and goes round to the neighbouring villages and 
 farmhouses to summon forth the revellers. In this procession 
 the drum may be said to take the lead ; he makes more noise 
 and drinks more beer than any of the other performers. About 
 dinner-time, or between twelve and one o’clock, the band 
 usually returns to the centre and headquarters of festivity, fol- 
 lowed by the members of the club in gala attire — with a great 
 display of ribbons, rosettes, mysterious insignia, and banners 
 covered with quaint devices; and their wives, children, and 
 sweethearts proud of the appearance of Tom and Ned and 
 Giles. After a hearty appreciation of the beer and solid viands 
 provided by mine host of the ‘ Red Lion ’ or ‘ Ring of Bells,’ 
 the villagers apply themselves to such sad amusements as befit 
 the grave English temperament, while the musicians go off to 
 play in front of the principal houses — the parsonage, the hall, 
 the banker’s — and levy contributions towards the expenses of 
 the day. In the evening these indefatigable instrumentalists 
 assemble in the club-room of the public-house, and then ‘ the 
 ball begins.’ That such arduous labours involve the absorption 
 of abnormal quantities of beer will easily be understood, and 
 on such an occasion may perhaps, by easy moralists, be excused. 
 
 ‘ Dancing is kept up with great spirit ’ till two or three o’clock in 
 the morning. The favourite measures used to be country dances, 
 but the quadrille and the polka are now exceedingly popular. 
 
 Meantime the open space in front of the inn has become 
 crowded with shows and booths, which do ‘ a roaring trade ’ 
 among the yokels, their wives, children, and sweethearts;— 
 shooting-galleries, swings, merry-go-round-abouts, and exhibi- 
 tions of ‘the fat woman,’ or ‘the Norfolk giant,' with glittering 
 stalls for the sale of gingerbread, nuts, and gilded cakes — tooth- 
 some but indigestible. At last the crowd begins to thin off j 
 the inn closes its shutters and its doors ; the musicians cease, 
 
46 
 
 THE STATUTE FAIR, 
 
 from exhaustion and much beer, and in twos and threes the 
 weary revellers betake themselves to their respective homes, 
 some engaged in friendly chat that ever and anon breaks out 
 into ardent professions of personal esteem, and others startling 
 the silence of the night with snatches of half-tipsy song. Be 
 it said that the quieter and more respectable villagers have 
 retired from the revelry long before, and two-thirds of the 
 village are already fast asleep. 
 
 In some places a short service at the parish church begins the 
 day, and the vicar himself makes his appearance at ‘ the dinner.’ 
 An air of decorum is thus thrown over the proceedings which 
 has a markedly salutary effect. One of the great evils of the ‘new 
 order ’ of things in country life is the extent to which the upper 
 classes are separating themselves from the amusements of the 
 lower, to the grave injury of both ; this separation encouraging 
 a belief that their interests are hostile, and inciting in the minds 
 of the lower a sentiment of antagonism against their masters 
 and employers which, I fear, will yet produce evil fruit. 
 
 The ‘ statty ’ or statute fair, for the half-yearly hiring of 
 farm servants, is still kept up in many parts of the country ; 
 it would be well if it were everywhere abolished. On these 
 occasions the young men and women 'of the district gather at 
 the appointed centre, and stand in the market-place for hire, 
 the special service which they profess being indicated by a 
 badge ; thus, the herds and hinds assume a bunch of wool, 
 the would-be carter twists a piece of whipcord in his cap, and 
 the aspirant for a housemaid’s place adorns her bonnet with a 
 sprig of broom. When engaged, both sexes pin a knot of 
 bright-coloured ribbons on breast or shoulder, like so many 
 recruits for her Majesty’s military forces. After the business of 
 the day is over, servants and employers alike proceed to ‘enjoy 
 themselves,’ and sometimes the enjoyment takes a very ques- 
 tionable shape indeed. The days of the ‘ statty ’ are numbered, 
 but most of the servants like it because it secures them a day’s 
 ‘ outing,’ and farmers because it gives them an opportunity of 
 testing and comparing a good many applicants before they 
 make their final choice. 
 
 Any survey of country life would be Incomplete which did 
 not include the ‘ habits and customs ’ of the farmers, who still 
 form an important class of our population, and wield a con- 
 siderable influence. A pleasant essayist, writing some thirteen 
 
THE FARMER OF TO-DA V. 
 
 47 
 
 years ago^ speaks of the chief events which give variety to the 
 tenant-farmer’s life as the weekly market, the agricultural meet- 
 ing, and the visitation ; and to this day they are the three great 
 events in the agriculturist’s calendar. So far as the markets 
 are concerned, we cannot shut our eyes to the great changes 
 which have taken place. The farmer no longer rises before 
 five, and straddles his rough cob, or instals himself in his old 
 gig, and jogs away at the rate of six miles an hour to reach the 
 market-place at seven. He does not think of moving until 
 about eleven or twelve, and then he mounts a smartly got-up 
 dog-cart, or, wonder of wonders ! takes a second or first-class 
 ticket at the railway-station, and travels by train to the ren- 
 dezvous. At two o’clock he sits down to the market-dinner, a 
 luxurious repast of fish and game and poultry, ^washed down’ by 
 sherry, claret, aye, and champagne. Here he settles his en- 
 gagements for the ensuing week, discusses the new manures 
 or the latest improvement in machinery; gives and accepts 
 invitations to shoot and course and sup ; grumbles at American 
 competition, and compares meteorological notes. For the 
 English farmer of the present day is a very different person from 
 the farmer of 1840 or even i860. The growth of the public 
 mind has not been limited to the manufacturing and commercial 
 districts. Successive bad seasons, foreign competition, and 
 other causes, have aroused the farmer from the supposed noimal 
 apathy of bucolicism, and he is now a quick, active, intelligent 
 man of business, taking a warm interest in politics, shrewdly 
 forecasting the various circumstances and conditions that may 
 affect his special interests, and studying the application of science 
 to the cultivation of the soil. In most parts of England he is 
 not to be distinguished outwardly from the well-to-do trader 
 or manufacturer ; the top-boots have vanished, and the leather 
 breeches, and the flowered waistcoat. Greatest change of all, 
 he is ceasing to regard his interests as necessarily identical 
 with those of his landlord, and is beginning to look after his 
 own as something distinct from those of the latter. Whilst 
 counting amongst the most loyal of subjects, he claims a perfect 
 independence of thought, action, and partizanship, whether 
 in political or ecclesiastical matters. The members of his 
 class who have gained an entrance into the Houseof Com- 
 mons are to be found distributed, but not quite equally, 
 amongst the Conservative and the Liberal benches. 
 
48 
 
 AT THE AGRICULTURAL MEETING. 
 
 It is curious to read the following passage, which was written 
 in 1867, and to contrast it with the present state of things. 
 A complete, if gradual and almost silent, revolution has been 
 worked. 
 
 ‘ At the agricultural meeting the farmer goes to hear his 
 county member much in the same spirit in which Hannibal 
 listened to the lecturer. This critical mood, however, extends 
 only to the nature of wurzels, the quality of tiles, and the pros- 
 pects of wool and corn. When politics are introduced, he listens 
 to the orator, not, indeed, with that deferential faith or keen party 
 spirit which he once possessed, but with curiosity, as he might 
 listen to a traveller who had just returned from foreign countries. 
 In matters of pure politics the farmer of the present day is some- 
 what of a Gallio. His moral system has never recovered from the 
 shock which it experienced in 1846 ; and even on questions that 
 more intimatelyconcern himsclfhe exhibitsbutalanguid interest. 
 The malt-tax rouses him to only an ephemeral excitement ; he 
 has but little faith in those that promise its repeal, and if he 
 nourishes any strong opinions about anything, they are usually 
 of such a nature that he thinks it better to keep them to him- 
 self. He now accordingly sits down at the town-hall, or the 
 corn-exchange, or the Plantagenet Arms, or wherever the dinner 
 may be held, prepared to hear a political speech as a matter of 
 course, but not caring very much about it. Like the northern 
 farmer and his clergyman, so with the farmer and his member. 
 He supposes he says what he is obliged to say, and he listens 
 and takes his leave.’ 
 
 But he no longer listens: he speaks for himself; he has 
 dared to raise his voice against privileges and monopolies which 
 seemed to be perpetuated to his own disadvantage ; and he has 
 succeeded in making so many alterations, both in himself and 
 the conditions and circumstances of his life, that it is useless to 
 deny that the traditional British farmer, the farmer of our 
 caricaturists and novelists, is as extinct as the traditional 
 country squire ; and his successor is, as I have said, a wholly 
 different personage — much more intelligent, far less prejudiced, 
 and, to my mind, much more respectable and interesting. 
 
 The essayist I have quoted, ascending from the farmers to 
 the clergy and gentry, asserts that the country life of the latter 
 has not much altered in its essence. They keep, perhaps, rather 
 later hours; some of them drink claret, and not so many 
 
A COUNTRY DINNER TARTY. 
 
 <9 
 
 clergymen hunt. I am unable to agree with him. I think the 
 gentry have felt the influence of that spirit of change which has 
 passed over the whole country and so largely modified its 
 social conditions. Their ranks have been recruited in great 
 numbers from the more prosperous of our merchants and 
 manufacturers, who have infected the whole order with their 
 activity, restlessness, and passion for liberal expenditure. The 
 country gentry differ little, if at all, from the town gentry ; as a 
 matter of fact, perhaps, they are identical, the town gentry be- 
 coming country gentry for the autumn and winter months, and 
 the country gentry migrating to town for ‘the season.’ As a 
 necessary consequence, the ‘fashions’ of the metropolis have 
 been adopted into country life, with only such relaxations as 
 the indulgence in a large amount of open-air pastime has made 
 desirable. There are ‘ afternoon teas ’ in our country as well 
 as our town houses; and the etiquette that governs ‘calls’ and 
 ‘receptions’ in London prevails at Pedlington Parva. Our 
 rural readers are able to judge for themselves how much of 
 truth is contained in the following remarks : — 
 
 ‘ The country dinner-party still survives in all its ancient 
 dignity, and has certainly now become one of the most incom- 
 prehensible modes of giving and receiving pleasure which 
 mankind have yet invented. A man comes in tired from 
 hunting or shooting, or from working in his parish, at five 
 o’clock ; and instead of refreshing himself with all those com- 
 forts which no man can find out of his own house, he is hurried 
 upstairs to dress, is dragged down shivering to the hall-door, 
 and bundled into a damp carriage, to be jostled some eight or 
 ten miles across country, there to swallow salt soup, clammy 
 cutlets, and cheap claret at a neighbour’s house, in deference 
 to conventions from which the whole spirit has departed. In 
 former days, when the dinner was at half-past five or six, when 
 the men did really and seriously drink port wine together for a 
 couple of hours, and when a round game and a rubber were 
 permitted to carry on the evening till eleven or twelve o’clock, 
 the arrival of the carriages being preceded by ‘ a traj ’ — then, 
 indeed, there was some meaning in a country dinner-party. 
 People met together to do something which they could not do 
 so well in any other way. The conversation might not be 
 metaphysical, the scandal might not be metropolitan ; but the 
 port wine, the whist, and the Pope Joan, were sound realities 
 
 4 
 
50 
 
 RUJ^AL AMUSEMENTS, 
 
 on which people looked back with satisfaction, as on so many 
 more good things got out of life and stored away beyond the 
 reach of fortune. But the dinner at seven, the coffee after two 
 glasses, tea and photographs at half-past nine, and the carriages 
 at the door at ten — these things are an unsubstantial pageant.’ 
 
 The recognised amusements of country life are necessarily 
 out-of-door amusements; such as riding, driving, boating, 
 swimming, hunting, archery, skating, shooting. Upon such 
 etiquette as connects itself with one or two of these, I shall 
 have to offer some hints hereafter. Generally speaking, these, 
 and all other amusements which enter into our social life, 
 should be governed by the one great principle of unselfishness, 
 which lies at the bottom of true courtesy. I think it will be 
 forgiven to a man if his shooting-jacket be of an obsolete cut, 
 or his toxophilite equipment incomplete in some of its details, 
 if he carry this principle into his conduct, and do unto his 
 companions as he would have them do unto himself. Where 
 men do congregate, or where men and women assemble to- 
 gether, or women alone, harmonious relations can be preserved 
 only by the maintenance of a general spirit of good-humour, of 
 that equable temper which gives and takes, of that generosity 
 which respects the wishes as well as the rights of others. ‘ Be 
 just and fear not’ is an excellent maxim; but in society, ‘ Be 
 generous and assert not ’ is a better. Etiquette may be regarded 
 as a protest by society against individual assertion, and, at the 
 same time, as the code of rules by which it endeavours to repress 
 or guard against that assertion. Everybody who has formed 
 part of a shooting or boating party, into which a self-asserting 
 individual has intruded himself, knows how that one man is 
 able to destroy the comfort of all the others. A fly on a wheel, 
 it is true, does no harm, and we laugh at the silly pride which 
 places it there ; but a fly in your eye is excessively disagreeable 
 and irritating, though it is no bigger there than on the wheel. 
 We are unable, therefore, to laugh at self-assertion, because, 
 insignificant as it is in itself, it is a source of annoyance and 
 even pain. 
 
 Country life offers such opportunities for the cultivation of 
 one very elegant amusement, as town life, under the most 
 favourable conditions, cannot bring within our reach : I refer 
 to gardening. In towns our gardens wear always an artificial 
 air, and exact of us sacrifices which they cannot to any extent 
 
GARDENING FOR LADIES. 
 
 Si 
 
 repay. But in the country, we can .convert them into ^ Eden 
 bowers ’ with very small labour, when that labour is directed 
 by skill and intelligence ; we can easily provide our homes 
 with the grace and refinement which are inseparable from 
 flowers. The exercise is healthy as it is enjoyable; it is open 
 to both sexes ; a lady can wield the rake and hoe, while the 
 rougher work is relegated to masculine hands. In many, 
 perhaps in most, families the care of the garden is left to a 
 hired gardener ; but this is a mistake, and is fatal to the whole- 
 some entertainment which ought to be got out of it. It may 
 have its flourishing shrubs, its bowers of glossy evergreens, its 
 beds of blushing blossoms ; but it is not the same thing as when 
 cultivated by our own hands ; it does not so closely engage our 
 sympathies; we have no personal interest in it; it is only 
 nominally ours — really and truly it is the gardener’s. How 
 different our feelings towards it when each flower has grown 
 up under our personal supervision ; when yonder rich mass ot 
 carnations was planted by ourselves ; when that broad cluster 
 of nemophila was sown by ourselves ; when to our fancy is 
 due that arrangement of alyssum and lobelia ; when those fair 
 gladioles have grown up under our eye ; when we have laid out 
 each bed and designed each path ! 
 
 There are gardens and gardens : each one to his taste — ■ 
 
 Italian, Elizabethan, Queen Anne, Modern English — it is easy 
 to say some words in defence of each. There may be terraces, 
 fountains, and statues, with trim parterres and broad flights of 
 steps ; or there may be cool stretches of lawn under green 
 boughs, striking promontory-wise into masses of shrubbery, 
 and broken up by well-conceived groups of rock-work. It is 
 not the style — not even the area — of the garden on which its 
 beauty and pleasure depend, for I have seen cottage gardens 
 which excelled in glow of colour and effectiveness of com- 
 bination gardens laid out by scientific horticulturists. The 
 truth is, a garden ought to exhibit the impress of the mind of 
 its owner, and is successful only in proportion to its indivi- 
 duality of character. Its position ought to be studied : its 
 relation to the surrounding landscape ; the object it is intended 
 to serve. Owing to a foolish and ignorant neglect of these 
 considerations, three-fourths of our gardens are spoiled ; they 
 attain a uniformity of dulness, a monotony of imitativeness, 
 which drive the beholder nearly mad. Each is as like the 
 
 4—3 UNIVERSITY Of 
 ILLINOIS UBRAR"^ 
 
A SENSIBLE GARDEN. 
 
 S2 
 
 other as perverted taste can make it ; the same style of flower- 
 beds, the same kind of evergreens, the same accumulation of 
 ^ bedding-out plants,’ the same miserable ‘ arrangement ’ of 
 geometrical patterns, which look as if the owner had been 
 endeavouring to work out Euclid’s problems. I would rather 
 see gardens less ambitious, and with more soul in them. I 
 would rather see each plant and shrub and flower giving posi- 
 tive evidence of its owner’s solicitude. To love a garden it 
 must be your own ; must be your own creation : it is but a 
 weak affection, after all, which we profess for other people’s 
 children. 
 
 That exercise is admittedly the healthiest which aims at the 
 attainment of some amusing or interesting object. Such is 
 gardening. We know what we are working for; if the perspi- 
 ration stand in beaded drops upon our brow, we know, that 
 all this labour is not without an aim or a reward. Every day 
 brings us a fresh toil, but it also brings a new delight. The 
 flower which yesterday v/as but a bud has now unfolded its 
 shining petals ; the plant which, last night, showed but a tiny 
 stem, this morning reveals the first sign of a green leaf. The 
 gardener, like the actor, is brought face to face with the result 
 of his exertions. He sees and feels Nature’s approval of them 
 in the bounty with which she heaps up around him her sure 
 and beautiful gifts. 
 
 I confess that, like St. Aldegonde, I hate modern gardens. 
 With Euphrosyne, I assert that one may like a mosaic pavement 
 to look like a garden, but not a garden like a mosaic pavement. 
 I delight in a garden from which one may gather a nosegay of 
 fair and fragrant flowers; a garden redolent of perfume and 
 bright with colour ; a garden with leafy shades and ferny nooks, 
 and beds of old-fashioned blossoms, rich in the associations 
 of three or four hundred years. I think Corisande’s garden 
 was a sensible one. 
 
 ‘ It was formed,’ you may remember, ^ on a gentle southern 
 slope, with turfen terraces walled in on three sides, the fourth 
 consisting of arches of golden yew. Here, in their season, 
 flourished abundantly all those productions of nature which are 
 now banished from our once delighted senses : huge bushes of 
 honeysuckle, and bowers of sweet-pea and sweet-briar, and 
 jessamine clustering over the walls, and gillyflowers scenting, 
 with their sweet breath the ancient bricks from which they 
 
A PHYSICAL AND INTELLECTUAL EXERCISE, 53 
 
 seemed to spring. There were banks of violets which the 
 southern breeze always stirred, and mignonette filled every 
 vacant nook.’ 
 
 In such a garden one would never want ‘ materials for 
 thought’ or ‘food for fancy.’ The growth of a flower is in 
 itself a subject on which one might think profitably for happy 
 hours. The seed — then the issue of the green stalks from that 
 earth-grave which is also a cradle — the lateral stems developing 
 from the main stem —the spathe — the unfolding of the leaf— 
 another, and yet another — the upward springing of the main 
 stalk, like the motion of the soul towards the light — the appear- 
 ance of the mystic bud — its enlargement, its development, by 
 some subtle and undiscernible process, into the bright con- 
 summate flower. This phenomenon is a daily occurrence, and 
 therefore we take little note of it ; were it as rare as a volcanic 
 eruption, how it would seize upon our wonder ! ‘ Last spring,’ 
 
 says Leigh Hunt, in one of his charming essays, ‘ walking over 
 some cultivated grounds, and seeing a multitude of green 
 stalks peeping forth, we amused ourselves with likening them to 
 the plumes and other headgear of fairies, and wondering what 
 faces might ensue ; and from this exercise of the fancy, we fell 
 to considering how true, and not merely fanciful, those specu- 
 lations were ; what a perpetual reproduction of the marvellous 
 was carried on by Nature ; how utterly ignorant we were of 
 the causes of the least and most disesteemed of the commonest 
 vegetables ; and what a quantity of life, and beauty, and 
 mystery, and use, and enjoyment, was to be found in them, 
 composed out of all sorts of elements, and shaped as if by the 
 hands of fairies. What workmanship, with no apparent work- 
 man ! What consummate elegance, though the result was to 
 be nothing (as we call it) but a radish or an onion, and these 
 were to be consumed, or thrown away by millions 1’ 
 
 Many such speculations will the garden awaken in a thought- 
 ful mind, and thus the physical exercise of gardening may be 
 accompanied by an intellectual exercise, which will help not a 
 little to sweeten, refine, and elevate our country life. Every- 
 thing in a garden, as elsewhere in this wonderful world, is a 
 peg on which may be hung an idea, if we have only an idea to 
 hang upon it. 
 
 An exquisite garden-picture occurs in Tennyson’s poem of 
 ‘ The Gardener’s Daughter.’ The poet is, I believe, himself 
 
54 
 
 TENNYSON^S GARDEN. 
 
 an amateur gardener of no small proficiency, and at Faring- 
 ford, in the Isle of Wight, the garden attached to his picturesque 
 residence was a sight to see. But here is the picture, which, 
 as I transcribe it, flatters my senses with sweet odours and 
 hints of colour in the golden sunshine : 
 
 ‘ A well worn pathway courted us 
 To one green wicket in a privet hedge ; 
 
 This, yielding, gave into a grassy walk 
 Thro’ crowded lilac-ambush trimly pruned ; 
 
 And one warm gust, full fed with perfume, blew 
 Beyond us, as we entered in the cool. 
 
 The garden stretches southward. In the midst 
 A cedar spread his dark green layers of shade. 
 
 The garden-glasses shone, and momently 
 The twinkling laurel scattered silver lights.’ 
 
 In such a garden it were bliss to live for ever, if that ‘ ever ’ 
 were always summer-time ; and in such a garden one is apt to 
 ask why should autumn come with its touches of decay, and 
 winter with its frost of death ? Then comes the thought, how- 
 ever, that but for those we should never know the joy and 
 happiness of the awakening of spring. 
 
 Do you recollect Miss Mitford’s garden ? She writes about 
 it, in the enthusiastic terms of love, to her friend, the author of 
 ‘ Aurora Leigh ^ — Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 ‘ You would like it,’ she says; ‘ it is so pretty. One side (it 
 is nearly an acre of show flowers) a high hedge of hawthorn, 
 with giant trees rising above it beyond the hedge, whilst all 
 down within the garden are clumps of matchless hollyhocks 
 and splendid dahlias, the top of the garden being shut in by 
 the old irregular cottage, with its dark brickwork covered with 
 vines and roses, and its picturesque chimneys mingling with 
 the bay-tree, again rising into its bright and shining cone, and 
 two old pear-trees festooned with honeysuckle ; the bottom of 
 the garden and the remaining side consisting of lower hedge- 
 rows melting into wooded uplands dotted with white cottages 
 and patches of common. Nothing can well be imagined more 
 beautiful than this little bit of ground is now. Huge masses 
 of lupines (say fifty or sixty spiral spikes), some white, some 
 lilac ; immense clumps of the marvelled Siberian larkspur, 
 glittering like some enormous Chinese jar ; the white and 
 azure blossoms of the variegated monkshood ; flags of all 
 colours ; roses of every shade, some covering the house and 
 
MISS MITFORD^S GARDEN. 
 
 55 
 
 stables and overtopping the roofs, others mingling with tall 
 apple-trees ; others again (especially the beautiful double Scotch 
 rose), low but broad, standing in bright relief to the blues and 
 purples ; and the Oriental poppy, like an orange-lamp (for it 
 really seems to have light within it), shining amidst the 
 deeper greens ; above all, the pyramid of geraniums, beautiful 
 beyond all beauty, rising in front of our garden-room, whilst 
 each corner is filled with the same beautiful flower, and the 
 whole air perfumed by the delicious honeysuckle/ 
 
 I think that those of my readers who seriously endeavour to 
 frame a garden on the pattern of Miss Mitford^s will rejoice in 
 the admirable opportunities it furnishes of mental and physical 
 exercise, and find in it an aid, not less potent than delightful, 
 to that home culture which makes home happiness. 
 
CHAPTER 11. 
 
 ABROAD. 
 
 ‘ Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.^ 
 
 Shakespeare^ 
 
 ‘ ’Tis ever common, 
 
 That men are merriest w^hen they are from home.’ 
 
 Shakespeare, 
 
 Society and its Duties — Horace Walpole upon Society — Its Observances 
 must be Complied with — Visiting Cards — ‘Calls’ — A few Words in 
 Defence of the Custom — Ladies and Morning Calls — Anecdotes — An 
 Amusing Mistake — Invitations, Form of — Replies, Form of — Receiving 
 Guests ; some Useful Advice — Qualifications of a Hostess — The late 
 Lady Palmerston — A Perfect Host : the late Lord Lansdowne — The 
 Ostentatious Host and Hostess — The Arrival of Guests ; how they are 
 to be Received — At a County Ball — Before Dinner : ‘An Awful Pause ’ 
 — Washington Irving on Genuine Hospitality — Visiting — Three Kinds, 
 or Classes, of ‘Calls’ — Visits of Ceremony — Letters of Introduction 
 —Entering a Drawing-room — Shaking Hands: a ‘Fine Art’ — The 
 Wrong Ways of Shaking Hands — Leigh Hunt and Hand-Shaking — 
 Visits of Sympathy — Calling on Married Couples — Calling on Families 
 who have Sustained a Bereavement — General Calls — Etiquette for Host 
 and Guest — How to Leave a Room — Introductions, how made, and 
 when — Some General Reflections — Provincial Society — A Grand Party 
 at Cranford, as Described by Mrs. Gaskell —Various kinds of Social 
 Entertainments — Conversaziones, ‘At Homes,’ Receptions — The 
 Etiquette attaching to Conversaziones — Public Conversaziones — Sir 
 Walter Vivian’s, in ‘ The Princess ’ — Afternoon Parties : General 
 Remarks — ‘Five o’Clock Teas’ — ‘Receptions’ — How they may be 
 made Successful — A Panegyric on Tact — Private Musical Parties — 
 Private Theatricals — Amateur Theatricals in Literature — Miss Austen 
 in ‘ Mansfield Park ’ — Miss Edgeworth in ‘ Patronage ’ — ‘ Zara ’ in the 
 Drawing-room — Advice to Amateur Actors — About Tableaux and 
 Figure Scenes — A Tableau at Windsor Castle — Hints on the Production 
 of Tableaux — ‘The Sleeping Beauty’ as a Tableau — ‘The Magic 
 Mirror ’ — Subjects Suitable for Representation— Acting Charades — 
 How they should be got up — The Elizabethan ‘ Masques ’ — ‘ Eive 
 p' Clock Teas’ again. — Garden Parties — A Garden Party in ‘ Lothair’ — • 
 
SOCIAL DUTIES. 
 
 57 
 
 MCettledrums ’ — Picnics — Hints for a Cold Collation — The Picturesque 
 side of Picnics — End of the London Season ; arranging Country Visits 
 — Etiquette for Guests at Country Houses. 
 
 HEY who live in society must not neglect the social 
 duties : the small attentions, the little courtesies, 
 the acts of reciprocal politeness, by which society 
 is held together. They must know and be known, 
 must exchange visits, must receive one another, and 
 if, in performing this somewhat weary round they feel bored, must 
 be careful not to allow their boredness to be detected. You, 
 rigid moralist that you are, will tell me that this is hypocritical. 
 I reply that politeness is not hypocrisy, but that truth is occa- 
 sionally brutal. I recognise a wide distinction between put- 
 ting forward what is false and not obtruding what is true. If 
 a man, in yawning, should cover his mouth with his hand to 
 hide what is always an ungraceful though an involuntary act, 
 is he a hypocrite ? He does but conceal from his neighbour 
 what his neighbour does not wish and has no right to know. 
 After all, the principle here indicated forms the groundwork 
 of our system of social convenances. That it provokes a good 
 deal of disgust is indubitable, and I don’t know any one who 
 has given stronger expression to this feeling of disgust than 
 Horace Walpole, though no man ever more absolutely lived 
 for and in society. Writing to Sir Horace Mann, he says : — 
 ‘ Don’t you find that nine parts in ten of the world are of no 
 use but to make you wish yourself with that tenth part ? I am 
 so far,’ he continues, ^ from growing used to mankind by living 
 amongst them, that my natural ferocity and wildness does but 
 every day grow worse. They tire me, they fatigue me j I don’t 
 know what to do with them, I don’t know what to say to them ; 
 I fling open the windows, and fancy I want air ; and when I 
 get by myself, I undress myself, and seem to have had people 
 in my pockets, in my plaits, and on my shoulders ! I indeed 
 find this fatigue worse in the country than in town, because 
 one can avoid it there and has more resources ; but it is there, 
 too. I fear ’tis growing old, but I literally seem to have mur- 
 dered a man whose name was Ennui, for his ghost is ever before 
 me. They say there is no English word for ennui ; I think 
 you may translate it most literally by what is called “ entertain- 
 ing people ” and doing the honours that is, you sit an hour 
 with somebody you don’t know and don’t care for, talk about 
 
58 
 
 VISITING CARDS, 
 
 the wind and the weather, and ask a thousand foolish questions, 
 which all begin with, ‘‘ I think you live a good deal in the 
 country,” or “ I think you don’t love this thing or that.” Oh, 
 ’tis dreadful !’ I suspect there is a good deal of hypocrisy or 
 affectation in this bit of Horatian querulousness. As a matter 
 of fact, one does not need to ask or answer foolish questions. 
 And society itself has invented many ingenious expedients for 
 lessening that ennui which the accurate observance of social 
 conventionalities might induce. 
 
 Among these expedients may be classed the introduction of 
 visiting-cards. As to the cards themselves, they should be as plain 
 as possible ; the gentleman’s is always smaller than the lady’s, 
 whilst that of the lady herself is smaller than was formerly used. 
 The cards of both gentlemen and ladies, remember, should be 
 thin, unglazed, and of good tint and quality. As variations in 
 the style of visiting-cards are constantly being made with more 
 or less minuteness or abruptness of transition, it will be well, 
 on every occasion of renewal, to ascertain whether, between 
 the intervals of supply, there has been any notable change of 
 fashion, and if so, to what extent this should be adopted, modi- 
 fied, or ignored. For this purpose the advice of the stationer 
 will be practically sufficient. There would seem to be good 
 reason for believing that playing-cards were originally used as 
 visiting-cards. In the fourth plate of Hogarth’s ‘ Marriage-a-la- 
 Mode,’ several playing-cards may be seen scattered on the floor, 
 and on one can be read, ‘ Count Basset begs to no how Lade 
 Squander sleapt last nite.^ And a correspondent of JVofes and 
 Queries^ (vol. iv. p. 195) records that about six or eight years 
 before he wrote, during the repair of a house in Dean Street, Soho, 
 four or five visiting-cards were found behind a marble chimney- 
 piece in the front drawing-room, and in each case the name 
 had been written on the back of a common playing-card. One 
 of them was inscribed ‘ Isaac Newton.’ The name, with a 
 simple ‘ Mr.’ or ‘ Mrs.’ before it, is all that is required, except 
 that, in the case of persons having wide-spread circles of friends, 
 it may be convenient, and in some instances almost imperative, 
 that the address should also be given as another instrument of 
 identification. The style will vary in the case of persons of 
 rank, whether social or military ; and, for especial or technical 
 purposes, in the case of persons entitled to an official designa- 
 tion. In illustration of this practice may be instanced such 
 
INITIAL HONOURS. 
 
 59 
 
 possible examples as ^ Viscount Eythorne/ ^ Major Gatling/ 
 ‘ Captain Torpedo/ ‘ Honourable Mrs. Dawsmere/ and so on. 
 There is, it is proper to remark, some little difference of opinion 
 as to whether it is better to use or to omit the honorary prefix 
 which forms a part of the last example, and whether the name 
 in this case should or should not be engraved as that of an 
 ordinary commoner — ‘ Mrs. Dawsmere.’ It is, therefore, to a 
 great extent left to the taste of the individual, and the practice 
 of retaining the honorary title has the advantage just mentioned 
 as attaching to the use of the address — of making identification 
 the more ready and infallible. 
 
 There are refinements of combination which may be alluded 
 to, but which it is unnecessary to pursue into any very great 
 particularity of detail. Clerical and military office may be 
 combined with hereditary rank or rank by courtesy. Thus 
 there are at present common to the ‘ Peerage ’ and the ‘ Clergy 
 List,’ the Reverend the Earl of Carlisle, the Venerable Lord 
 Say and Sele ; to the ^ Clergy List ’ and the ^ Peerage ’ and 
 titular honours of courtesy, the Reverend the Earl of Mulgrave, 
 and the Hon. and Rev. A. B. and C. D., the designation of 
 the last of whom has lately shown a happy tendency to variety 
 as the Rev. the Hon. A. B., etc. The correctness of this latter 
 form is affirmed by the analogous practice in the coincidence 
 of social with military rank, as exemplified in such forms as 
 General Lord Chelmsford, Colonel the Hon. E. F., etc. ; from 
 all which a general principle may be evolved, that a title or 
 honour to which a man is born, which he inherits, or neces- 
 sarily acquires by succession or otherwise, is closer to him, is 
 more a part of him, than any function, grade, office, or character 
 which he may have derived from the Church, the Horse Guards, 
 or the Admiralty. It is for a kindred reason that accidental or 
 professional honours, such as M.P., Q.C., R.A., and the hun- 
 dred combinations of initial letters designating the membership 
 of learned or ^^/^^Mearned societies, should not be allowed to 
 appear on cards intended for general social distribution. It is 
 proper also that official designations should not be given, ex- 
 cept on cards for use in official circles. Thus, the British 
 Ambassador in a foreign city returns official visits with a card 
 inscribed, ‘ L’Ambassadeur de Sa Majeste Britannique ;’ but 
 with his acquaintances he leaves a card bearing merely his 
 name, as Lord Lyons, Lord Odo Russell, etc. Some gentlemen 
 
6o 
 
 MORE ABOUT VISITING CARDS. 
 
 drop the prefix of ‘ Mr./ and even some young ladies, by the 
 recent adoption of a Continental fashion, drop the prefix of 
 ‘ Miss,’ and appear in the unadorned simplicity of only their 
 Christian and surname ; but this is a return to original barbarism 
 which no lady must venture to copy. A young lady, while still 
 under her mother’s wing, does not need a separate card : her 
 name is engraved under that of her mother, thus ; 
 
 Mrs. Shirley Moreton, 
 
 Miss Shirley Moreton. 
 
 If there be more than one daughter presented, the card may 
 run thus ; 
 
 Mrs. Shirley Moreton, 
 
 Miss and Miss Florence Shirley Moreton. 
 
 Or : 
 
 Mrs. Shirley Moreton, 
 
 The Misses Shirley Moreton. 
 
 Some ladies use a pocket-book when leaving cards, and the 
 practice has its advantages ; but whether card-case or pocket- 
 book, let it be of the best quality, but perfectly unostentatious. 
 The rule of distribution may thus be stated : a card for 
 the lady of the house and her daughters (the latter are some- 
 times represented by turning up the edge of the card) ; another 
 for the master of the house, and if there be a grown-up son or 
 near male relative resident in the house, a third card for him. 
 At one house no more than three cards must be left at one 
 time. As married men are exempt from the social necessity of 
 making calls, the wife takes her husband’s cards with her, and 
 leaves one or two with her own. 
 
 ‘ In visiting-cards,’ as has recently been observed by an 
 expert in the science of good manners, ^ care should be taken 
 to conform with present usage, and to avoid anything considered 
 to be in questionable taste, for a card is the representative 
 of one’s self. To the unrefined or under-bred person, the 
 visiting-card is but a trifling and insignificant piece of paper ; 
 but to the cultured disciple of social law it conveys a subtle 
 and unmistakable intelligence. Its texture, style of engraving, 
 and even the hour of leaving it, combine to place the stranger 
 whose name it bears in a pleasant or a disagreeable attitude, 
 even before his manners, conversation, and face have been 
 able to explain his social position. The higher the civilisation 
 
CALLS AND CALLERS. 
 
 61 
 
 of a community, the more careful it is to preserve the elegance 
 of its social forms. It is quite as easy to express a perfect 
 breeding in the fashionable formalities of cards as by any 
 other method, and perhaps, indeed, it is the safest herald 
 of an invitation for a stranger. Its texture should be fine, its 
 engraving a plain script, its size neither too small, so that its 
 recipients shall say to themselves, “a whimsical person,” nor 
 too large, to suggest ostentation. Refinement seldom touches 
 extremes in anything.^ 
 
 Having decided upon the material form and appearance of 
 the visiting-card, it will be well to follow that elegant little 
 personal appendage to its various social uses. It accompanies 
 the lady, or gentleman, or both together, on the morning call, 
 which is understood to be best made not much before three, 
 nor much after five, in the afternoon, the time varying, however, 
 with the time of year, or as the locality is in London or in the 
 country, or again according to any other circumstances which 
 the caller or callers will probably know how to take into con- 
 sideration. If, as not infrequently happens, a married lady 
 should represent not herself only, but also her husband, in the 
 round of her social peregrinations, she will leave two of his 
 cards — that is, one each for the lady of the house on whom 
 she calls and her husband, and one to serve as a token and 
 memorial of her own visit. The same thing will happen, 
 miitatis iniLtandis., if a husband and wife make a call in com- 
 pany at the' house of a lady who is not at home to receive 
 them. The practice of turning down one corner of a card is 
 sometimes adopted when it is desirable that it should be 
 understood that a call has been made in person, in contra- 
 distinction to a call which has been, in fact, made by deputy 
 of a servant, who has been sent in charge of cards for that 
 purpose. This is an allowed and recognised practice where 
 professional or other engagements make it inconvenient or im- 
 possible for gentlemen to call on their own account ; but it is 
 contrary to all notions of respect and etiquette to send by post 
 what, if it cannot be left in person, must be left by a friendly 
 or domestic representative. The practice of sending cards by 
 post is allowed by some authorities ; but the later and better 
 custom demands its unhesitating reprehension. It is too 
 cheap an expression of respect to be recommended, and to a 
 fastidious taste it is so repugnant as to be intolerable. 
 
62 
 
 A DEFENCE OF CALLS, 
 
 From cards we come to ^ calls/ on which society falls back 
 when visiting-cards have done their duty. A great deal of un- 
 necessary satire has been lavished upon a custom, which, though 
 it has its ridiculous and its wearisome side, is not without its 
 advantages and its pleasant characteristics. I do not see, 
 indeed, how society could exist if ‘ calls ’ were abolished. 
 How should we make acquaintance, and by what process would 
 acquaintances develop into friends ? And can there be a more 
 agreeable way of utilising our leisure than in looking up our 
 neighbours, and chatting with them in the unrestrained inter- 
 course of domestic life ? No doubt it is sometimes a painful 
 
 duty to pay visits or to receive them ; I don’t like Mrs. D , 
 
 with her Brummagem gentility, and regard the time as hopelessly 
 wasted which is spent in calling upon her. Or I have some 
 special work to accomplish, and cannot get through it in time, 
 
 because Mrs. D , whom / do not like, calls upon who 
 
 do not like her, wasting my time and temper, and putting both 
 of us to inconvenience. But, after all, these are exceptional 
 cases. We may surely take it for granted that we like most of 
 our acquaintances, and that most of them like us^ and it is 
 hardly a matter of impossibility so to arrange our daily engage- 
 ments that ‘ a morning call ' shall not greatly interrupt them. 
 Much of the splenetic satire poured out upon ‘ calls ’ and 
 ‘ morning visits ’ seems to me as beside the mark, as unreal 
 and purely ‘got up,’ as the satire which fourth-rate dramatists 
 and comic writers vent upon mothers-in-law. We must be 
 sadly deficient in conversational resource if we cannot enter- 
 tain one another — the caller and the callee — for the brief space 
 to which it is allowable to protract a visit. Were it not for 
 this excellent social institution, our English reserve and in- 
 difference would assume colossal proportions, and the hedge 
 within which we enclose ourselves from contact with our 
 fellows would become absolutely impassable. An authority 
 on these subjects wisely remarks that ‘ the visit or call is a 
 much better institution than is generally supposed. It has,’ 
 he admits, ‘ its drawbacks. It wastes much time ; it necessitates 
 much small talk. It obliges one to dress on the chance of 
 finding a friend at home ; but for all this it is almost the only 
 means of making an acquaintance ripen into a friendship. In 
 the visit all the strain which general society somehow necessi- 
 tates is thrown off. A man receives you in his rooms cordially, 
 
AJV ANECDOTE AND A CONTRETEMPS, 
 
 63 
 
 and makes you welcome, not to a stiff dinner, but an easy- 
 chair and conversation. A lady, who in the ball-room or party 
 has been compelled to limit her conversation, can here speak 
 more freely. The talk can descend from generalities to per- 
 sonal inquiries ; and need I say that if you wish to know a 
 young lady truly, you must see her at home, and by daylight’ 
 For myself, I do not think it a hardship to call upon an 
 agreeable materfamilias and her charming daughters, and spend 
 thirty or forty minutes in lively and intelligent talk, to which, 
 somehow or other, their bright eyes lend a peculiar piquancy. 
 But you will say that every materfamilias is not agreeable, and 
 all daughters not charming. True : but, my good sir, do you 
 expect roses to be without thorns ? As well expect our English 
 summer to be without rain. You must take the rough with the 
 smooth ; the unattractive with the delightful ; cloud and sun- 
 shine. A fine law of compensation prevails in Nature ; and 
 if ypu strike a profit and loss account of the calls you pay in a 
 year, I am sure you will find a large balance on the profit side. 
 
 An amusing story is told in illustration of the zeal with which 
 some ladies go through this so-called penance of morning calls, 
 which apparently fills in their lives a place second only to 
 the pleasure of shopping. Lady B. was living in a part of 
 Scotland where country houses lie scattered at a considerable 
 distance from one another, and the round of visits she had 
 marked out for herself would clearly occupy a whole day. To 
 this plan her daughters objected, alleging that fasting for so 
 many hours always made them ill. ‘Ah,’ replied Lady B., ‘I 
 have guarded against that difficulty by arranging to reach 
 Castle T. at two o'clock. The Ts. will then be at luncheon, 
 and will certainly invite us to partake of some.' 
 
 Lady B. had her way; she and her daughters started, called on 
 two or three ‘ friends,’ with whom they exchanged the usual con- 
 ventional common-places, and arrived at Castle T. exactly at the 
 calculated hour. Mrs. T. was delighted to see them, and entered 
 on an animated conversation, but spoke no word of luncheon. 
 The visitors felt the pangs of hunger so acutely that they could 
 scarcely bear their part in the lively talk, and eagerly awaited 
 the expected invitation. Half-past two came — a quarter to 
 three. Lady B. could no longer prolong her stay, and took leave 
 of her hostess. But in doing so she betrayed, to Mrs. T.’s 
 astonishment and the intense delight of her daughters, the 
 
64 
 
 A FRIENDLY VISIT. 
 
 sul}ject of her secret thoughts. ‘Good-bye/ she said, ‘dear 
 Mrs. Luncheon !’ After a moment’s wonder Mrs. T. took the 
 hint, and invited her guests to take some refreshment. As 
 she was really a very hospitable woman she would not be re- 
 fused, and explained that for the convenience of some mem- 
 bers of her family the luncheon hour had been altered to 
 one. Lady B., on her part, made a full confession, and the 
 Avhole party then sat down to an extemporised collation, which 
 proved one of the most successful repasts ever served. 
 
 Another story, of a different kind, may be acceptable to the 
 reader. A worthy, but somewhat punctilious gentleman, no 
 longer in his robust youth, was persuaded by his wife to call 
 upon some old friends of hers who had just come to settle in 
 London, but with whom he was unacquainted. He at last 
 gave his consent, after inquiring particularly where they lived, 
 and whether his wife was certain as to the street and the num- 
 ber of the house. 
 
 ‘ Oh yes,’ said Mrs. D., ‘ I was there only last week. It is 
 
 No. — , in Street, Cavendish Square. I know the house 
 
 perfectly well.’ 
 
 It was the flush and maturity of summer, and the weather 
 being hotter than we have any idea of in these degenerate days, 
 Mr. and Mrs. D. resolved to start early and visit their friends 
 before luncheon. When they entered the street, Mrs. D. felt 
 a moment’s hesitation, but it vanished on her recollecting that 
 on her previous visit she had not crossed the Park, and had 
 struck the street at the other end. She was very careful to 
 say nothing to her husband, and, moreover, she felt assured that 
 she remembered the exterior of the house too well to fall into 
 any blunder. 
 
 ‘That is it, I suppose. Mr. , did you not say?’ growled 
 
 her husband, irritated at his hot walk, and resenting his foolish 
 consent to undergo the affliction of a morning call. 
 
 ‘ Oh yes, certainly.’ 
 
 Mrs. D. spoke with assurance : did she not remember the 
 flowers in the windows and the creepers in the balcony ? 
 
 When the door opened she felt some misgivings. The 
 servant, the hall, the staircase, seemed to have undergone a 
 change ; but she was reassured when, on asking if Mrs. X. 
 were at home, a reply was readily given in the affirmative. On 
 being shown into the reception-room her doubts returned, for 
 
A HAPPY MISTAKE. 
 
 65 
 
 the apartment was different in every respect to the one in which 
 Mrs. X. had greeted her a few days before, and two gentlemen 
 were there whom she did not know. Presently the servant 
 came to say that Mrs. X. was dressing, but would be down in 
 a few minutes. There was nothing to be done but wait, and 
 no virtue to be cultivated but patience. Suddenly the door 
 was thrown open, and a lady with flowers in her hair and w’-ear- 
 ing a low evening dress entered hastily. Mr. D. looked up 
 astonished ; but his gaze grew more bewildered when he saw 
 his wife and her friend stop short in their swift advance to 
 perform the usual feminine salutation. 
 
 Mrs. D. did not know — had never before seen — this 
 Mrs. X. 
 
 Mrs. X. did not know — had never before heard of-— this 
 Mrs. D. 
 
 At last there came some hastily murmured apologies, and 
 an explanation. Mrs; X. had been expecting an early visit 
 from Mr. M., the great artist, to take her portrait, and had 
 dressed accordingly. Another family of the same name as her 
 own had recently bought a house a few doors lower down, and 
 the circumstance had already caused some awkward mistakes. 
 This family, of course, were Mrs. D.’s friends, and she had 
 blundered about the house ; not an unforgivable blunder in 
 London, where one house reflects another, and the demon of 
 uniformity reigns in street after street. To the comedy of 
 errors, however, a pleasant conclusion was furnished by Mrs. X.’s 
 earnest request that the visitors vialgre eiix would stay to 
 luncheon, and in this way began an acquaintance which rapidly 
 ripened into a warm friendship. 
 
 May all our mistakes, dear reader, end as happily ! 
 
 If the lady of the house on whom the call is made be at 
 home to receive her visitors, the latter are not — according to 
 the present canons of etiquette, which in these trivial matters 
 of detail are apt to be ephemeral and inconstant, and, in this 
 particular instance, have only recently been adopted — to offer 
 their cards to the servant for presentation. If they are so offered, 
 however, the well-trained domestic will know how to suppress 
 the ‘ pasteboard ’ without delivery, when the persons whom it 
 nominally describes are present to answer for themselves ; and 
 following the servant to the drawing-room, will be verbally an- 
 nounced and received. In the case of calls about business, 
 
 5 
 
65 
 
 ABOUT CALLS AMD LNVITATLONS. 
 
 or by one stranger upon another, say for such a purpose as an 
 inquiry into the character of a servant, the old rule of sending 
 in a card as an announcement of personality may still, for 
 convenience sake, be observed. 
 
 A couple of ladies, whether in the relation of friends, or of 
 mother and daughter, will frequently find it convenient to make 
 calls together. In London the number of callers should ordi- 
 narily be kept down to two persons, whereas in the country an 
 entire family may call all at once without indiscretion. The 
 reasons for this are too obvious to require dwelling upon; but 
 there is one advantage that may be stated in the London 
 limitation of numbers, that in the case of families, their inter- 
 course is all the more frequent because it is kept up by the 
 visits only of instalments of their members. 
 
 Into the drawing-room of a house belonging to another 
 person, callers will take care that, through their agency, or in 
 their company, neither children nor dogs — the collocation is 
 not complimentary, but it is inevitable — should be suffered to 
 intrude. 
 
 If care be requisite in drawing up and issuing invitations — 
 and, after all, it is upon the observance of these ‘ minor morals ^ 
 that the social harmony depends — not less is it needful in 
 replying to them. Whether through indolence, constitutional 
 or acquired, or through ignorance, or through a stress of engage- 
 ments, some persons are reprehensibly dilatory in answering 
 the notes they receive. It must be assumed that they are un- 
 conscious of the inconvenience their diiatoriness causes. Yet 
 let them apply the argument ad hominem. Let them suppose 
 that they have sent out twelve invitations to a dinner-party ; 
 that next day they receive six answers only ; will they not be 
 much annoyed by the consequent impossibility of completing 
 their arrangements ? When the delay is due to either of the 
 causes adverted to, it is almost inexcusable ; but it is really un- 
 pardonable when it arises from a vulgar belief that to keep 
 your friend waiting is to assert your own superiority. More- 
 over, the delay in the former case shows a want of proper 
 management — of that method and order essential to the 
 adequate discharge of the duties laid upon us by our social 
 position. It is the easiest thing in the world for the mistress 
 of a house to set apart a portion of the day for letter-writing, 
 which, of course, will include the issue and acknowledgment 
 
ABOUT REPLIES TO INVITATIONS. 
 
 67 
 
 of invitations. A time for everything, and everything in its 
 time, is a motto which the capable and careful housewife will 
 not fail to act upon. 
 
 A prompt reply is a necessary act of courtesy. If in the 
 affirmative it sets your friend’s mind at rest, if in the negative, 
 it gives her an opportunity of sending out another invitation to 
 supply your place. Your friend, in arranging her party, has 
 given the preference to A., B., C, and D. If D., yourself, can- 
 not accept the invitation, she can then ask E., but only if you 
 have replied without delay. She cannot ask E. unless she can 
 give E. sufficient notice ; for E., perhaps, belongs to that class 
 of persons who take offence at a short invitation. You, I hope, 
 are not one of those persons who deliberately defer replying 
 to an invitation they do not specially favour, in the hope that 
 one they like better may turn up. It is an elementary law of 
 etiquette that an invitation to dinner should be answered im- 
 mediately \ if the servant wait, it should be returned by him ; 
 if it be left, an answer should be despatched at once ; if it be 
 sent by post, the answer should follow ‘by return of post.’ 
 Should your husband be out at the time, you must of course 
 await his return ; or if he be from home for a day or two, you 
 should write to your friend as follows : — ‘ Dear Mrs. Z., 
 Many thanks for your kind invitation, which I trust we may 
 be able to accept ; but my husband is in the country, and I 
 am not certain as to his engagements. I will let you know 
 the moment I hear from him.’ Invitations from country friends 
 should be answered immediately ; so should wedding invita- 
 tions, and invitations to private theatricals, concerts, and 
 similar entertainments. Answers to ‘ at homes ’ may be sent 
 within two days. 
 
 There is an art in receiving guests ; some persons by a smile, 
 a grasp of the hand, a well-chosen word or two, will at once 
 put you at your ease, and make you feel that you are welcome; 
 others, with a much more elaborate courtesy, will fail to pro- 
 duce so agreeable an impression. It all depends upon manner ; 
 and a lady desirous of standing well with society will find it 
 advisable to pay special attention to this point. Understand, 
 once for all, that ‘ manner ’ cannot be taught ; it is not the 
 product of any fixed rules ; nor can it be acquired, like skill in 
 dancing, through elaborate practice. Itmustspring fromanatural 
 bonhomie and good feeling ; from a genuine desire to promote 
 
 5—2 
 
68 
 
 THE ART OF RECEIVING GUESTS. 
 
 the happiness of those with whom you are brought in contact ; 
 but, on the other hand, much may be done by repressing im- 
 patience, by cultivating kindly relations with all your ac- 
 quaintances, by conquering disagreeable habits and affectations. 
 Some people seem afraid to be agreeable; apparently they 
 fear to lose their position by displaying anything like a cordial 
 interest in those whom they gather around them. Such persons 
 are generally as servile to their superiors as they are cold to 
 their equals and haughty to their personal inferiors. Now it 
 should be the great aim and guide of host and hostess to treat 
 all their guests with equal politeness. They are not justified 
 in inviting any one for the purpose of snubbing them. A rude- 
 ness on the part of a host or hostess is all the more unpar- 
 donable because a guest cannot resent it ; his very position as 
 a guest compels him to endure the slight in silence. The Arab 
 is sometimes spoken of as a barbarian ; but in the relation of 
 host to guest he is a much more polished gentleman than many 
 of your ‘ upper ten thousand ’ and their imitators, who ap- 
 parently labour under the delusion that coldness and hauteur 
 are signs of good breeding. 
 
 An authority upon etiquette sagely observes that the manner 
 and mode of receiving guests is determined by the character of 
 the reception. ‘ The welcome itself is not supposed to vary 
 in warmth ; although, as a matter of necessity, a welcome that 
 has to be accorded to some two or three hundred guests cannot 
 be as friendly, or as personal a one, as that offered to some 
 ten to thirty guests ; but v/here ‘‘ the perfect hostess is at her 
 post, her greeting is neither constrained, proud, nor hurried ; 
 and although she can say but little to each guest on their 
 arrival, yet her manner of saying that little conveys all that it 
 is possible to convey of hospitable welcome.’ The writer adds: 
 — ‘ Whatever disappointment or annoyance a hostess may feel 
 at the moment of her reception — and it is not seldom that a 
 hostess is tried in this way — she never allows her own vexation 
 to appear on the surface, and is neither absent-minded nor 
 distraite, bored nor vacant in manner, when shaking hands with 
 her guests.’ Some hostesses seem to think, that when they have 
 decorated their rooms, prepared their dinner or supper, and 
 engaged Strauss’s band, or Signor Andantino Cantatalini, they 
 have done their duty ; in truth, they have done the smallest 
 part of it — have done what their housekeeper or butler could 
 
A PERFECT HOST AND HOSTESS. 
 
 69 
 
 have done just as well. The arduous part of a hostess's duty 
 begins with the arrival of the first guest. The success of an enter- 
 tainment — unless it be a purely formal one — depends absolutely 
 on the ‘ manner ' in which she receives the friends and 
 acquaintances who have assembled at her request, and the tact 
 with which she fuses the necessarily heterogenous elements into 
 an harmonious whole. 
 
 Mr. Hayward, in his sketch of the late Lady Palmerston, 
 puts before us a perfect hostess. ‘ Few things admitting of 
 order,' he says, ^ can be thoroughly well done without it. Her 
 visiting book was kept as regularly as an accountant's ledger. 
 So long as her health allowed she made a point of filling up 
 her cards with her own hands, and she knew exactly whom she 
 had invited for each of her alternate nights. Her good-nature 
 was inexhaustible, nor was it ever known to give way under 
 any extent of forwardness or tiresomeness. The quintessence of 
 high-breeding is never to ruffle^ offend., or i7iortify — never to 
 cause an unpleasant feeling by a tone, a gesture, or a word ; 
 and, instead of interrupting or abruptly quitting wearisome or 
 pushing visitors, she would listen till they ceased of their own 
 accord, or were superseded and went away.' 
 
 In the late Lord Lansdowne, the same writer describes a 
 perfect host : — ‘ Consciously or unconsciously, he acted on 
 Goethe's rule, never to pass a day without reading some good 
 poetry, hearing some good music, and seeing some fine picture. 
 “ He looks," writes Sydney Smith, for talents and qualities 
 amongst all ranks of men, and adds them to his stock of 
 society as a botanist does his plants ; and whilst other aristo- 
 crats are yawning amongst Stars and Garters, Lansdowne is 
 refreshing his soul with the fancy and genius he has found in 
 odd places, and gathered to the marbles and pictures of his 
 palaces." . . . 
 
 ^ Brillat-Savarin lays down that, to make a pleasant dinner- 
 party, the guests should be so selected “ that their occupations 
 should be varied, their tastes analogous, and with such points 
 of contact that there shall be no necessity for the odious 
 formality of presentation." The guests at Lansdowne House 
 were so selected ; the host took care that all should share in 
 the conversation; and when they were re-assembled in the 
 drawing-room, he would adroitly coax them into groups, or 
 devote himself for a minute or two, carelessly and without 
 
70 
 
 DUTIES OF A HOSTESS, 
 
 effort, to the most retiring or least known. He was emphati- 
 cally described as a right divine gentleman by one (Justice 
 Talfourd) whom he had just been putting at his ease in this 
 manner. He talked delightfully, and he listened as well as he 
 talked.’ 
 
 It is necessary to insist upon those qualities as essential to 
 the perfect host and hostess in days when the old social order 
 seems at a discount ; and the ambition of entertainers is centred 
 in the costly decoration of their rooms and the accumulation 
 of evidences of their w^ealth. People there are who evidently 
 regard the command of great pecuniary resources as the sole 
 qualification of a host. Lavish gilding and colour on your 
 reception-chambers, crowd them wuth a medley gathering of 
 guests, secure the attraction of some titled personage or pro- 
 fessional beauty, and their idea of hospitality is satisfied. The 
 truth is, to play the host or hostess as either part should be 
 played, as Lady Palmerston or Lord Lansdowne played it, 
 requires a combination of gifts and graces which is unfor- 
 tunately rare : good-temper, intelligence, culture, refinement, 
 and absolute self-forgetfulness. The perfect hostess thinks 
 only of her guests ; the fashionable hostess of the day thinks 
 only of herself. 
 
 Descending to smaller but not wholly unimportant matters, 
 we may remind our readers that a good hostess will remain on 
 the staircase landing, which at a London ball or ‘ At Home ’ 
 is the post for receiving guests, for fully two hours. As the 
 names of the guests are announced, she will shake hands with 
 each, and address them in some graceful and appropriate 
 words ; not, indeed, to delay them on the landing, but rather 
 to invite them to enter the ball-room, and make room for 
 fresh arrivals. She should not address to each the same 
 stereotyped observation, but to every person say something 
 individual and pertinent. At the same time she must be 
 careful not to be drawn into a conversation with certain of her 
 guests, as this would be unfair to the others, as well as a source 
 of confusion and delay. 
 
 At a ball in the country the hostess’s position is at the door 
 of the ball-room. There she receives each comer, and utters 
 her words of welcome. To one she will say : — ‘ Plow kind of 
 you to come from such a distance ! I fear you will feel fatigued, 
 but a dance will, I hope, revive you.’ To another : — ^ I am 
 
THE INTERVAL BEFORE DINNER, 
 
 71 
 
 delighted to see you looking so well. A quadrille is just 
 beginning: will your daughters join ?’ When the full tale of 
 guests is completed, the hostess does her utmost to keep all 
 her guests well entertained. She finds partners for the young 
 ladies who are not dancing ; she provides the chaperons with 
 some suitable persons to talk to, or makes up a card-party for 
 them in a quiet corner ; she sees that the young men are all 
 actively employed; she is here, there, and everywhere, and 
 yet always cool and self-possessed and quiet. A fussy hostess 
 is a nuisance ; and a party that cannot be kept going without 
 a constant worry and rattle is as irksome as a machine which 
 is always jarring and creaking, to the intense irritation of one^s 
 nerves. Perfect machinery works noiselessly ; so does a perfect 
 hostess. 
 
 A critical moment in the reception of guests is the interval 
 between the arrival of dinner guests and the serving-up of 
 dinner ; it is then that her conversational talents are put to 
 the severest trial. Sometimes this painful ordeal is unduly 
 prolonged by the non-appearance of some guest without whom 
 it would be indecorous to begin. A good hostess, though she 
 knows that her dinner is spoilt by being thus kept back, and 
 that her husband dislikes, above all things, a want of punc- 
 tuality where dinner is concerned, endeavours to make the 
 time pass as pleasantly as possible, by rendering the conversa- 
 tion general, and by bringing the guests acquainted with one 
 another. The hostess who can tide over these awkward 
 occurrences, so that the postponement of dinner from half to 
 three quarters of an hour is hardly perceived, proves herself 
 to be (from the Book of Etiquette point of view) a most 
 finished hostess. The bad hostess wearies her guests in such 
 a moment as this, by deploring the non-arrival of the absentee, 
 by speculating as to the reason of delay in her coming, by 
 declaring her conviction that the dinner will be spoilt, and by 
 either asking her husband what o’clock it is, or by perpetually 
 glancing at the clock on the mantel-piece, and remarking 
 audibly ‘A quarter past eight — twenty minutes past eight — half- 
 past eight,’ never allowing her guests to forget how the time is 
 going, thus rendering the contretemps a thing to be remembered 
 and related. 
 
 ‘ There is an emanation from the heart in genuine hospi- 
 tality,’ says Washington Irving, ‘ which cannot be described, 
 
72 
 
 DIFFERENT KINDS OF CALLS, 
 
 but is immediately felt, and puts the stranger at once at his 
 ease.’ Without this emanation from the heart, a hostess may 
 be rigid in her observance of the minutiae prescribed in books 
 of etiquette, and yet fail to attain success. Forms in them- 
 selves are useful, but not attractive ; they must be animated 
 by a cheerful and self-denying spirit if they are to become 
 something more than rules which everybody respects but no 
 one prizes. Too many hostesses imagine that when they have 
 mastered the details, their work is done ; in truth, it is only 
 begun. You may learn the grammar of a language, and yet 
 know nothing of its genius. So you may be precise in your 
 knowledge of the rules of etiquette, and utterly ignorant of the 
 true spirit of hospitality. 
 
 It is an excellent plan to set apart one evening in the week 
 for the reception of visitors. Wliere this custom does not 
 obtain, you should make your calls in the afternoon, or between 
 three o’clock and six ; that is, after luncheon and before dinner. 
 
 ^ Calls ’ may be divided into three classes : 
 
 a. Visits of ceremony ; 
 
 /3. Visits of congratulation or sympathy ; 
 
 7. General calls. 
 
 In reference to each, a few remarks will be offered. 
 
 a. Visits of ceremony are those made for the purpose of 
 presenting letters of introduction, or after parties. Letters of 
 introduction are seldom given to persons in town, because it is 
 assumed that their stay is only temporary ; and such letters are 
 addressed to none but permanent residents. In the country, 
 they are almost indispensable, particularly when a family first 
 settle in a new neighbourhood, and desire to mingle in its 
 society. In the latter case, it is the rule for the residents to 
 call on the new-comers, unless the latter are provided with 
 introductions, when they must be the first to call, leaving with 
 their letters a card or cards, and then waiting until they receive 
 a proper recognition. In returning a visit made with a letter 
 of introduction, the caller must go in if the family be at home. 
 Of course, in large towns no such custom exists ; for, obviously, 
 the residents would be able to do little else if they called upon 
 every fresh arrival, to say nothing of the fact that they might 
 not desire to cultivate the acquaintance of but a very few of 
 those new-comers. If your letter of introduction be one for a 
 special purpose, you will send it in along with your card, and 
 
LETTERS OF INTRODUCTION-^VISITS OF CEREMONY. 73 
 
 ask for an interview. In giving letters of introduction great 
 care should be exercised, and you should become sponsor only 
 for a friend, and for an object you can approve, or for a person 
 whom you thoroughly know and can trust. They should be 
 left open, if given to their bearers, who may then satisfy them- 
 selves respecting their tone and tenure. You know the old 
 story of the London physician who sent a sick patient to Scar- 
 borough with a letter of introduction to a medical friend. The 
 lady, one of that numerous class whose ailments belong to 
 their imagination, was induced to open the letter, and its peru- 
 sal made her a wiser if a sadder woman. It ran thus : — 
 
 ‘ Dear , I send you a rich old woman, who is always 
 
 fancying herself ill. Bleed her freely. Keep her thirty days, 
 and send her back to me.’ So equivocal an introduction has, 
 you see, its disadvantages ! 
 
 The day after a ball you must call at the house of your 
 hostess, and leave a card. After a dinner-party, you should 
 make a personal visit within two or three days \ and after a 
 soiree or evening party, within a week. All such visits should 
 resemble wit in their brevity — not exceeding the length of a 
 reasonable sermon, twenty or thirty minutes. If during your 
 call another visitor arrive, you will wait two or three minutes, 
 and join in the conversation, before you get up to take your 
 leave. You must not appear to shun the new-comer, as if he 
 were a patient just recovering from a contagious disease. In 
 such cases, however, where visitors are not previously known 
 to each other, a hostess of tact will in some informal manner 
 make them sufficiently acquainted for the purposes of a passing 
 conversation, but not so as to commit either, under penalty of 
 rudeness, to a permanent or future acquaintance which should 
 not be mutually desirable. I suppose I need hardly tell the 
 reader that it is only on the stage that visitors enter a drawing- 
 room umbrella in hand, especially in wet or dirty weather, 
 when it should absolutely and without alternative be left in the 
 hall. Gentlemen may take their hat and cane, but if so, they 
 will not deposit them on table, sofa, or chair; nor will they 
 revolve their hat on the top of their cane as if they were illus- 
 trating an experiment in rotation. The glove must be removed 
 from the right hand ; no gentleman would wish to interpose a 
 glove between his hand and that of a fair lady. 
 
 And here I may digress a little. Let the reader remember 
 
74 
 
 VARIETIES OE HAND^SHAKING, 
 
 that there is a right and a wrong way of hand-shaking. It is 
 horrible when your unoffending digits are seized in the sharp 
 compress of a kind of vice, and wrung and squeezed until you 
 feel as if they were reduced to jelly. It is not less horrible 
 when you find them lying in a limp, nerveless clasp, which 
 makes no response to your hearty greeting, but chills you like 
 a lump of ice. Shake hands as if you meant it, swiftly, strenu- 
 ously, and courteously, neither using an undue pressure, nor 
 falling wholly supine. You may judge of the character of a 
 man from the way in which he shakes hands ; there is the shake 
 lymphatic^ the shake aggressive^ the shake supercilious^ the shake 
 imperative^ the shake stcspicious^ the shake sympathetic^ and the 
 shake ejnotionaL Charles Lamb describes also the puf7ip-handle 
 shake, which is executed by taking a friend’s hand and working 
 it up and down, through an arc of fifty degrees, for about a 
 minute and a half. ‘ To show its nature, force, and character, 
 this shake should be performed with a firm and steady motion. 
 No attempt should be made to give it grace, and still less 
 variety, as the few instances in which the latter has been tried 
 have uniformly resulted in dislocating the shoulder of the 
 person on whom it has been attempted. On the contrary, 
 persons who are partial to the pump-handle shake should be at 
 some pains to give an agreeable, tranquil movement to the 
 operation, which should on no account be continued after per- 
 spiration on the part of your friend has commenced.’ Then 
 there is the pendulum shake, which somewhat resembles the 
 former; but, as its name implies, the movement is on a 
 horizontal instead of a perpendicular direction. ‘ It is executed 
 by sweeping your hand horizontally towards your friend’s, and 
 after the junction is effected, moving with it from one side to 
 the other according to the pleasure of the parties.’ Nor must 
 the tourniquet shake be forgotten, which derives its name from 
 the instrument employed by surgeons to stop the circulation of 
 the blood in a limb about to be amputated. You grasp the 
 hand of your friend as far as you can in your own, and then 
 contract the muscles of your thumb, fingers, and palm till 
 you have induced any degree of compression you may propose 
 in the hand of your friend. Particular care ought to be taken, 
 if your hand be hard and big, and that of your friend small and 
 soft as a maiden’s, not to make use of the tourniquet shake to 
 such a degree that it will crush the small bones of the wrist 
 
HANDSHAKING AS A FINE ART. 75 
 
 out of their places. It is seldom safe to apply it to gouty 
 or hot-tempered persons. 
 
 You will see some persons thrust forth their hand with a 
 sudden jerk, like that of a steam-engine suddenly set in motion ; 
 and lo, they have taken possession of your own, and are doing 
 with it as they will, before you have recovered breath. Others 
 put forward their fingers with an apparent timidity or reluct- 
 ance, and compel you to pounce upon them and draw them 
 towards you, in order to perform an effective shake. Others 
 again extend their hand timidly, partly withdraw it and again 
 extend it, until you are uncertain whether or no the act of hand- 
 shaking will be performed after all. As for the cold-blooded 
 creatures who austerely offer one or two fingers, I recommend 
 you to ignore them ; look loftily over them as if unconscious of 
 their existence and — their fingers. But when a lady (and more 
 particularly a fair one) does you the honour to offer her hand, 
 take it with an air of grateful deference which will show how 
 you appreciate the honour; do not drop it instantly as if the 
 touch scared you, nor hold it so long as to cause her a feeling 
 of uneasiness.* 
 
 * Leigh Hunt, in his genial way, treats this subject sensibly. He says 
 that from the first time he began to notice the manners of people, he observed 
 the errors in the custom of shaking hands. Some persons grasped every- 
 body’s hand alike — with an equal fervour of grip. You would have thought 
 that Jenkins was the best friend they had in the world ; but on succeeding 
 to the squeeze, you found it, though you might be but a slight acquaintance, 
 equally flattering to yourself ; and on the appearance of somebody else 
 (whose name, it turned out, the operator had forgotten), the crush was no 
 less complimentary : — the face was as earnest, and the shake as long and 
 close and rejoicing, as if the semi-unknown had been a friend newly returned 
 from the wilds of Central Africa. 
 
 But, as a contrast, you find a gentleman, now and then, as coy of his 
 hand as if he were a prude, or had a whitlow. It was in vain that your 
 pretensions did not go beyond the ‘ civil salute ’ of the ordinary shake ; or 
 that being introduced to him in a friendly manner, and expected to shake 
 hands with the rest of the company, you could not in decency omit his. His 
 lingers, half protruding and half retreating, seemed to think that you were 
 going to do them a mischief ; and when you got hold of them, all the shake 
 was on your side ; the other hand did but proudly or pensively acquiesce — 
 there was no knowing which ; you had to sustain it, as you might a lady’s, 
 in handing her to a seat ; and ’twas an equal trouble to know whether to 
 shake it or to let it go. The one seemed a violence done to the patient ; 
 the other an awkward responsibility brought upon yourself. You wondered, 
 all the evening, whether the person had conceived some dislike or prejudice 
 against you, till, when the party broke up, you saw him behave like an 
 
76 
 
 VISITS OF S y MPA THY, 
 
 S. We pass on to visits of sympathy, which may either be of 
 congratulation, or of condolence. 
 
 You v;ill call on a newly-married couple within a few days of 
 their return home, leaving your card if you are not on very 
 intimate terms, but calling in person if they or their parents 
 rank among your old friends. 
 
 Visits of condolence should be paid within a week of the 
 event that has rendered them necessary. Here again, it is only 
 friends who should seek admission, and'these should be careful 
 not to say too much, or to stay too long. When we are suffer- 
 ing from a great sorrow, silent sympathy affords us the best 
 consolation. We cannot bear to utter, or to hear, many words 
 on a subject which, whenever thought of, moves us to tears. 
 What would you think of the surgeon who continually probed 
 an open wound ? Again, few are they who, in the presence of 
 a profound grief, can say the right thing ; and hence the sense 
 of incapacity which afflicts us with a certain awkwardness, and 
 plunges us into a conventionalism of expression that to a 
 mourner sounds constrained and cold. 
 
 y. General calls. 
 
 I have already named Hhe time o’ day’ at which such visits 
 should be paid. Be specially careful to avoid the hour of 
 luncheon, and do not delay until close upon the hour for dinner. 
 Never make your visit so long as to create in the mind of your 
 host an intense desire that you would go. No well-bred actor 
 lingers on the stage until the audience sho^vs signs of weariness. 
 There is sound sense in the remark which Bulwer Lytton put 5 
 in the mouth of his hero Pelham, that he always withdrew when 
 
 equally ill-used gentleman to all who practised the same civil unconven- 
 tionality. 
 
 Both these errors (says Leigh Hunt) might as well be avoided ; but, of 
 the two, we must say we prefer the former. If it does not look so much 
 like particular sincerity, it looks more like general kindness : and if those 
 two virtues are to be separated (which they assuredly need not be, if con- 
 sidered without system), the world can better afford to dispense with an un- 
 pleasant truth than a gratuitous humanity. Besides, it is more difficult to 
 make sure of the one than to practise the other, and kindness itself is the 
 best of all truths. As long as we are sure of that, we are sure of something, 
 and of something pleasant. It is always the best, if not in every instance 
 the most logical means. This unusual shyness is sometime attributed to 
 modesty, but never, we suspect, with justice, unless it be that sort of 
 modesty whose fear of committing itself is grounded in pride.’ — Leigh 
 Hunt, The Indicator^ xlvii, 
 
MORNING CALLS, 
 
 77 
 
 he had said something effective, because it was his object to 
 leave such an impression as would make people desirous of 
 seeing him again. It is to be presumed that most people can 
 talk sensibly and amusingly for twenty minutes ; but of how 
 many would the resources last for sixty ? And their stock of 
 conversational small change exhausted, they must necessarily 
 be reduced to ^ utter’ base coin. 
 
 When a visitor rises to take his leave, the lady of the house 
 rings for a servant to be in readiness to open the door. 
 
 At morning calls it is not usual to introduce visitors to one 
 another, except in the informal manner and for the temporary 
 purpose just indicated ; but if the hostess have reason to believe 
 that the introduction would be mutually agreeable, she should 
 duly accomplish it. If a lady express a wish to know a gentle- 
 man, or a superior to make the acquaintance of an inferior, 
 neither must decline the honour. Observe, in making an intro- 
 duction, 'you always present the inferior to the superior, the 
 gentleman to the lady. The formalities observed are as follow : — 
 Preceding the person to be introduced, you address the person 
 to whom he is to be presented, saying, with a slight inclination 
 of the head, ‘Will you allow me, Mrs. Jones, to introduce Mr. 
 Brown?’ Mrs. Jones replies with a bow (and, if she like, a 
 smile), and Mr. Brown also bows — as gracefully as he can {^par 
 parenthhe^ let me ask, why do not gentlemen learn to bow 
 gracefully ? The smallest thing, if it is to be done, should be 
 well done) ; after which the introducer retires, and leaves her 
 guests to plunge into conversation.^ 
 
 I am indebted to a writer in the Queen for the following useful 
 remarks : 
 
 ‘ There is perhaps no social observance in which etiquette is so closely 
 followed as in the paying “ morning calls,” or one wherein ladies are more 
 apt to make mistakes, either through forgetfulness, carelessness, misappre- 
 hension, or even through ignorance of the rules of etiquette applicable to 
 the occasion. A mistake arising from either or any of these causes brings 
 about very much the same results. In some cases, when a breach of this 
 etiquette has occurred, an opportunity is afforded for an explanation or an 
 apology in the form of an excuse, with a view to putting the matter in the 
 best possible light. Two reasons would suggest the following this course — 
 one being the fear of appearing to be ill-mannered, and the other the fear of 
 forfeiting a desirable acquaintance ; but the moment for these explanations 
 and apologetic and self-accusatory little speeches is seldom forthcoming 
 until too late for the setting-right process to be attempted. On this point — 
 paying and receiving calls — ladies stand upon strict and ceremonious etiquette 
 with each other, and they are surprisingly quick to attribute any neglect of its 
 
78 
 
 IS ^ NOT AT HOME ’ JUSTIFIABLE ? 
 
 When may the stereotyped excuse ‘Not at home’ be em- 
 ployed? Is it at any time a justifiable plea? Well, in spite 
 of stern moralists, I think the most scrupulous may resort to it, 
 now that it is universally understood to mean simply that you 
 are engaged — that it is not convenient for you to be seen. At 
 the same time, it is by no means a pleasant form of evasion, 
 and is almost sure to give offence. It is better, as a rule, to 
 submit to a little annoyance, rather than instruct your servant 
 to tell what to her or him will certainly appear to be an un- 
 truth, and by the person to whom it is uttered will probably be 
 resented as an insult. Even white lies leave (as the children 
 say) blisters on the tongue. 
 
 Some persons are accustomed to keep visitors waiting for a 
 considerable time when they call. This is a gross rudeness, 
 which in most cases cannot be condoned by an apology. If 
 the hostess should be in her reception-room when a visitor is 
 announced, she will rise and advance a few steps to receive 
 him. As for the visitor, he will, if not a complete stranger, 
 take a seat without waiting for an invitation, holding his hat 
 easily in his hand, or placing it on the floor close to his chair. 
 He will undemonstratively open the door for any lady who 
 during his call may take leave of their common hostess, at 
 whose disposal he will consider himself, should she request 
 him to accompany her visitor to her carriage. If he should be 
 
 rules to the wrong motive, that is, to an intentional slight purposely inflicted 
 — which reading is often very wide of the mark. Still, were the greatest 
 good-natured construction put upon an error of this kind, and no offence taken, 
 it could not be overlooked or ignored ; and a lady could not act as if 
 such error had not been perpetrated, as, if it had been committed with an 
 ulterior motive, by overlooking it she would place herself in rather an awk- 
 ward position with regard to her acquaintance by so doing, and would herself 
 commit a breach of the necessary etiquette. This etiquette, which perhaps 
 appears to the uninitiated trivial, irritating, and over-punctilious, is in reality 
 a power which society places in the hands of ladies to govern and determine 
 their acquaintanceships and their intimacies; to regulate and decide whom they 
 will visit and whom they will not, whom they will admit into their friend- 
 ship and whom they will keep on the most distant footing, whose acquaint- 
 ance they desire further to cultivate, and whom they are rigorously resolved 
 to keep at arm’s length. It can therefore be readily understood that to fail in 
 the observance of its well-defined rules, is, with ladies, a point of some 
 moment, so much social intercourse depending upon its due observance. . . 
 Ignorance of the rules which regulate the paying calls brings many incon- 
 veniences, disappointments, and annoyances in its train, too numerous to be 
 here particularised.’ 
 
IDUTIES OF THE VIS J TOE. 
 
 79 
 
 honoured by being called upon to perform this service, he will 
 return, after its accomplishment, for the purpose of paying his 
 adieu to his hostess before he departs himself. 
 
 When two or three visitors are present, a courteous hostess 
 will be careful not to pay more attention to one than to the 
 others, and will do her best to engage all of them in conversa- 
 tion. To the last comer she will, however, address herself 
 more particularly for a minute or two after he has taken his 
 seat, to prevent him from feeling that his call is inopportune or 
 inconvenient, and the first arrival will then prepare to relieve 
 her of his presence. Some ladies show a singular expertness 
 in conversing with several guests, like those Indian jugglers 
 who keep half a dozen balls up in the air at the same time ; 
 others would break down hopelessly, unless their guests had 
 the good sense and the good feeling to come to the rescue. 
 
 It need hardly be said that ladies never call upon gentlemen, 
 unless' officially or professionally, or unless the lady be married 
 and the gentleman on whom she calls is an old friend and 
 adviser, whose grey hairs invest him with certain privileges. 
 In the latter case she will, of course, let her husband know of 
 the intended visit. 
 
 Formerly, as has been already indicated, it was the custom — 
 which, though for the present in abeyance, may at any time 
 again become fashionable — for a gentleman, when calling, to 
 send up his card. If the lady of the house were ‘ out ’ or ‘ not 
 at home,’ he would leave his card or cards, and go away after 
 making inquiries of the servant respecting the health of the 
 family. 
 
 I conclude with a parting word of advice : While your guests 
 are with you, do your best to make them feel that they are 
 thoroughly welcome, and give up to them all your thought and 
 attention. Do this, not so much out of respect to them as to 
 yourself : no one benefits more by an act of courtesy than the 
 person who performs it. 
 
 I pass on to some general remarks. 
 
 Do you know Mrs. GaskelFs admirable tale of ‘ Cranford,’ 
 with its graphic pictures of the society and social life of an 
 English provincial town ? 
 
 If so, you will remember the ^ party,’ the very ^ grand party,’ 
 given by the Honourable Mrs. Jamieson, in order to introduce 
 Lady Glenmire to the ladies of Cranford. 
 
8o 
 
 MRS. /A MIR SORTS PAR TV. 
 
 You will recollect that Mrs. Jamieson resided in a large 
 house just outside the town. A road, which had once been a 
 street, ran right before this mansion, which opened out upon it 
 without any intervening garden or court. Whatever the sun 
 was about, he never shone on the front of that house. To be 
 sure, the rooms inhabited by the family were at the back, look- 
 ing on to a pleasant garden ; the front windows belonged only 
 to the kitchens, and housekeeper’s rooms, and pantries, in one 
 of which Mr. Mulliner, the butler, v^as understood to sit. In 
 truth, a side-glance often revealed to the awed passer-by the 
 back of a head covered with hair-powder, which also extended 
 itself over his coat-collar, down to his very waist; and this, im- 
 posing back was always engaged in reading the ST James's 
 Chronicle^ opened wide, which in some degree accounted for 
 the length of time the said newspaper was in reaching others, 
 equal subscribers with Mrs. Jamieson, though, in right of her 
 honourableness, she always had the reading of it first. . . . Mr. 
 Mulliner seemed never to have forgotten his condescension in 
 coming to live at Cranford. Miss Jenkyns at times had stood 
 forth as the undaunted champion of her sex, and spoken to 
 him on terms of equality; but even Miss Jenkyns could get no 
 higher. In his pleasantest and most gracious moods he looked 
 like a sulky cockatoo. He did not speak except in grulf 
 monosyllables. He would wait in the hall when he was begged 
 not to wait, and then look deeply offended because he had 
 been kept there, while with trembling, hasty hands the ladies 
 of Cranford prepared themselves for appearing in the serene 
 severity of Lady Glenmire’s presence. 
 
 Miss Pole hazarded a small joke as they went up-stairs, in- 
 tended, though addressed to them, to afford Mr. Mulliner some 
 slight amusement. All smiled, in order to seem as if they 
 were quite at ease, but the wooden muscles of Mr. Mulliner’s 
 face never relaxed, and the ladies were called back into their 
 former gravity. 
 
 Cheerful enough was Mrs. Jamieson’s drawing-room ; the 
 evening sun streamed its radiance into it, and the large square 
 window was garlanded round with flowers. The furniture was 
 white and gold; not the later style, Louis Quatorze I think 
 they call it, all shells and twirls; no, Mrs. Jamieson’s chairs 
 and tables had not a curve or bend about them. The chair 
 and table legs diminished as they neared the ground, and were 
 
PARTIES IN COUNTRY TOWNS 
 
 8i 
 
 straight and square in all their corners. The chairs were all 
 in a row against the walls, with the exception of four or five 
 which stood in a circle round the fire. They were railed with 
 white bars across the back, and knobbed with gold ; neither 
 the railings nor the knobs invited to ease. There was a japanned 
 table devoted to literature, which was represented by a Bible, a 
 Prayer-book, and a Peerage. Another table, a square Pembroke, 
 was dedicated to the Fine Arts, as you saw at a glance from the 
 nature of its contents — a kaleidoscope, conversation-cards, 
 puzzle-cards (tied together to an interminable length with faded 
 pink satin ribbon), and a box painted in fond imitation of the 
 drawings which decorate tea-chests. 
 
 On the entrance of the Cranford ladies, Mrs. Jamieson stood 
 up, smiled a torpid smile of welcome, and looked helplessly 
 beyond them at Mr. Mulliner, as if she hoped he would place 
 them in chairs, for, if he did not, she never could. Lady 
 Glenmire, however, came to the rescue of the hostess, and, 
 somehow or other, they found themselves for the first time 
 placed agreeably, and not formally, in Mrs. Jamieson’s house. 
 
 Conversation followed; after which Mr. Mulliner brought 
 up tea. Very delicate was the china, very old the plate, very 
 thill the bread and butter, and very small the lumps of sugar. 
 After tea, there was more conversation, and then the guests 
 and their hostess resorted to cards — the old-fashioned games, 
 Preference, Ombre, Quadrille — to which unexciting amusement 
 the remainder of the evening was devoted. 
 
 Such parties as Mrs. Jamieson’s are still common in quiet 
 country towns ; but in ‘ Society,’ it is impossible to bring people 
 together unless you offer them something more exciting. Tea- 
 parties are given, of course, but on a larger scale ; and they are 
 relieved by more pretentious reunions, such as conversaziones, 
 private concerts, private theatricals^ five-o’clock teas, garden- 
 parties, and matinees. 
 
 The etiquette attaching to these is not very elaborate, and 
 the principles underlying it are simply stated : that the host or 
 hostess should do his or her utmost to entertain his or her guests, 
 and that the guests should cheerfully respond to the efforts 
 of the host or hostess. There should be an entire absence of 
 constraint, affectation, pretension, and no more formality than 
 is requisite to preserve order. The great solvent which on 
 these occasions should fuse the various members into one homo- 
 
 6 
 
82 
 
 ^ AT HOMES.' 
 
 geneous whole is good temper ; and this is as necessary an in- 
 gredient in the relations of guest to guest as guest "to hostess. 
 
 For conversaziones, ^ At Homes,’ and ‘ receptions,’ invita- 
 tions should be issued ten or fourteen days beforehand. A 
 short invitation, except under very special circumstances, 
 conveys the idea that the person to whom it is sent has no 
 engagements which can possibly occupy his time. Conversa- 
 ziones and the like begin about nine or ten, and last until 
 twelve or one. The host and hostess stand near the door to 
 receive their visitors, who, after exchanging with them the usual 
 compliments, break up into small groups, and engage in con- 
 versation, or examine the various objects, artistic, scientific, or 
 extraordinary, displayed upon the various tables. It is customary 
 on these occasions to show off some new ‘lion,’ — Mr. Peregrine, 
 the Mesopotamian explorer; Mr. Apollo Jones, the new poet; 
 a Zulu prince, an Afghan chief, or the Ascension Island 
 ambassador. No introductions are required. The hostess is 
 at liberty to ask any guest to sing or play, and any lady accept- 
 ing the invitation is conducted by the gentleman nearest to her 
 to the piano, and begins at once without irritating attempts to 
 attract notice. The cavalier remains beside her to turn over 
 the music, and lead her back to her seat at the end of her per« 
 formance, during which the compliment of silent attention 
 should be paid to the performer. 
 
 Tea and coffee, on these occasions, are provided in a separate 
 room ; and ices and light refreshments are handed round in the 
 course of the evening. At ‘receptions,’ supper is sometimes 
 served, to the delight of most Britons ; but it is not de rigneur. 
 
 Gentlemen visitors at conversaziones, and ‘ At Homes,’ are 
 reminded that the ‘ whole duty of man,’ under such circum- 
 stances, is to do what lies in his power to promote the general 
 amusement. Those with artistic or scientific proclivities may 
 make themselves useful by explaining to ladies the peculi- 
 arities or beauties of the specimens set before them. Let them 
 be sure, however, of their ground. In these days it is not safe 
 to rely on the ignorance of their fair companions. The lady 
 on Fitz-Boodle’s arm may be a Girton graduate, and have 
 passed at Cambridge in Classical and Mathematical honours. 
 Dire will be his confusion if he stumble into some mistate- 
 ment which, with a meaning smile, she hastens to correct. 
 
 The scale upon which a conversazione is given must depend^ 
 
CONVERSAZIONES. 
 
 83 
 
 of course, upon tlie resources of the giver. If you have not a 
 suite of rooms at your disposal, a good collection of what Mrs. 
 Malaprop might call ^ articles of bigotry and virtue,’ and the 
 means of presenting some distinguished stranger, it is well to 
 confine yourself to an ^ At Home ’ or a ‘reception.’ Satire 
 has launched its fire-tipped arrows at this form of polite amuse- 
 ment, and sometimes, no doubt, with good cause ; but, on the 
 other hand, few pleasanter diversions of a semi-intellectual 
 character can be devised than a well-managed conversazione. 
 Occasionally it assumes a public character, as in the famous 
 instance recorded by the author of ‘ The Princess,’ where Sir 
 Walter Vivian gave up his broad lawns for ‘ all a summer’s day ’ 
 to his tenants, and the members of the institute of the neigh- 
 bouring borough. The host may then expect that his efforts to 
 entertain ‘ the public ’ will be seconded by his friends and 
 private visitors. So it was, we know, at Vivian Place : — 
 
 ‘ One reared a font of stone 
 And drew, from butts of water on the slope, 
 
 The fountain of the moment, playing now 
 A twisted snake, and now a rain of pearls, 
 
 Or steep-up spout whereon the gilded ball 
 Danced like a wisp : and somewhat lower down 
 A man with knobs and wires and vials fired 
 A cannon : Echo answered in her sleep 
 From hollow fields : and here were telescopes 
 For azure views ; and there a group of girls 
 In circle waited, whom the electric shock 
 Dislinked with shrieks and laughter .... 
 
 And there through twenty posts of telegraph 
 They flashed a saucy message to and fro 
 Between the mimic stations : so that Sport 
 Went hand-in ’hand with Science.’ 
 
 And ‘ Sport hand-in-hand with Science ’ furnishes an admirable 
 motto for a conversazione, fitly explaining its raiso7i d'etre. 
 
 Some general remarks upon afternoon parties may next be 
 hazarded. Whether they are to be Brobdingnagian or Lili- 
 putian, large or small, the invitations (or ‘At Home’ cards) 
 should be issued two or three weeks beforehand. For a small 
 party, the giver may use his visiting card, writing the magic 
 words ‘ At Home ’ under the name in the centre, and the name 
 of the guest at the top of the card in the right-hand corner. 
 Should any special amusement be provided, or any particular 
 person engaged to perform, it is desirable to mention these 
 
84 
 
 AFTERNOON PARTIES, 
 
 facts on the card; in the former case, the word ‘music’ is suf- 
 ficient : in the latter, the name of the performer should be given. 
 
 The hours must also be named; they range from ‘four to 
 seven.’ At ordinary afternoon parties the invited guests arrive 
 or leave at any time between these three hours, and remain as 
 long as they like. If there be no other entertainment than 
 amateur music and general conversation punctuality is not 
 imperative, and therefore when some special performer is 
 engaged his name is inscribed on the invitation card in order 
 to give the guests an opportunity of arriving, if they wish it, in 
 time to hear him. 
 
 At all ‘afternoon parties’ — whatever their ‘generic ’ name 
 — refreshments consisting of tea, coffee, champagne and claret 
 cups, fruit, ices, sweets, are served in the dining-room ; and the 
 guests are at liberty to repair thither on their arrival, to partake 
 of refreshments before proceeding to the salon, or during the 
 pauses between the different performances. The gentlemen 
 present escort the ladies to the dining-room. During the 
 music, singing, conjuring, reciting, or other exhibitions, guests 
 whose great minds soar above such trifles must not manifest 
 their indifference — and their want of good breeding — by con- 
 versing in a loud tone ; let them wait for the next interval, and 
 then retire. If they have come for the pleasure of visiting and 
 conversing with their friends, they must contrive to enjoy that 
 pleasure without insulting their hostess or wounding the self- 
 respect of the performers. 
 
 At ‘ afternoon parties ’ the hostess usually receives the guests 
 at the door of the drawing-room, and shakes hands with them 
 on their entrance, whether they be personal acquaintances or 
 strangers introduced to her for the first time through ‘husband 
 or friends.’ She can graduate the cordiality of her shake in 
 accordance with the degree of intimacy of her guests. A friend 
 who wishes to introduce a stranger will previously apply for an 
 invitation card. At ‘ afternoon parties ’ the guests retire as 
 they list, like the features of a dissolving view, and are not ex- 
 pected to take leave of their hostess. 
 
 One by one the guests are going, 
 
 One by one — the short, the tall ; 
 
 As the sands of Time are flowing, 
 
 So they vanish from the hall.* 
 
 Not by Miss A, A, Proctor. 
 
^F/F£ O'CLOCK TEASC 
 
 
 Dr. Young, the poet of the ‘Night Thoughts’ — a poem, by 
 the way, much more popular among the French than among 
 ourselves — says of a certain Mammia, that — 
 
 ‘ Her two red lips affected zephyrs blow 
 
 To cool the Bohea and inflame the beau ; 
 
 While one white finger and a thumb conspire 
 
 To lift the cup and make the world admire.’ 
 
 Mammias of the present day have few opportunities of exciting 
 admiration among the beaus at ‘five o’clock teas,’ for to these 
 pleasant refections it is not usual to invite members of ‘ the 
 other sex ;’ and, accordingly, Lady Morgan’s not very delicate 
 joke would be out of place — ‘ Sugar yourselves, gentlemen, and 
 I’ll milk you all.’ They are not, however, wholly excluded, and 
 occasionally a cavalier desirous of specially complimenting the 
 lady of the house will present himself among the tea-drinking 
 bevy. By the women ‘ five o’clock teas ’ are recognised as a 
 great institution, like the Church of England or the Tmies news- 
 paper; and they certainly afford a desirable opportunity of 
 exchanging womanly chat and confirming agreeable intimacies. 
 I am referring, of course, to the ‘ five o’clock tea ’ proper, which 
 is usually limited to some ten to fifteen people, and not to the 
 ‘teas’ at which fifty to a hundred guests assemble, and, instead 
 of conversation, music, amateur or professional, prevails. 
 
 On the card of invitation ‘five o’clock teas’ are called ‘At 
 Homes,’ but they have their proper designation in familiar con- 
 versation. They seem to have replaced the old ‘kettledrums,’ 
 though differing from them in some few particulars, and are 
 chiefly distinguished by their comparative freedom from the 
 restraints of etiquette. Thus a guest, on arriving, does not in- 
 quire if the hostess be at home, but enters as a matter of course. 
 If a gentleman, he deposits hat and overcoat ; if a lady, the 
 servant will conduct her to a bedroom, or, at a large ‘ at home,’ 
 to a cloak-room. At large ‘ teas ’ refreshments are served in the 
 dining-room, where a large buffet is erected, and several maid- 
 servants are in attendance. These refreshments consist of tea, 
 coffee, sherry, champagne-cup, claret-cup, fruits, sweets, ices, 
 sandwiches, bread-and-butter, fancy biscuits, and cakes. The 
 hostess is on the alert to see that, in the intervals between the 
 music, singing, or recitations, the ladies present are taken down 
 by gentlemen, or, if there be but few of them at her disposal, 
 she invites some of the ladies to go down together. 
 
86 
 
 INVITATION TO AN ^ AT HOME: 
 
 The refreshments provided at small ‘ teas ’ are on a lesser 
 scale, but similar in character. Ices are not given, however, 
 and no fruits ; while the tea is served in the smaller drawing- 
 room, or in an adjacent ante-chamber or boudoir. When the 
 number of guests is very small, the tea is dispensed by the 
 ladies of the house or by the gentlemen present. When the 
 number rises to twenty or thirty, tea is served in the dining- 
 room. On the arrival of a guest, the servants inquire if she 
 will take tea or coffee, and, when the answer is in the affirma- 
 tive, immediately conduct her to the dining-room, after which 
 she is duly preceded to the drawing-room. 
 
 At ‘ afternoon teas ^ the guests move about freely, and con- 
 verse with one another as inclination prompts. A similar 
 liberty of movement is allowed to the hostess, who, attended 
 by her daughters, goes from guest to guest, exchanging kindly 
 inquiries and bits of gossip. At very small ‘ teas ^ the conversa- 
 tion will be general, and the guests will probably find it un- 
 necessary to quit their seats. If there should be any music, 
 courtesy demands that they should listen to it in silence. 
 
 Guests are not required to take leave of the hostess in any 
 formal manner, unless it be their first visit to her house, or she 
 should chance to be near the drawing-room door at the time of 
 their departure. On the other hand, the last few guests will 
 be expected to pay the usual compliments, as they could not 
 possibly take their departure unnoticed. The hostess does not 
 ring to order the door to be opened to the ‘ passing guest,’ or 
 for her carriage to be called ; but she (the guest) proceeds to 
 the hall, where the servants in attendance call up her carriage 
 and usher her into it. At ‘ five o’clock teas ’ carriages are 
 always ordered to wait, and a departing guest, therefore, is not 
 likely to be long detained in the hall. No fees are given to the 
 servants. 
 
 To an invitation to an ^ at home ’ you are not expected to 
 send a reply, nor is it customary to embellish the invitation- 
 card with the magic initials R. S. V. P. {Repondez^ sHl vous plait 
 —‘Answer, if you please’) ; but if you know that your attend- 
 ance is impossible, there can be no objection to your sending a 
 polite excuse. The trouble is not so great as the courtesy. 
 
 You should leave your card within a week of the ‘ at home.’ 
 
 If the ‘ at home,' or ‘ reception,’ or ‘ small and cosy,’ follow 
 a dinner-party, no amusement is provided for the guests, who, 
 
‘ receptions: 
 
 87 
 
 it is presumed, will be able to entertain themselves by con- 
 versing with friends and acquaintances. Her Majesty’s Ministers 
 and the leaders of fashion almost always give an ‘ at home ’ or 
 a ^ small and cosy ’ after a dinner-party, to enable them to 
 acknowledge the numerous persons who have claims upon 
 them, or to bring together a larger number than is possible at 
 any well-conducted dinner. 
 
 A ‘five o’clock tea,’ it is needless to precedes dinner, 
 between which and the fatigue of the evening calls it affords a 
 very desirable interval of rest. 
 
 ‘ Receptions ’ may be given once a week or once a fortnight, 
 and a clever hostess will soon learn how to make them success- 
 ful. The first essential is, tact ; and the second, tact ; and the 
 third, tact. Her motto should be the metropolitan policeman’s 
 — ‘ Keep moving !’ She must not allow her guests to weary, 
 which, if they have been well selected, they will not do. If she 
 see any symptoms of nascent ennui^ she niust hasten, by some 
 prompt device, to stamp out the fell disease. She will be here, 
 there, and everywhere, and, if she observe a guest fainting 
 under the infliction of some relentless person, will at once pro- 
 ceed to the rescue. She will do all she can to facilitate the 
 arrangement of her guests into suitable groups, collecting the 
 round men in one place and the square men in another, and 
 taking care that Wisdom (as represented by Miss Minerva 
 Robinson) is not thrown into juxtaposition with Folly (as re- 
 presented by young Plantagenet Brown). She will mercifully 
 separate the new poet and the old critic, Anglican orthodoxy 
 and American heterodoxy. To compare great things with 
 small, the part of the hostess must be that which Sydney Smith 
 ascribes to the onion in his celebrated rhyming receipt for a 
 salad : — 
 
 ‘ Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl, 
 
 And, scarce suspected, animate the whole.’ 
 
 So she too, without exaggerated effort or pretension, without 
 personal display, and unsuspected, indeed, by her guests, will 
 ‘ animate the whole.’ 
 
 The reader will remember PimcNs picture-jest of the lady 
 of the house approaching a musical visitor with the request 
 that she will sing a song, because she wants the guests to 
 begin talking. Certain it is that music seems very generally 
 regarded as a cover and an excuse for conversation. The room 
 
88 
 
 MUSIC PARTIES, 
 
 is crowded with more or less sensible people . . . yet there they 
 sit, grave and silent as the carved figures on the temple-tombs 
 of Egypt. . . . Occasionally a whisper swells into a half-audible 
 murmur, to die away again as soon as the whisperer discovers 
 that he has spoken loud enough to be heard. . . . What is to be 
 done ? The hostess does not wish her party to be turned into 
 a Quaker’s meeting. . . . ‘My dear Miss Jones, would you oblige 
 us with one of your charming ballads ?’ . . . Miss Jones is led 
 to the piano, formally and grimly, like a victim to the sacrificial 
 altar. . . . She takes her seat — she strikes a chord or two. . . . 
 Immediately every tongue is loosed, as if it had suddenly 
 undergone a surgical operation . . . and a loud buzz of voices, 
 the busy hum of men and women, of courtly cavaliers and 
 comely ladies, spreads through the room. The spell has been 
 broken — the dread spell of Silence — and thenceforward the 
 reign of Talk prevails. Hard upon the obliging singer, is it 
 not ? And yet, in circles calling themselves ‘ polished,’ and 
 professing to be ‘aesthetic,’ this barbarous custom obtains 
 without remonstrance. 
 
 It is needless to say that at private concerts no such breach 
 of good manners is permissible. These take place between 
 two and six p.m., or between eight and ten p.m. At the later 
 hour evening-dress must be worn. Private concerts may be of 
 two kinds ; in some the singers and instrumentalists are pro- 
 fessionals hired for the occasion, in others they are amateurs. 
 If the latter, care should be taken to select the best ‘available 
 talent,’ and the performance should be under competent direc- 
 tion. Do not let the programme be too long, and see that it 
 is well varied. Between the parts refreshments may be handed 
 round. 
 
 Private theatricals are a very popular form of amusement ; 
 but to ensure success their getting-up should be carefully 
 and energetically ordered. The performers should always be 
 amateurs, and, if possible, the scenery should be from amateur 
 brushes, and the music furnished by an amateur orchestra. 
 The pieces should be selected with judgment, so as to be well 
 within the means of the actors, both intellectual and material. 
 The great fault of amateurs is that they attempt too much, 
 whereas a one-act comedietta, or two-act comic drama carefully 
 produced and well acted will give more satisfaction than a 
 three-act or five-act drama, scrambled through with more 
 
PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 
 
 89 
 
 audacity than intelligence. The character of the scenery and 
 the appointments will depend, of course, on the circumstances 
 under which the entertainment is given. If there be no room 
 fitted up as a theatre and no apparatus for shifting scenery, 
 you may content yourself with the construction of a small 
 platform at one end of the largest apartment at your disposal, 
 always taking care to provide for the exits and entrances of 
 your performers. A curtain is easily arranged, and by any 
 simple device may be made to rise and fall; nor will there be 
 any difficulty in running a row of small gas jets along the front 
 of the platform to serve as footlights. You will probably find 
 among your acquaintances a heaven-born genius, capable of 
 painting a scene ; if not, you can frame in your impromptu 
 stage with curtains, or paper-hangings. As for the costumes, 
 the cheapest plan for the gentlemen is to hire them from some 
 well-known theatrical costumier; the ladies will make their 
 own. So far as the performers are concerned, I suspect that 
 the chief amusement of amateur theatricals lies in the pre- 
 liminary preparations and the rehearsals ; and for three or four 
 weeks before the day fixed for their debut their energies will be 
 unintermitting, and will achieve the most glorious conquests 
 over the most extraordinary difficulties. 
 
 Amateur theatricals hold an honoured place in literature. 
 They have been chronicled by Miss Austen in her ^ Mansfield 
 Park ’ and by Miss Edgeworth in her ‘ Patronage,’ to say 
 nothing of other novelists and one or two minoripoets. Miss 
 Austen indicates a mistake into which amateurs too commonly 
 fall, when she says, referring to her imaginary company, the 
 Bertrams, ‘No piece would be proposed that did not supply 
 somebody with a difficulty, and on one side or the other it was 
 a continual repetition of “ Oh no, that will never do ! Let us 
 have no ranting tragedies. Too many characters — not a toler- 
 able woman’s part in the play. Anything but that, my dear 
 Tom. It would be impossible to fill it up ; one would not 
 expect anybody to take such a part. I shall be happy to be 
 of any use, but I think we could choose nothing worse.” 
 
 ‘ “ This will never do,” said Tom Bertram at last. “ We are 
 wasting time most abominably. Something must be fixed on. 
 No matter what, so that something is chosen. We must not 
 be so nice ; a few characters too many must not frighten us ; 
 we must double 
 
96 ON AM A TE UR PERFORMERS, 
 
 This is a common mistake of amateurs ; they choose pieces 
 in which the dramatis personcR are very numerous, forgetting 
 that the greater the number of characters engaged the greater 
 the amount of stage-business involved, and consequently the 
 greater the risk of confusion and mistakes. When there are 
 many exits and entrances, it is only the experience and cool- 
 ness of the professional actor that can avoid awkward compli- 
 cations. I therefore cordially endorse Lady Pollock's dictum 
 that ‘it is in drawing-room pieces where the characters are 
 few, where the dialogue is natural, and where the situations are 
 either very amusing, or very interesting, that an amateur com- 
 pany is likely to appear to the best advantage, and under these 
 conditions they may often afford as much entertainment as the 
 general run of professional players ; or, even supposing them 
 to rehearse much and carefully together and to be well-matched 
 as to natural gifts, they may produce a more pleasing effect of 
 harmony and grace than are often to be found at our theatres.' 
 
 In Miss Edgeworth's ‘Patronage' a family called the Falconers 
 get up an amateur dramatic performance, and through some 
 strange mental aberration select Aaron Hill's ‘ Zara,' a dull and 
 dreary version of Voltaire's ‘Zaire.' On the long-expected night, 
 when the audience have taken their seats, they ask in whis- 
 pers : — ‘ Do you know if there is to be any clapping of hands ? 
 Can you tell me whether it is allowable to say anything ?’ 
 
 ‘It seems,' remarks Miss Edgeworth, ‘that at some private 
 theatres loud demonstrations of applause were forbidden. It 
 was thought more genteel to approve and admire in silence, 
 thus to draw the line between professional actors and actresses 
 and gentlemen and lady performers. Upon trial, however, in 
 some instances, it had been found that the difference was suffi- 
 ciently obvious without marking it by any invidious distinction. 
 Young and old amateurs have acknowledged that the silence, 
 however genteel, was so dreadfully awful that they preferred 
 even the noise of vulgar acclamations.' It is a well-known 
 fact that judicious and cordial applause is at once a stimulus 
 and a support to the amateur actor, and at ‘ private perform- 
 ances ' such applause is not, or should not be, withheld. But 
 signs of dissatisfaction are carefully repressed. It would be 
 the height of rudeness to hiss a lady or gentleman who has 
 undertaken to amuse you, even if he or she fall short in their 
 voluntary endeavour. 
 
FAULTS OF UNPRACTISED ACTORS. 91 
 
 The performance of ‘Zara’ is represented as unsuccessful, 
 except in the acting of the heroine. ‘ The faults common to 
 unpractised actors occurred. One of Osman’s arms never 
 moved, and the other sawed the air perpetually, as if in pure 
 despite of Hamlet’s prohibition. Then, in crossing over, 
 Osman was continually entangled in Zara’s robe, or, when 
 standing still, she was obliged to twitch her train thrice before 
 she could get it from beneath his leaden feet. When confident 
 that he could repeat a speech fluently, he was apt to turn his back 
 upon his mistress, or when he felt himself called upon to listen to 
 his mistress, he would regularly turn his back upon the audience. 
 But all these are defects permitted by the license of a private 
 theatre, allowable by courtesy to gentlemen actors ; and things 
 went on as well as could be expected. Osman had not his 
 part by heart, but still Zara covered all deficiencies. And 
 Osman did no worse than other Osmans have done before him, 
 till he came to the long speech beginning with — 
 
 The Sultans, my great ancestors, bequeath’d 
 Their empire to me, but their tastes they gave not.” 
 
 Powerful prompting got him through the first six lines decently 
 enough, till he came to — 
 
 “Wasting tenderness in wild profusion, 
 
 I might look down to my surrounded feet 
 And their contending beauties.” 
 
 At this he bungled sadly, and his hearing suddenly failing 
 as well as his memory, there was a dead stop. In vain the 
 prompter, the scene-shifter, the candle -snuffer, as hard as they 
 could, and much harder than they ought, reiterated the next 
 sentence — 
 
 “ I might speak 
 Serenely slothful.” 
 
 It was plain that Osman could not speak, nor was he 
 “ serene.” He had begun, as in dangers great he was wont, to 
 kick his left ankle-bone rapidly with his right heel j and through 
 the pomp of Osman’s oriental robes and turban, young Petcalf 
 stood confessed. He then threw back an angry look at the 
 prompter; Zara, terrified, gave up all for lost. The polite 
 audience struggled not to smile. Zara, recovering her presence 
 of mind, swept across the stage in such a manner as to hide 
 from view her kicking Sultan ; and as she passed, she whispered 
 
92 
 
 A FEW PLAIN BINTS TO AMATEBPS. 
 
 the line to him so distinctly, that he caught the sound, left off 
 kicking, went on with his speech, and all was well again. 
 Fortunately for Zara, and for the audience, in the next scenes, 
 the part of Lusignan was performed by a gentleman who had 
 been well used to acting, though he was not a man of any 
 extraordinary capacity, yet, from his habit of the boards^ and his 
 being perfect in his part, he now seemed quite a superior person. 
 It was found unaccountably easier to act with this son of labour 
 than with any other of the gentlemen performers, though they 
 were all natural geniuses.’ 
 
 To guard against such contrete^nps as are here indicated, 
 those who enter upon an adventure in private theatricals should 
 attend to a few plain requirements (the writer speaks from 
 experience) : 
 
 The piece chosen for performance should be adapted to the 
 actors and to the resources of the management. 
 
 The supervision should be entrusted to a capable stage- 
 manager, whose authority should be supreme. 
 
 Care should be taken to choose a good prompter, who should 
 be present at all the rehearsals, so as to learn ‘ the business ’ of 
 the piece. 
 
 The rehearsals should be numerous, and conducted seriously ; 
 every detail in the business being carefully studied and repeated 
 until it is thoroughly known. 
 
 It should be a rule that every actor is letter-perfect by, at the 
 latest, the third rehearsal. 
 
 A responsible person should have charge of ‘ the properties,’ 
 and should see that these are all ready and in order before the 
 beginning of the performance. 
 
 It will be found convenient to print a programme, and circu- 
 late copies of it among the audience ; it may be entirely plain, 
 or as elegant as money and taste can make it. 
 
 Between the acts, or, if two or three one-act dramas are given, 
 between the pieces, light refreshments should be handed round. 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to say, I hope, that no well-bred 
 audience will make audible remarks on the person or costume 
 of any of the performers, or give utterance to disagreeable 
 criticism upon their deficiencies. It is not in the house of a 
 friend that one should play the Censor. 
 
 Instead of a dramatic performance, tableaux may be given, 
 
A TABLEAU AT WINDSOR CASTLE. 
 
 93 
 
 and these are preferable where the time for getting them up is 
 limited, or difficulties may lie in the way of a resort to ‘ the 
 legitimate drama.’ Tableaux may be of various kinds, historical 
 or poetical, or taken from the scene in a novel or romance ; 
 for instance, Sir Walter Raleigh spreading his traditional cloak 
 in the mud for the behoof of Queen Elizabeth. . . Amy Robsart, 
 Elizabeth, and the Earl of Leicester, from Scott’s ‘ Kenilworth ’ 
 . . . Gulnare in Conrad’s prison, from Byron’s ^ Corsair ’ . . The 
 return home of Olivia, from the ^ Vicar of Wakefield.’ ... In 
 George Eliot’s ‘ Daniel Deronda,’ the party at Offendene select 
 the Statue Scene from Shakespeare’s ‘Winter’s Tale.’ But 
 Gwendolen urged, we are told, that instead of the mere tableau, 
 there should be just enough acting of the scene to introduce 
 the striking up of the music as a signal for her to step down 
 and advance ; when Leontes, instead of embracing her, was to 
 kneel and kiss the hem of her garment, and so the curtain was 
 to fall. The ante-chamber with folding doors w^as specially 
 convenient for the purposes of a stage, and the whole of the 
 establishment, with the addition of the village carpenter, was 
 engaged in the preparations for the entertainment. 
 
 It is interesting to refer to a tableau presented at Windsor 
 Castle in the happier days of Queen Victoria’s reign. An eye- 
 witness thus describes it. ‘ Between five and six o’clock in the 
 evening,’ he says, ‘he and other guests of royalty were allowed 
 to follow the Queen and Prince Albert a long way, through 
 one large room after another, till they came to one where hung 
 a red curtain, which was presently drawn aside for a represen- 
 tation of the Four Seasons, studied and contrived by the royal 
 children as a surprise to the Queen in celebration of the day 
 (the anniversary of the Queen’s marriage). First appeared 
 Princess Alice as the Spring, scattering flowers and reciting 
 verses, which were taken from Thomson’s ‘ Seasons.’ She 
 moved gracefully, and spoke in a distinct and pleasing manner, 
 with excellent modulation, and a tone of voice sweet and 
 penetrating like that of the Queen. Then the curtain was 
 drawn and the scene changed, and the Princess Royal repre- 
 sented Summer, with Prince Arthur stretched upon the sheaves, 
 as if tired with the heat and harvest-work ; another change, 
 and Prince Alfred, with a crown of vine leaves and the skin of 
 a panther, represented Autumn, looking very well. Then 
 followed a change to a winter landscape, and the Prince of 
 
94 
 
 HOW TO ARRANGE A TABLEAU VIVANT 
 
 Wales represented Winter, with a cloak covered with icicles (or 
 what seemed such), and the Princess Louise, a charming little 
 muffled-up figure, busy keeping up a fire, the Prince reciting (as 
 all had done) passages more or less modified from Thomson. 
 Then followed the last change, when all the seasons were 
 grouped together, and far behind, on a height, appeared the 
 Princess Helena, with a long white veil hanging on both sides 
 down to her feet, holding a long cross, and pronouncing a 
 blessing on the Queen and the Prince. The Princess Helena 
 looked very charming. This was the close ; but, by command 
 of the Queen, the curtain was again withdrawn, and the guests 
 saw the whole royal family together, who came down from their 
 raised platform ; also the baby. Prince Leopold, was carried in 
 by his nurse, and looked at them all with big eyes, stretching 
 out his arms to be taken by the Prince Consort.^ 
 
 In the production of tableaux, the greatest attention must be 
 paid to the grouping of figures and the harmony of colours ; 
 on these two points depends their success. When they are 
 animated and controlled by a fine taste, their effect is 
 charming ; on the other hand, any indications of vulgarity or 
 grotesqueness may awaken a smile when the performers wish 
 to excite a tear. 
 
 In arranging a tableau vivant, you must manage to throw a 
 strong stream of light on the group, leaving the room in which 
 the spectators are assembled almost in the dark. If a lime- 
 light be available, so much the better. To ensure a good 
 effect, it is almost indispensable that the performers should 
 appear on a raised platform. Any carpenter will construct 
 this for you in a few hours, and the front of it you can orna- 
 ment with drapery, and disguise with evergreens and other 
 plants. At the back of the platform suspend some curtains or 
 tapestry from a framework, seven or eight feet high. A pro- 
 scenium can also be erected, and there viust be some con- 
 trivance for raising and lowering a curtain of green baize, or an 
 act-drop, which, if you like, can be appropriately painted by 
 the young ladies of the house. 
 
 Having decided on your subject, you must direct all your 
 energies to the making-up of suitable dresses. We have seen 
 Night and Morning recommended as an effective tableau. 
 Two ladies are required ; one dark, the other fair. The dark 
 one, with a black silk skirt and bodice, with arms bare, and 
 
^ NIGHT AND MORNING: 
 
 95 
 
 tresses loose, lies in a graceful, half-reclining attitude, some- 
 what to the left, a yard or two of black tarlatan, covered with 
 silver paper stars, being thrown loosely over her figure. 
 Morning, in a simple white Greek dress, with hair down, and 
 flowers in one hand, stands somewhat to the right, about a foot 
 farther back than Night. Morning is exposed to the lime-light, 
 while Night remains in shadow. The Greek dress may sound 
 formidable, but it is really extremely simple. A piece of 
 white calico is tightly pinned round the girl (who must not 
 have any petticoats on), over which a square of white muslin, 
 coarse or fine, is put, which reaches from the neck to the feet 
 The square is made very full, say two yards wide, back and 
 front, and joined together with a straight seam from under 
 each arm. It buttons along the shoulders at intervals of four 
 or five inches, falling a little over the shoulders, but leaving the 
 arms quite bare. A narrow gold or silver braid is then passed 
 from the back of the neck, crossed over the bosom, and going 
 round the waist, is fastened at the back. This keeps the folds 
 of the dress in order. A Greek dress such as this should be 
 as limp as possible, and if kept tightly twisted up in a small 
 coil will hang all the better when worn. 
 
 A very effective and charming tableau may be founded on 
 Tennyson’s ‘ Sleeping Beauty ’ : 
 
 ‘ There sits the butler with a flask 
 
 Between his knees, half-draiiTd ; and there 
 The wrinkled steward at his task, 
 
 The maid-of-honour blooming fair ; 
 
 The page has caught her hand in his : 
 
 Her lips are sever’d as to speak : 
 
 His own are pouted to a kiss : 
 
 The blush is fix’d upon her cheek. ’ 
 
 The various characters may be dressed in Elizabethan or 
 any fancy costume, so long as the colours are harmoniously 
 combined or contrasted. The grouping will need to be well 
 studied. The butler and the steward will occupy the left hand 
 of the stage ; the page and maid-of-honour, the right hand. In 
 the centre at the back will be revealed the Sleeping Beauty. 
 
 ‘ Year after year unto her feet, 
 
 She lying on her couch alone, 
 
 Across the purpled coverlet, 
 
 The maiden’s jet-black hair has grown, 
 
96 
 
 ‘ THE SLEEPING BE A UTY: 
 
 On either side her trancM form 
 
 F orth-streaming from a braid of pearl j, 
 
 The slumbrous light is rich and warm, 
 
 And moves not on the rounded curl. ’ 
 
 Kneeling in front of the Princess may be a page, attired in 
 ‘ lustrous silks a maid-of-honour should stand in a graceful 
 attitude at the head of the couch, and at the foot another should 
 be semi-recumbent. Each character will, of course, be asleep 
 and motionless. 
 
 The tableau may be varied by the arrival (to slow music) of 
 the fairy Prince, charged to break the spell of slumber which 
 for a hundred years has lain on the Beauty and her court. The 
 Prince, needless to say, must shine in all the bravery of velvet 
 and lace, and should be attended by his squire or equerry, who 
 at the radiant scene before him will express the greatest admira- 
 tion and surprise. We all know what happens : — 
 
 ‘ A touch ! a kiss ! the charm was snapt . . . 
 
 The butler drank, the steward scrawl’d . . . 
 
 The maid and page renew’d their strife. 
 
 The palace bang’d, and buzz’d, and clackt, 
 
 And all the long-pent stream of life 
 Dash’d downward in a cataract.’ 
 
 ‘The Magic Mirror^ is a good subject for a tableau. Ac- 
 cording to an old story, a prince who had had the misfortune 
 to lose a loving, loved, and lovely bride, applied to Cornelius 
 Agrippa, the magician, to restore her to him ; and Agrippa 
 promised to call up from the nether world all the beautiful 
 princesses he could think of, until the missing bride was found. 
 For this purpose a curtain of thin gauze must be raised, in 
 front of which stand the prince and the magician. The latter 
 waves his wand and mutters his incantations amid the vapour 
 of some burning perfumes : a princess appears behind the 
 curtain, pauses, looks at the prince, and on his indicating by 
 gestures that she is not the lost bride, passes on. Another 
 follows ; a third, a fourth, a fifth, a sixth — as many as the 
 managers of the tableau are able or inclined to bring forward — 
 and at last comes the prince's bride, who stretches her arms 
 towards him, while he, on his part, throws himself on his knees, 
 and signifies his intense rapture. Agrippa waves his wand, 
 and the drop descends. This tableau may be accompanied by 
 soft music, and the final effect may be increased by bringing 
 
‘ THE MAGIC mirror: 
 
 97 
 
 on all the princesses, holding a wreath of flowers with which 
 they form a semi-circle round the bride that was lost and has 
 been found. Few tableaux aflbrd more opportunities for pic- 
 turesque dressing. Each princess may be attired in a different 
 national costume — Greek, Italian, Mediaeval French, German, 
 Hungarian, Russian, Turkish, Hindu, and the like — or may 
 represent historical personages — Bona of Savoy, Queen Beren- 
 garia, Mary of Guise, Lucrezia Borgia, and so on. The 
 prince's bride, however, must be clothed in the traditional 
 white satin. The prince himself may assume any handsome 
 garb of the olden time which becomes him. The magician 
 must look venerable in grey hair and a long beard, with a 
 square velvet cap on his head ; his ample robe must be 
 covered with mystic signs, of which a hint may be gathered 
 from Bulwer Lytton’s ‘ Zanoni.^ If the gauze be thought to 
 obscure the view too much, a gilded oval frame — to represent 
 a large mirror — may be substituted, and the spectator left to 
 imagine the rest. 
 
 A variation on this tableau may be attempted in illustration 
 of Banquo's issue from ‘ Macbeth' (Act iv. Scene i) : — 
 
 ‘ Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo ; down ! 
 
 Thy crown does sear mine eye-bsills. And thy hair, 
 
 Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first : — 
 
 A third is like the former. . . . 
 
 A fourth ! Start, eyes ! 
 
 What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom ? 
 Another yet ! A seventh ! — I’ll see no more !’ 
 
 This variation is susceptible of elaborate treatment. See also 
 the episode in Scott’s ‘ Lay of the Last Minstrel,’ where the 
 poet-earl of Surrey sees his Geraldine in the magician’s 
 enchanted mirror. 
 
 ^ Love and Jealousy ’ may also be recommended. A cavalier, 
 in Spanish or Italian dress, serenades with his guitar a young 
 lady who is seen on a balcony in the centre of the stage. On 
 the right lurks another cavalier, cloaked, with a dagger in his 
 hand ; behind him waits his attendant, with a drawn sword. 
 
 The famous duel scene in ‘ The Corsican Brothers ’ can be 
 effectively treated as a tableau. 
 
 Or any celebrated picture may be taken as a subject, and 
 represented in all its details, with due attention to the artistic 
 choice of colours. Some of Mulready’s or Wilkie’s are espe- 
 cially suitable from their domestic character. Then there are 
 
 7 
 
98 
 
 THE CHIEF POINTS TO BE STUDIED, 
 
 such picturesque themes as ‘ The Huguenots ’ and ^ The Black 
 Brunswicker ^ of Millais, ^ or the ^Joan of Arc’ and ‘The 
 Return from Moscow ’ of Calderon, or the ‘ Rienzi ’ of Holman 
 Hunt, or ‘ The Signal ’ of J. R. Herbert. The field here in- 
 dicated is practically inexhaustible ; and its cultivation will not 
 fail to encourage the artistic sympathies both of the performers 
 and the spectators. 
 
 I do not think I need add any more words ; nor, indeed, is 
 it possible to supply any minute directions. All depends on 
 the taste, dexterity, and tact of the persons engaged in getting 
 up the tableau ; on the extent of their resources, and the skill 
 with which these resources are employed. The chief points to 
 be studied are the distribution of colour, the effects of light 
 and shade, and the grouping of the various figures. No 
 tableau should be put before the public which has not been 
 carefully arranged and thoroughly rehearsed ; but, unfortunately, 
 it is in this matter of rehearsals that most amateurs fail. They 
 seem to imagine that they can attain excellence at a bound ; 
 that their natural ability is so great as to justify their dispensing 
 with the labour of preparation. Or while willing enough to 
 display themselves on the stage, they are too indolent or in- 
 different to fit themselves by previous study. Now in all the 
 circumstances of life, in our pastimes as in our serious avoca- 
 tions, the old adage holds good : — ‘ Whatever is worth doing at 
 all, is worth doing well.’ If it be worth while to get up a 
 tableau for the amusement of one’s self and one’s friends, it 
 must or should be worth while to get it up in the best possible 
 style. There can be no justification for inviting a large com- 
 pany to witness an indifferent performance ; and I can hardly 
 conceive of a greater insult to one’s friends than is contained 
 in the by no means uncommon excuse — ‘ Oh, we could have 
 done it much better if we had taken more trouble 1’ The 
 spirit of hospitality requires that you shall set your best before 
 your guest. 
 
 Charades claim a close kinship to tableaux. They are based 
 on the same principle; butwhereas a tableau is generally intended 
 as the artistic presentation of a poetical or fictitious subject, 
 a charade is usually put forward in the light of a pictorial or 
 pantomimic puzzle, the spectators being supposed to decipher 
 the particular word signified by the movements and gestures of 
 
CHARADES. 
 
 99 
 
 the actors. Charades are recommended by one very useful 
 feature ; they can be got up on the spur of the moment. Half- 
 a-dozen persons — or more or fewer — with some notion of 
 ‘ dressing-up/ and some taste for acting, fix upon a word (of 
 two, or at most three, syllables), which they undertake to 
 convey to the spectators in pantomime. To each syllable is 
 allotted a scene or tableau ; and another and final one em- 
 bodies the whole word. Thus, let us suppose that the word 
 chosen is Hoiteymoon : in Scene i, we have, perhaps, an ‘ illus- 
 trated version ’ of the old nursery rhyme about the queen in her 
 parlour eating bread and honey, with her courtiers gathered 
 round her in an ecstasy of admiration. The king enters. His 
 royal spouse offers a portion of her dainty ; he inquires of 
 what it is composed, and by signs and gestures indicates his 
 dislike of honey. The queen presses upon him ; he runs out, 
 followed by her majesty and attendants. Scene 2 : a poet ‘ by 
 the sad sea waves ’ indites an ode to the moon, figuring the 
 most boundless enjoyment of the beauty of the night and the 
 melody of his verses. While lost in reverie he is surrounded 
 by robbers, who rifle him of all he has, seize his ‘ Ode to the 
 Moon ’ (which is written on a tremendously big sheet of paper), 
 manifest their scorn of it, set it on fire, and dance around the 
 blazing manuscript, dragging the poet with them. At the end 
 all go dovv^n on their knees to the moon, and (as in Sheridan’s 
 ‘ Critic’), exeunt kneeling. The 3rd and last scene may show 
 a young husband and his bride seated at tea, in sweet com- 
 panionship. The landlady enters with her bill. Pockets are 
 turned out, but no money is forthcoming. Exit landlady in a 
 rage, but the husband turns to his wife, and indicates that no 
 vulgar cares of s. d. shall disturb their ‘ Honeymoon.’ The 
 audience are then requested to guess the word. 
 
 In Acting Charades the characters are allowed to speak, and 
 if the performers have any nous.^ the dialogue will doubtlessly 
 prove very funny and effective. Much amusement may also 
 be obtained from the dresses in which they appear, as these 
 are generally ‘ adapted for the occasion’ from such materials 
 as the lady of the house can place at the disposal of her 
 histrionic friends. Sometimes, however, acting charades are 
 elaborately worked-up as a recognised portion of the evening’s 
 entertainment; a libretto being written, the various parts 
 learned and rehearsed, and the dresses manipulated with in- 
 
 7—2 
 
100 
 
 MASQUES, 
 
 genuity and taste. When there is a fund of musical talent to 
 be drawn upon, songs may be introduced, and musical accom- 
 paniments used to enhance the effect of ihe action. Occasionally 
 scenery is prepared, and the acting charade may then be re- 
 garded as a modest, prosaic revival of the masques which 
 delighted our Elizabethan forefathers — which 
 
 ‘ So did take Eliza and our James.’ 
 
 ' The masque, says Gifford, as it attained its highest degree of 
 excellence in the hands of Ben Jonson, admitted of dialogue, 
 singing, and dancing, which were not independent of one 
 another, as in previous entertainments, but combined, by the 
 introduction of some ingenious fable, into an harmonious whole. 
 The groundwork was assumed at will ; but Ben Jonson, to whom 
 the whole mythology of Greece and Rome lay open, generally 
 drew his personages from that inexhaustible treasury of fancy : 
 having formed the plan, he called in the aid of the sister arts ; 
 for ‘ the essence of the masque was pomp and glory, and it could 
 breathe only in the atmosphere of a court.’ Thus, while the 
 dramas of Shakespeare were produced without any scenic em- 
 bellishment, movable scenery of the costliest and most 
 elaborate kind was lavished on the masque^ and the highest 
 vocal and instrumental excellence was employed to grace and 
 recommend it. 
 
 I see no reason why the masque should not be reproduced by 
 some ambitious host or hostess desirous of investing their 
 entertainments with an air of novelty. It was often animated 
 by a strain of pure poetry, and lent itself, as we know, to 
 beautiful effects of grouping and colouring. The scenic con- 
 trivances are sometimes too elaborate for the amateur stage 
 but with a little ingenuity these might be modified, and the 
 masque so rearranged as to be brought within the limit of avail- 
 able resources. There would be no difficulty, for instance, in 
 putting upon the drawing-room ‘boards’ Ben Jonson’s masque 
 of ‘ Christmas,’ or of ‘ The Golden Age Restored,’ or some of 
 Shelley’s masques, or Milton’s ‘ Comus,’ and these would suggest 
 imitations which, if inferior to the originals in poetic grace, 
 might please, nevertheless, by their fancifulness or picturesque 
 charm. 
 
 ‘ Five o’clock teas ’ are a recent innovation, and belong to 
 the category of the ladies’ social pleasures. They have been 
 
GARDEN PARTIES, 
 
 lOI 
 
 rendered necessary, or excusable, perhaps, by the late hour to 
 which the dinner in fashionable households is now deferred. 
 I am not aware that any particular etiquette surrounds them. 
 As they are not regarded as ‘a meal,’ visitors do not remove 
 tlieir out-of-door garments. A small tea-service, specially 
 designed for five o’clock teas, is always used. At large ^ five 
 o’clock teas ’ the hostess receives her guests at the open door 
 of the drawing-room, and has as little time to bestow upon each 
 as at a ball or an ^ at home ;’ but if the party be small, not 
 exceeding twenty or thirty guests, she receives them in the 
 drawing-room, approaching each new-comer as she isannounced, 
 and allotting to each a few minutes of pleasant conversation. 
 It is on these occasions that a hostess has an opportunity of 
 winning her laurels — of proving herself competent for her posi- 
 tion — of bringing into play all her highest social qualifications. 
 Almost any person can get through the formalities of a large 
 ball or ^ at home j’ but in a small party everything hangs upon 
 the tact, talent, and grace of the hostess. 
 
 ‘ Garden-parties ’ afford a very agreeable pretext for collecting 
 one’s friends and acquaintances ; but certain conditions seem 
 essential to their success. The garden must be of tolerable 
 extent, and the weather propitious. A garden-party on a fine 
 warm day, with a blue sky above, and the blossoming flower-beds 
 shining in the sun’s golden light, is one of the pleasantest of re- 
 unions ; just as a garden-party in the rain and mist is one of the 
 most depressing. At garden-parties morning-dress is worn ; they 
 are very popular among young people on account of the oppor- 
 tunities they afford for quiet flirtations. What sweet nothings 
 may be whispered into willing ears while the band is playing 
 the love-strains in Gounod’s ‘ Faust !’ What delicate attentions 
 may be paid by courteous swain when Araminta exhibits her 
 skill with bow and arrow ! How lithe and graceful the figure of 
 the fair Julia appears while she strives for victory at lawn-tennis ! 
 Sunshine and the fresh air, green leaves and bright blossoms, blue 
 skies and warm breezes — these seem the natural surroundings 
 of youth and beauty ; and a garderi-party on a glowing summer 
 noon seems like a page out of a poem, and reminds us of the 
 romances of the old chivalry and the bright scenes in Boccaccio’s 
 ‘ Decameron.’ 
 
 ‘ It was a garden plot of the most emerald verdure, bouquets 
 of laurel and of myrtle opened on either side into vistas half- 
 
■ 102 0 UT- OF-DOOR MA TINGES, 
 
 overhung with clematis and rose, through whose arcades the 
 prospect closed with statues and gushing fountains ; in front, 
 the lawn was bounded by rows of vases on marble pedestals 
 filled with flowers ; and broad and gradual flights of steps of the 
 whitest marble led from terrace to terrace, each adorned with 
 statues and fountains, half way down a high but softly-sloping 
 and verdant hill. . . . Birds of every hue and song, some free, 
 some in network of golden wire, warbled round ; and upon the 
 centre of the sward reclined five ladies, unmasked and richly 
 dressed, the eldest of whom seemed scarcely more than twenty, 
 and five cavaliers, young and handsome, whose jewelled vests 
 and golden chains attested their degree. Wines and fruits were 
 on a low table beside, and musical instruments, chess-boards, 
 and gammon-tables lay scattered all about.’ 
 
 This is a modern novelist’s reproduction of a mediaeval 
 garden-party ; but in recent seasons it has been put to shame 
 by the graceful and glittering pageants which have lit up some 
 of our English gardens. Their increasing popularity may be 
 noted with satisfaction, for it seems to show that not even 
 Fashion can deaden the love of nature and of outdoor amuse- 
 ments which has always been a passion with our race. 
 
 Garden-parties, lawn-tennis-parties, archery-parties, croquet- 
 parties — these are amusements which cannot be too warmly 
 encouraged, if for no other reason than that they are certainly 
 more healthful than large gatherings in heated rooms, and that 
 they offer a more vigorous and wholesome means pour passer le 
 teuips. Matinees, like garden-parties, require good weather to 
 make them a success ; and then, as an assemblage of well- 
 dressed people listening, among flowers and sunshine, to 
 merry music, or merrier conversation, a matinee is not one of 
 the least agreeable occasions in the history of ‘ the season.’ 
 The hostess who ventures upon one must secure the services of 
 a good band, and provide ample refreshments, or a lunch, in a 
 tent or summer-house on the lawn. There her duties end ; 
 for introductions are not usual at a matinee, and the guests are 
 expected to amuse themselves, which, in the circumstances, 
 they may very well do, and find no difficult task. The hour at 
 which they assemble is generally one or two, and they withdraw 
 about five. Of course, each visitor pays his or her respects to 
 the hostess ; but this ceremony over, the guests are left to their 
 own devices. 
 
^KETTLEDRUMS^ AND PICNICS. 
 
 103 
 
 At croquet-parties, which generally begin about three, it is, 
 of course, absolutely necessary to introduce your guests to one 
 another, as a preliminary to making up the necessary couples. 
 Full morning-dress is worn on these occasions, but in the 
 country considerable latitude is allowed in the matter of 
 toilettes, and a young lady is free to exercise her taste and 
 ingenuity in inventing a becoming costume. 
 
 ‘ Kettledrums ’ are not so popular as they were. At these 
 entertainments tea and coffee are served at about five o’clock. 
 The dress is morning-dress. Any person on the hostess’s 
 visiting-list may attend without invitation. Dancing lasts until 
 seven o’clock, when the guests disperse for dinner. The giddy 
 round of fashionable society is something almost too awful for 
 the contemplation of ordinary mortals ! Thus it is quite pos- 
 sible for a young lady to begin the day at a garden-party, next 
 partake of five o’clock tea, afterwards be present at a kettle- 
 drum, thence betake herself to a dinner-party, look in at the 
 Opera, and finish at a ball ! What time is left her for intel- 
 lectual culture, or for the discharge of domestic duties, de- 
 ponent knoweth not. Such a life appears as laborious as any 
 artisan’s, but thousands appear to like it. 
 
 In the country, a popular out-of-door diversion is a picnic, 
 and, though the light shafts of the humourist have often been 
 aimed at it, there is enough of real enjoyment and mirthfulness 
 in it to justify its preservation. For a picnic, as for a garden- 
 party, the primary condition of success is fine weather. Next, 
 the guests should all know one another, and should all be 
 chosen for their agreeable qualities. An ill-tempered person at 
 a picnic is as much out of place as an elephant in a china-shop ! 
 There should be a fair admixture of seniors to ensure order 
 and decorum, but there should be a preponderance of young 
 people — of young men, well-bred, well-mannered, and accom- 
 plished ; of young girls, comely, intelligent, and agreeable. 
 If among them there should be one or two couples with a 
 marked preference for each other’s society, all the better; they 
 will set an example to the rest which [in due time may bear 
 fruit. It is necessary, however, to remind young cavaliers and 
 their lady-loves that their mutual attentions should not be too 
 conspicuous, and that they should not be so absorbed in one 
 another as to forget the courtesies due to their companions. 
 A fine day and a nicely-assorted party, and you have the two 
 
104 
 
 HINTS FOR A ^ COLD COLLATION! 
 
 main elements of a successful picnic. Of course your outing 
 will be directed to some pretty and sufficiently-retired spot, 
 where you may enjoy your a/ fresco repast without the disturb- 
 ing accompaniment of a crowd of curious spectators. Equally, 
 of course, you will be careful to provide an ample supply of 
 refreshments. When a picnic is made up by two or three 
 parties, each contributes an equal portion of the expenses. Few 
 if any servants should be called into requisition on these occa- 
 sions, when society makes, as it were, an effort to emancipate 
 itself from its own conventionalities. A picnic is not a fete 
 champHre^ but a merry out-of-door expedition, with pleasure 
 for its object and freedom for its inspiring principle. The pre- 
 sence of John Thomas with his calves, or Simmons the butler 
 with his white necktie, is a delusion and a snare, and unplea- 
 santly recals the thraldom in which Fashion condemns her 
 votaries to live. No ; at a picnic be your own servants ; or, 
 rather, impose on the gentlemen a duty they will surely regard 
 as a privilege, that of ministering to the wants of their sisters, 
 their cousins, and their aunts, and ‘ those others,’ who, if not 
 nearer, are, perhaps, dearer. 
 
 Some hints may here be added as to the fitting materials for 
 that ‘ cold collation ’ which is an indispensable adjunct of 
 croquet-parties, garden-parties, and the like. 
 
 Imprimis^ in the first place, nothing should appear at a 
 collation which requires carving or cannot be easily helped. 
 All meat dishes should be either sandwiches, which can be 
 eaten in the hand, or minced meat in balls, which can be eaten 
 with a fork only. There may be slices of meat, however, and 
 a salad. 
 
 As everything is designed for the comffort of the guests, and 
 no bill of fare can be put forv/ard, it has been recommended 
 that the name of the preparation should be neatly written, 
 and pasted on to the edge of the dish. Mistakes will thus be 
 avoided, and persons prevented from committing themselves to 
 the mastication of some distasteful viand. 
 
 All the puddings should be of small size, the tarts must be 
 tartlets, the jellies in glasses, the custards in little cups. This 
 arrangement will facilitate the labours of the non-professional 
 butlers and amateur footmen. 
 
 A good authority writes : If you have apples, they must have 
 been boiled with sugar, lemon-juice, and lemon-peel, and 
 
DISHES AND DECORATIONS. 
 
 105 
 
 turned out of small tea-cups — a refreshing and savoury prepa- 
 ration, especially if iced. If you have oranges, treat them as 
 follows : Cut a hole in the golden fruit as big as a fourpenny 
 piece where the stem grew. Scoop out the inside, taking care 
 to touch the rind as little as possible. Put all the oranges on 
 a dish with the holes upwards ; and having made a highly-fla- 
 voured orange jelly, strain it, and fill all the skins of the fruit. 
 ^V^hen cold, cut the oranges in quarters, and so serve them. 
 
 For croquet-parties, what are called (on the lucns a non 
 lucendo principle) ‘ croquet-eggs ’ may be commended. Have 
 by you some good hlanc-mange or a lemon-cream. Take a 
 number of oval patty-pans, and into each put a round ball of 
 wood, like a small croquet-ball, which has been bored, and the 
 bored part of which has been filled up with lead to keep it 
 steady. Pour the lemon-cream into the patty-pans. When it 
 is cold, uncover the balls, and pour into the vacant spaces a 
 strong-coloured jelly made of cura9oa. The appearance of a 
 poached egg is thus obtained, and the croquet-player furnished 
 with a wholesome and agreeable stimulant. 
 
 The following remarks do not, of course, apply to an im- 
 promptu picnic, but only to entertainments where a cold 
 collation can be set out on a table and under shelter : 
 
 ‘ When people enter the room where the cold collation is 
 spread, the first impression ought to call up thoughts of fairy- 
 land. It has to stand the trial of sunlight, which is a serious 
 ordeal. Take mj advice, and do not be anxious to exhibit 
 your silver. It is almost ugly by daylight. Keep to glass, 
 which, for the purpose of a cold daylight repast, is far prettier. 
 I would say, always prefer beauty to display. The coloured 
 china shell-dishes, ornamented with red coral and seaweed, are 
 very pretty by daylight, and by lamplight of doubtful loveli- 
 ness ; but pink glass is always pretty, and alternate dishes of pink 
 and of white glass have an excellent effect. A good deal of 
 thought may be well bestowed on the things to go into each, and 
 on the quantity and colour of the flowers that are to be used. 
 
 ^ Large growing plants, if in luxurious flower, and little fruit- 
 trees from an orchid-house, look very well down the middle 
 of a long table at collation ; and if biscuits of many sorts are 
 put down the table on each side at regular distances, in small 
 saucer-shaped glass dishes, which are placed in other glass 
 dishes a size larger, and the space between filled closely with 
 
io6 
 
 A PLEA FOP THE PICNIC, 
 
 flowers of one sort, the effect of such coloured fairy rings all 
 down the table is very good. These rings might be alternately 
 pink rose-buds and the large blue forget-me-not.^ 
 
 At a picnic never use your best plate, glass, or china ; so 
 shall you avoid much heart-burning and irritation of temper. 
 It is not easy for a lady to be ‘ mistress of herself though 
 china fall/ if the china be Sevres or Dresden. All that is 
 required at a picnic is cleanliness and neatness ; any osten- 
 tatious effort, or attempt to outvie one’s neighbours, is as fatal 
 to success as it is contrary to the laws of good manners. 
 
 The humours of a picnic have been satirised by many pens, 
 and in one of Mr. H. J. Byron’s plays have been transferred 
 to the stage ; yet this old English institution defies attack, and 
 thrives in perennial prosperity. Shall there be no more cakes 
 and ale because thou art fastidious ? Aye, and pigeon-pie 
 shall be good in the mouth too, and claret-cup shall be drunk 
 with avidity, and tarts and pates shall minister to the enjoy- 
 ment of fair maidens. The truth is, the ridicule does not stick, 
 because it is spent upon an exaggeration. There are failures 
 in picnics as there are in Swinburne’s erotics and Burne Jones’s 
 ideals. The mustard does sometimes get into the raspberry 
 tart, and picnic parties do sometimes forget the corkscrew. 
 But the majority, I suspect, are well conducted, and the many 
 pleasant recollections attaching to pleasant picnics maintain 
 their popularity. For my own part, I claim for them a pic- 
 turesque element. A picnic on the velvety slope of a green 
 lawn extending to the margent of the Upper Thames, say in 
 the neighbourhood of Cliefden’s bowers; or in a highland 
 glen, where tall pine-trees spread their fragrant foliage, and 
 clear burns leap noisily down the rugged sides of the moun- 
 tain : or among the perfumed hay-mows of some sunny Mid- 
 land meadow ; or in the cool shady hollow of a Sussex down ; 
 or among the ferns of a quiet Devonshire combe opening out 
 upon the glorious sea — can you desire a more joyous pastime? 
 The sunlit air ; the blue arch above ; the cool green foliage 
 around ; the songs of birds and the murmurs of the wind ; the 
 clear ringing laughter of happy voices ; the flash and gleam of 
 bright eyes ; the grace of shapely forms — do not these combine 
 in one overpowering charm ? And surely nowhere else, and 
 at no other time, does so much poetry surround a meal. The 
 cold fowls undergo a kind of exaltation ; the salad seems 
 
WHERE SHALL WE SPEND THE AUTUMN? toy 
 
 somehow glorified ; the tongue receives a special consecration; 
 the wines acquire an additional zest and sparkle. For sweet 
 smiles mingle with bright sunbeams, and soft whispers with 
 the melodies of thrush and blackbird ; and there is around 
 you the glamour of a vision of fair creatures in brightly-tinted 
 raiment ; and all blends into an enchanting phantasmagoria of 
 light and music and love. 
 
 Let no ill-words be spoken of picnics, except by cynics who 
 hate their kind. Given a fine summer day, and a pretty rural 
 nook, and a skilfully selected company — not so numerous as 
 to preclude the growth and expansion of a common feeling of 
 friendship and a mutual sympathy, nor so small as to prevent 
 the exhibition of those contrasts of taste and disposition which 
 are essential to harmony — and I know of no pleasanter form 
 of social reunion. As I have said, a picnic has its humorous 
 side, of which our comic writers have made the most ; but is 
 it the worse for that ? Shall we not laugh and be merry ? 
 Shall we not make a jest of our little failures ? Must perfec- 
 tion be associated with a picnic because of the alliteration ? 
 Do we not wisely in relieving the more serious scenes of life 
 by an occasional bit of comedy ? Go, youth ; make the most 
 of your time : cultivate the picnic, and take care that Amaryllis 
 shares it with you. 
 
 When at last the hurly-burly is done, when the stress and 
 struggle are over, when the London season is at an end, and 
 Parliament has ceased its debates, and the Ladies^ Mile no longer 
 exhibits its moving galaxy of equestrians, and the West End 
 shop-keepers are counting up their spoils, and thinking how 
 much greater the amount would have been but for the 
 ‘ co-operative stores,’ then the great question comes up before 
 us : Where shall we spend the autumn? We cannot all of us 
 circumnavigate the globe in a steam-yacht, or seek health and 
 enjoyment in the Engadine ; we do not all of us care for Harro- 
 gate or Scarborough, Brighton or Ryde; and yet Fashion for- 
 bids that we should stay at home. The opportunity thus seems 
 to have come for a circle of visits to our country friends ; that 
 is, if we are fortunate enough to have a sufficient number on 
 our list. We must begin by fixing the various stages of our 
 journey : the Blanks in Hampshire, the Dashes in Devonshire, 
 the Smiths among the Yorkshire wolds, the Browns near 
 the Lancashire coast, the McRobinsons among the Scottish 
 
io8 
 
 COUNTRY VISITS. 
 
 Highlands. To some of these, perhaps, we have only general 
 invitations; which we have, therefore, to exercise a little ingenuity 
 to get converted into invitations at fixed dates and for definite 
 periods. Our next care must be to arrange them in chrono- 
 logical and topographical order : that is, if possible, in such 
 wise that we can go from one to the other without crossing the 
 same ground, and without leaving between any of them a gap of 
 unoccupied time. This is always a difficult task ; some of the 
 friends whom we may offer to visit, on the strength of a previ- 
 ously expressed wish, may be unable to receive us at the date 
 that would be most convenient to ourselves ; they may be going 
 from home, or their house may already be filled, or there may 
 be illness in the family. We must do the best we can; arrange 
 our pieces on the board with all our skill, and trust to fortune 
 for a good issue to the game. When a friend’s roof is not 
 available, we must fix on some point at a convenient proximity 
 to our next place of rest, and retire into lodgings, or ‘ put up ’ 
 at an hotel, until the hiatus is passed over. 
 
 If the hostess whom we are about to visit have not, when 
 writing, mentioned the most convenient train or steamer, it will 
 be as well we should name the hour at which we propose to 
 arrive. It is not customary now for hosts to send to the 
 railway station for their friends ; and, therefore, if we are 
 strangers in the locality, we write or telegraph to the hotel- 
 keeper or cab-proprietor to have ready ‘ a fly ' for our use. To 
 be deposited at a country station with a pile of luggage, and no 
 vehicle to receive it or its owners, is one of those ‘ miseries of 
 human life ’ which are more easily imagined than described. I 
 have said a pile of luggage ; of course, if the visitor be a 
 gentleman, a portmanteau of moderate size will contain all his 
 belongings ; but if he be accompanied by a lady, his port- 
 manteau will be supplemented by one or two capacious trunks. 
 For his companion will want a thick walking-dress for rural 
 expeditions, a morning dress of light and airy texture, a dress 
 for lawn-tennis, another for a possible garden-party, besides 
 visiting-dresses, dinner-dresses, and ball or evening-party dresses. 
 These wipedimenta cannot be disposed of in a hat-box ! If the 
 round of visits is likely to be prolonged into the colder months 
 of autumn, it is an excellent thing to pack a box before leaving 
 home with suitable warm raiment, for which you can send when 
 wanted. 
 
STAYING WITH A FRIEND. 
 
 109 
 
 Both for their own sakes, and that of their hosts, guests should 
 arrive, if possible, a sufficient time before dinner to allow of 
 changing their dress without delaying that meal ; and when 
 they leave, they should not choose an exceptionally early hour 
 of the morning. Only ‘urgent circumstances' can justify a 
 man in rousing his host’s household in order that he may catch 
 an eight o’clock express. A guest should accept the rules and 
 conditions of the house at which he visits, and not expect to 
 carry his own little habits and personal regulations wherever he 
 goes. It is courteous, after having spent some days at a friend’s, 
 to write to the hostess from the next place you visit, announcing 
 your safe arrival, and gracefully alluding to the pleasant sojourn 
 you made under her hospitable roof. 
 
 Do not out-stay your welcome. It is better to leave even a 
 day before, rather than a day after, the one fixed for the expiry 
 of your visit. You are bound to consider your host’s conveni- 
 ence as well as your own, and not to treat his house as if it 
 were an hotel, with the sole exception that you have not to pay 
 hotel charges. 
 
 Do not occupy too much of the time of your entertainers. 
 Remember that they have their daily duties to discharge — letters 
 to answer, servants to superintend, their estate, perhaps, to 
 overlook — and that their discharge of these duties cannot be 
 interrupted without serious inconvenience. After breakfast, 
 retire to your own room, or go for a ramble in the neighbour- 
 hood, or, if you be a disciple of Izaak Walton, shoulder your 
 rod and hie away to the nearest stream — unless, indeed, some 
 excursion has been arranged for your special benefit, or your 
 host or hostess invites your company. Your afternoons should 
 also be your own, and then you will appear at dinner fresh and 
 unwearied — prepared to enjoy the society of your host and his 
 family, while to them your company will not be the less accept- 
 able because it has not been inflicted upon them all day. You 
 must be possessed of infinite resource if you can undertake to 
 amuse anybody hour after hour — all day long — and day after 
 day for a week or a fortnight. I suppose Damon would have 
 been sick of Pythias if he had been condemned to see him every 
 day from breakfast until supper. Absence makes the heart of 
 host and guest grow fonder ; they relish one another all the 
 better for an interval of separation. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF DINNERS. 
 
 ‘ Now good digestion wait on appetite, 
 
 And health on both.’ 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Importance of Dinner — Napoleon’s Estimate of it— -Political Opportuniiies 
 — Royal Academy Dinner — Macaulay’s Account of it — Macaulay’s own 
 Dinners — Days of the First Empire — Baron Bunsen at Windsor — 
 Dining-room — Its Furniture and Appointments — Cheerfulness, Light, 
 and Comfort — Decoration — Mrs. Cask ell — Flowets and Crystal — Mrs. 
 Loftie — Napkins — Archbishop Whately — Against undue Display — • 
 Colonel Hauer’s Dinner to the Prince Regent — Number of Guests — 
 Mrs. Gaskell on Waiting and Mutual Assistance — Its Disadvantages — 
 Forms of Invitation and Reply — Selection of Guests — Pendennis at a 
 Dinnerin Paternoster Row — Arrangement of Guests — Particulars of Pre- 
 cedence — Reception of Guests — Places at Table — Old-fashioned Carving 
 — ROle of the Hostess — The Menu, or Bill of Fare — Proportion, not Ex- 
 cess — Elegance, not Ostentation — Examples of Bills of Fare, according 
 to number of Guests and Seasons of the Year — Moderation in Wine — 
 Wines and -their Order — Wine-drinking, Past and Present — Minute 
 Vulgarisms — Punctuality — Further Caveats against Vulgarity — Value of 
 Observation — Conversation at Dinner — Good Conversation demands 
 Good Talking and Good Listening — Dr. Johnson — Suppression and 
 Delicacy in Conversation — Cowper on ‘ Conversation ’ — Topics of 
 Conversation — Lord Beaconsfield’s ‘Lothair’ — ^Joining the Ladies — 
 Mrs. Haweis on the Dinner of To-day — Most Dinners are Failures— 
 Guests to be preferred to the Dinner. 
 
 COMPLETE system of literature revolves around 
 the vast central subject of dinner, and the reader 
 who should attempt to master it would spend 
 laborious days and sleepless nights, only to find, 
 after years of toil, that he had made but small pro- 
 gress towards the desired goal. Of what dinner should consist 
 — how it should be ordered — the number of guests— the con- 
 
DINNER ENTHUSIASTS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 ditions under which it should be given and eaten — the decora- 
 tions of the table — the furniture of the dining-room — these 
 are only a few of the subsidiary topics on which a thousand 
 writers have lavished their wit and wisdom. Evidently, in the 
 opinion of a very considerable portion of civilised humanity, 
 the art of living is simply and absolutely the art of dining. I 
 suppose that these Ctenophilists recognise breakfast as a neces- 
 sity, and give an occasional thought to luncheon, perhaps to 
 ^ supper ; but it is the one great and sublime meal of dinner 
 > for which they think and feel, hope and fear, and live. Dynas- 
 ties may pass away, and empires crumble into ruin — these are 
 the trifling accidents of the world’s history ; but dinner ! it is 
 to them what the philosopher’s stone was to the Rosicrucian 
 students of the Middle Ages, or even more. They prepare for 
 it laboriously ; enjoy it devoutly ; and ruminate over it pro- 
 foundly. No doubt they adopt the glowing eloquence of 
 ' Pelham, when he expatiates to Lord Guloseton on its surpass- 
 I irig importance : — ‘ At what moment of our existence are we 
 ^ happier than at table ? There hatred and animosity are lulled 
 to sleep, and pleasure alone reigns. There the cook, by his 
 . skill and attention, anticipates our wishes in the happiest selec- 
 I tion of the best dishes and decorations. There our wants are 
 S satisfied, our minds and bodies invigorated, and ourselves 
 qualified for the high delights of love, music, poetry, dancing, 
 and other pleasures.’ They are of the opinion of Sufifen, the 
 French diplomatist, who, when in India, was waited upon by a 
 deputation of Hindoos while he was at dinner : — ‘ Tell them,' 
 he said, ‘ that the Christian religion peremptorily forbids every 
 Christian, while at table, to occupy himself with any earthly 
 subject except the function of eating.’ There is ?io earthly 
 subject which concerns them so deeply — which occupies so 
 much of their time and attention. 
 
 I do not write for such enthusiasts ; yet I am by no means 
 disposed to make light of dinner. We do not live to eat, but 
 we eat to live, and it is, therefore, a matter of personal interest to 
 each of us what we eat and hoiv we eat it ; and dinner being 
 our principal meal, must necessarily demand our best considera- 
 tion. Nor can it be denied that dinner has a certain social 
 value and interest. Napoleon recognised this fact, and selected 
 Cambaceres as Third Consul, because he understood the science 
 of dinner-giving, and confirmed adherents and conciliated 
 
II2 
 
 SOME FAMOUS DINNERS, 
 
 opponents by the excellence of his rotis and the savouriness of 
 his plats. But for Lady Holland’s famous dinners at Holland 
 House, what would have become of the Whig party during the 
 long period it spent in the cold shade of Opposition ? In our 
 own time, we have heard something of the political success of 
 the late Countess Waldegrave’s dinners at Strawberry Hill, and 
 it is generally admitted that the politician who keeps a good 
 cook is a tower of strength to his party. Literature, too, has 
 many grateful associations with dinners ; from those at which 
 the Queen Anne wits and poets assisted, down to those which 
 called forth the humour of Sydney Smith and the varied know- 
 ledge of Macaulay. I suppose that English art would hardly 
 hold its place if the annual Royal Academy dinner passed into 
 abeyance ! What wit and eloquence and epigrammatic wisdom 
 — what stores of anecdote and experience — have been poured 
 out at the dinner-table ! What jealousies have been soothed, 
 what combinations arranged or neutralised, what hostilities 
 averted, what friendships cemented ! Who has not read of 
 dinners at which he would have given half his income to have 
 been present ? Who would not have wished to dine with 
 Shakespeare and Ben Jonson at the Mermaid? or with 
 Addison and Swift at Treasurer Harley’s ? or with Johnson and 
 Beauclerk and Bennet Langton and Miss Burneyat Mr. Thrale’s? 
 or with Macaulay and Luttrell and Sydney Smith at Rogers’s ? 
 or with Coleridge at Mr. Gillman’s ? or with Charles Lamb 
 and George Dyer in Elia’s pleasant Highgate retreat ? I have 
 just alluded to the Royal Academy dinners ; that must have 
 been a particularly rememberable one which Macaulay describes 
 in his diary in 1852 : — 
 
 ‘ A great number of my friends, and immense smiling, and 
 shaking of hands. I got a seat in a pleasant situation near 
 Thesiger, Hallam, and Inglis. The scene was lively ... It is 
 the old Duke’s birthday ; he is eighty-three to-day- I never 
 see him now without a painful interest. I look at him every 
 time with the thought that this may be the last. We drank his 
 health with immense shouting and table-banging. He returned 
 thanks, and spoke of the loss of the Birkenhead. I remarked 
 (and Lawrence, the American minister, said that he had re- 
 marked the same thing) that, in his eulogy of the poor fellows 
 who were lost, the Duke never spoke of their courage, but 
 always of their discipline and subordination. He repeated it 
 
MA CA ULA Y AS A DINNER- GI VER. i i 3 
 
 several times over. The courage, I suppose, he treated as a 
 thing of course. Lord Derby spoke with spirit, but with more 
 hesitation than on any occasion on which I have heard him. 
 Disraeli’s speech was clever. In defiance of all rule, he gave 
 Lord John Russell’s health. Lord John answered good- 
 humouredly and well.’ 
 
 Here I may refer to Macaulay in his capacity not of diner- 
 out but of dinner-giver ; and I am inclined to believe that in 
 many respects he was the very type of a perfect Amphitryon. 
 His nephew and biographer says, that moderate as was his own 
 regime^ he could not endure to see guests, even of the most 
 tender age, seated round his board, unless there was upon it 
 something very like a feast. ‘ He generally selected, by a half- 
 conscious preference, dishes of an established, and, if so it may 
 be called, an historical reputation. He was fond of testifying 
 to his friendliness for Dissenters by treating his friends to a 
 fillet of veal, which he maintained to be the recognised Sunday 
 dinner in good old Nonconformist families. He liked still 
 better to prove his loyalty to the Church by keeping her feasts, 
 and keeping them in good company \ and by observing her 
 fasts, so far, that is to say, as they could be observed by 
 making additions to the ordinary bill of fare. A Michaelmas 
 Day on which he did not eat goose, or ate it in solitude, was 
 no Michaelmas to him ; and regularly on Christmas Eve there 
 came to our house a cod-fish, a barrel of oysters, and a chine, 
 accompanied by the heaviest turkey which diligence could dis- 
 cover and money could purchase. If he was entertaining a 
 couple of schoolboys who could construe their fourth satire of 
 Juvenal, he would reward them for their proficiency with a 
 dish of mullet that might have passed muster on the table of an 
 augur or an Emperor s freedman . . . With regard to the con- 
 tents of his cellar, Macaulay prided himself on being able to 
 say with Mr. John Thorpe (in Miss Ferrier’s novel of “Mar- 
 riage ”), “ Mine is famous good stuff, to be sure 3” and if my 
 mother took him to task for his extravagance, he would 
 reply, in the words used by another of their favourite characters 
 in fiction, that there was a great deal of good eating and drink- 
 ing in seven hundred a year, if people knew how to manage it.’ 
 
 Macaulay, who read everything, had read the Almanach des 
 Gourmands — that cyclopaedia of sensual enjoyment — and had 
 by heart the choice morsels of humour and extravagance scat- 
 
 8 
 
THn ^ ALMANACH DES GOURMANDS: 
 
 114 
 
 tered through the eight fat little volumes. He loved to dwell 
 on the ceremonies of a Parisian banquet in the days of the 
 First Empire, from those complexities of arrangement, ‘ que les 
 personnes bien avisees ont I’attention d^abreger en mettant 
 d’avance le nom de chaque convive sur chaque convert, dans 
 Tordre de leur appetit connu ou presume,’ to the ^ visite de 
 digestion ’ on the morrow, the length of which was or ought 
 to be proportioned to the excellence of the entertainment. 
 He would enumerate every article in a long series of delicacies, 
 from the ^ potage brulant, tel qu’il doit etre,’ on to the ‘ biscuit 
 d’ivrogne,’ not forgetting to emphasise the assertion that, ‘ Tout 
 bon mangeur a fini son diner apres le roti.’ He would quote 
 from the same high authority that, after the sixth dozen, 
 oysters ceased to whet the appetite ; and would repeat, with 
 evident relish, the sentence that closes the description of a 
 repast such as a French official, in the days spoken of, de- 
 lighted in giving : — ‘ Ceux qui veulent faire grandement les 
 choses, finissent par parfumer la bouche de leurs convives (ou 
 plutot de leurs amis, car c’est ainsi que s’appellent les convives 
 d’un dejeuner), avec deux ou trois lasses de glaces ; ou de la 
 mise ensuite avec un grand verre de marasquin ; et puis 
 chacun se retire en hate chez soi — pour aller manger la soupe.’ 
 But his favourite passage, we are told, was that which prescribes 
 the period (varying from a week to six months, according to 
 the goodness of the dinner), during which the guests may not 
 speak ill of their host; who has, moreover, the privilege of 
 binding their tongues afresh to silence by issuing a new set of 
 invitations before the full time has expired : — ‘ On conviendra 
 que, de toutes les manieres d’empecher de mal parler de soi, 
 celle-ci n’est pas la moins admirable.’ 
 
 In Baron Bunsen’s letters we meet with some brief notes 
 on dinners in high places, notably at Windsor Castle. Thus 
 he writes on one occasion : ‘ I had my audience at eight 
 o’clock, just before dinner : I was directed to conduct the 
 Duchess of Kent to the place opposite the Queen, and then to 
 place myself at the Queen’s right hand. I had been told by 
 Brunnow that I had no choice of a place but by the side of 
 the Duchess or Prince Albert. In obeying the Queen’s com- 
 mand, I thought of what the Popes say when receiving peculiar 
 honour — Non mihi sed Petro,” Not to me is this offered, but 
 to St. Peter ” — well aware . that it is the King [of PrussiaJ’s 
 
DINNER AT WINDSOR CASTLE, 115 
 
 present high position which has raised mine ; wherefore I can 
 really enjoy it much. We passed a cheerful evening. In 
 playing at cards with the Queen, I won a new shilling of her 
 Majesty’s especial coin.’ Again he writes : ‘ I arrived here 
 yesterday at six, and at eight o’clock all followed the Queen in 
 to dinner in the great hall hung round with the Winterhalter 
 portraits. The band, so placed as to be invisible, played 
 exquisitely, so that what with the fine proportions of the hall 
 and the well-subdued light, and the splendour of the plate and 
 decorations, the scene was such as fairy tales present; and 
 Lady Canning, Miss Dawson, and Miss Stanley were beautiful 
 enough to personate the ideal attendants of an ideal court. 
 The Queen looked well and rayonnante,, with that expression 
 which she always has when thoroughly pleased with all that 
 occupies her mind, which you know I always observe with 
 delight, as fraught with that truth and reality which so essen- 
 tially belong to her character, and so strongly distinguish her 
 countenance, in all its changes, from the fixed mask only too 
 common in the royal rank of society.’ 
 
 But we must come to more practical matters. You and I, 
 my friend, are never likely to be entertained at Windsor, and 
 yet we have sometimes to go to dinners and to give dinners. 
 In either capacity, as host or guest, we are interested in all that 
 appertains to reasonable success in this department. And 
 obviously, the first consideration is the room in which the 
 dinner is given and eaten — the dining-room. I have already 
 spoken of the old style of dining-room in houses even of some 
 pretension : the crimson flock-paper, the dull mahogany table, 
 and duller chairs, and dullest sideboard— the long array of 
 guests on either side staring, in the intervals of repast, at the 
 hideous portraits in heavy gilded frames suspended from the 
 walls — the general air of gloom and desolation, as if, instead of 
 a social gathering, a scene from some grim Walpurgis-Nacht was 
 going on — everybody knows it, and the shudder with which he 
 was wont to contemplate it. JNous avons change tout cela. We 
 don’t think it necessary in those more enlightened days to sur- 
 round our little entertainments with an air of funereal melan- 
 choly, and to chill our guests to the marrow-bones by way of 
 set-off to the viands and wines they cost us ! The very first 
 condition of a proper dining-room is that it shall be light and 
 cheerful. You may paint or paper its walls according to 
 
 8 — 2 
 
WHAT THE DINJNG^ROOM SHOULD BE. 
 
 1 16 
 
 the latest eccentricity of the art-craze, so long as you provide 
 these two essentials. As for the furniture, let it be com- 
 fortable ; let the table be large enough to accommodate your- 
 self and your guests with ease, and let the chairs be chairs 
 meant for Christian men and women to sit in^ not to look at. 
 I am not concerned as to the style of furniture which your care- 
 fully cultivated aestheticism may incline you to adopt — Wardour 
 Street Gothic, Queen Anne, or Louis Quatorze — so long as it 
 is all in harmony, and all selected with a view to convenience 
 and comfort. Let the curtains at your windows be graceful in 
 folds, harmonious in colouring, and of a texture to suit the 
 season. Take care that your room is well ventilated, cool in 
 summer, pleasantly warm in winter, and always fresh and 
 wholesome. Who can eat one’s dinner with any appetite in 
 an atmosphere choked with gas and coal-dust ? Who can eat 
 it when the air breathes as fiercely hot as that of the Arabian 
 Desert? Or, on the other hand, when one is exposed in 
 winter to a temperature that suggests ideas of Nova Zembla? 
 And this, too, perhaps, when one’s opposite neighbour, seated 
 near the fire, is dissolving in an agony of perspiration ? To 
 sum up : while you will certainly wish your dining-room to 
 display the good taste of its owner, you will not forget that 
 your duty as a host demands that it should be arranged with 
 a primary view to the ease of your guests. 
 
 I presume that your table will be oval — experience has 
 proved the advantage of this shape over the rectangular paral- 
 lelogram which used to do duty in the dining-rooms of the fine 
 old English gentlemen. There is no reason in the world why it 
 should differ from the tables used in other parts of the house, 
 so long as it is steady and substantial. And here I may enter a 
 protest against the notion that ‘the dining-room’ must, for occult 
 reasons never explained by any writer I have ever met with, be 
 as unlike as possible to every other room ; why the carpet and 
 paper must be of a different pattern and the furniture in a dif- 
 ferent style j and every sign and token be grouped together in 
 order to impress on the spectator’s mind the all-important fact 
 that ‘ id on dine P As I have already insisted, the only neces- 
 sary conditions are light and cheerfulness, which include, of 
 course, the requirements of space and ventilation. A man 
 receives his guests as his friends, not as if he were offering 
 them a public dinner at so much per head, ‘ including wines,’ 
 
B-OIV TO ARRANGE THE DINNER^TABLE. 117 
 
 and should, therefore, receive them in the most comfortable 
 room in his house, the one which is cheeriest, prettiest, and 
 most convenient. I abominate your show dining-rooms, those 
 elaborately ‘ got-up ^ salons, which you feel, immediately on 
 entering, are reserved for special occasions and never occupied 
 by your host and his family. They are wholly antagonistic to 
 the true idea of dinner as an occasion for cementing friend- 
 ships, promoting ‘ the flow of reason,’ and strengthening the 
 bonds of social good-will. 
 
 You will cover your table with the whitest of white damask, 
 damask as spotless as the memory of ‘ the lily-maid of Astolat,’ 
 and for decoration you will use flowers profusely, always taking 
 care that the profusion be governed by good taste. An epergne 
 or two is admissible, if not too high or too large ; and a 
 statuette in white alabaster or Parian, with a background of 
 glossy foliage, forms an attractive object. Small’glass dishes filled 
 with flowers, and placed at the corners and down the sides of 
 the tables are very pleasant, and invest with something of poetic 
 grace the material character of all gastronomic pleasures. It 
 is unnecessary to say that the flowers should be fresh cut, if 
 possible, and arranged with a due attention to harmony of 
 colours. A small table-fountain, filled with perfumed water, 
 may be made ‘ a thing of beauty.’ Here and there distribute 
 some ferns or tiny evergreens. Do not make a display of 
 plate — a gentleman’s dinner-table is not to resemble a silver- 
 smith’s counter. Let there be abundance of ‘ crystal ’ — glass 
 plates, dishes, vases, tumblers, wine-glasses, ewers; and let each 
 be selected for its graceful outline, inasmuch as the primary 
 principle of laying a table’ is, or should be, to present nothing 
 which shall not please the eye. On this point I agree with 
 Mrs. Gaskell when she says : — ‘ If your friends have not dined, 
 and it suits you to give them a dinner, in the name of Lucullus 
 let them dine ; but take care that there shall be something be- 
 sides the mere food and wine to make their foregathering agree- 
 able at the time and pleasant to remember, otherwise you had 
 better pack up for each his portion of the dainty dish and 
 send it separately, in hot-water trays, so that he can eat com- 
 fortably behind a door, like Sancho Panza, and have done with 
 it.’ There is nothing more pleasant than blooming flowers, 
 cool green ferns, and finely-cut glass : these charm the eye and 
 delight the mind by their suggestion of pretty and poetical 
 
ii8 
 
 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, 
 
 fancies. Do not resort to hot-house flowers, if you can help it ; 
 in spring, violets, primroses, lilies of the valley, cowslips ; in 
 summer, roses, pinks, pansies, sweet-william, clematis ; you 
 need never be at a lack for the darlings of the valley and the 
 meadow, or the pride of the cottage-garden, the blossoms 
 redolent with the sweetness of old English poetry and fable. 
 
 And here we may quote Mrs. Gaskell again : — 
 
 ^ My friends,^ she said, ‘ would probably be surprised (some 
 wear caps and some wigs) if I provided them with garlands of 
 flowers after the manner of the ancient Greeks;* but put 
 flowers on the table (none of your shams, wax or otherwise ; I 
 prefer an honest wayside root of primroses in a common vase 
 of white ware to the grandest bunch of stiff-rustling artificial 
 rarities in a silver epergne). A flower or two by the side of 
 each person’s plate would not be out of the way as to expense, 
 and would be a very agreeable pretty piece of mute welcome. 
 Flowers as an ornament lead our thoughts away from their 
 present beauty and fragrance. I am almost sure Madame de 
 Sable, a Parisian ‘ woman of fashion ’ in the seventeenth cen- 
 tury, had flowers in her salon, and, as she was fond of dainties 
 herself, I can fancy her smooth benevolence of character taking 
 delight in some personal preparations made in the morning for 
 the anticipated friends of the evening. I can fancy her stew- 
 ing sweetbreads in a silver saucepan or dressing salad with her 
 delicate, plump white hands.’ 
 
 Mrs. Loftie lays great stress on the necessity of ‘ fair nap- 
 kins,’ and adds that in these there is great room for variety and 
 art-needlework. It is very rarely, she says, that we see a pretty 
 set. Too often the guest is presented with a large square of 
 damask like a deal-board, stiffened in order that the butler 
 may torture it into a fantastic shape. ‘ A napkin that is not soft 
 and pliable is manifestly unfit for its purpose, that of wiping 
 the mouth. It should not be too broad, but long enough to 
 go over the knees. It may be elaborately ornamented, but 
 not so as to prevent it from being easily washed. In coun- 
 tries where fingers still do the duty of forks the napkin holds a 
 very high position as a criterion of the rank and riches of the 
 master of the house. It is a great pity that in this country the 
 
 * This was true when Mrs. Gaskell wrote ; but now that flowers are worn 
 as boas, wristbands, necklaces, and the like, there would be no great wonder 
 if young and old crowned themselves with garlands, as the ancients did. 
 
DELICATE N APERY, 
 
 119 
 
 love of delicate napery has so much died out. In old times a 
 lady took pride in her linen-closet, and knew every tablecloth 
 by name. Each piece had its story. This was made for the 
 wedding-feast which marked a great family alliance, that for 
 the christening of one who grew to be a beauty celebrated by 
 the poets. One commemorated a naval victory in which a son 
 of the house took part, another was prepared for the reception 
 of royalty.’ Meanwhile, as few families possess this historic 
 napery, I advise my friends to be content with napkins of soft 
 damask not elaborately ornamented. Who would care to 
 apply to his bearded mouth a napkin covered with ‘quaint 
 charactery’ and ‘intricate devices.’* At the same time I beg 
 of them not to torture the ‘ fair damask ’ into fantastic shapes, 
 but to let it be ‘ folded up neatly,’ ready to the hand of the 
 guest. 
 
 * Mrs. Loftie’s views of decorative napkin- work deserve to be put before 
 the reader. If (she says) the napkin is not to be embroidered there are a 
 thousand pretty devices in which to mark it. In one corner or the middle 
 may be embroidered a coat of arms, initials, or some device chosen to dis- 
 tinguish the set for the benefit of the washerwoman. Such a crest, for 
 instance, as that of the Hamilton family — a tree with a sword, and the word 
 Through — can be treated in many pretty ways, if not made too pictorial. 
 The tree may be large or small, branching or bushy, covered with acorns or 
 bare of leaves. In this way the crest as a device need never be monotonous. 
 Mottoes, too, can be charmingly worked in all kinds of odd places, in one 
 corner, or across the middle, or along one or all of the sides. Not only are 
 devices pretty and appropriate, but they may sometimes afford a subject for 
 dinner conversation when the weather has been exhaustively discussed. A 
 grace, or an apt quotation, would not be out of place. — It is surely a comical 
 idea that one should take up one’s napkin, during ‘ a flash of silence,* and 
 carefully inspect it in search of inspiration ! We can fancy a couple of 
 guests — lady and gentlemen — simultaneously seized with an epidemic of 
 dulness, and resorting to their napkins to stimulate their flagging brains ! 
 He: ‘Hum — oh yes — very appropriate quotation on this napkin — “May 
 good digestion wait on appetite.” Now, I have a good appetite, but a 
 bad . . .' She: ‘||Oh, sir, let us examine the “wise saw” on my napkin : 
 “ Hunger is the best sauce.” Now, Hunger . . .’ He: ‘As I was say- 
 ing, a good appetite ’ . . . She : ‘ Then you would not want the sauce of 
 hunger. And so ’ . . . They are left talking . — What a marvel that no 
 enterprising vendor advertises ‘ Shakespearian Napkins ’ — ‘ Byron Napkins ’ 
 — ‘ Low Church Napkins,’ with evangelical texts — ‘ High Church Napkins, 
 with quotations from the Fathers ! But then, if these came into vogue, a 
 new responsibility would weigh upon the hostess ; she would be called upon 
 to see that each napkin was adapted to the tastes and prejudices of the 
 guest ; or a ritualistic young curate might find a Low Church napkin preach- 
 ing heterodoxy with its evangelical folds ! While a Low Churchman 
 might wipe his fingers in a napkin dedicated to St. Apollodorus of Tyana ! 
 
120 
 
 KEEP WITHIN YOUR MEANS, 
 
 ' As to knives and forks, plates and dishes, I shall say nothing : 
 in these matters every gentlewoman is her own best guide. I 
 need not caution you that every article should be scrupulously 
 clean. Do not let the stems of the wine-glasses be too thin, 
 or some nervous guest will assuredly break his, if not his neigh- 
 bour’s, and send a flood of wine over your damask and into his 
 luckless partner’s lap. Besides, broken glasses have to be re- 
 placed, and, if they are very fragile and expensive, the demand 
 on the householder’s limited means will do anything but 
 sweeten his recollections of ‘ the dinner.’ It is pitiful to see 
 your kindly hostess sitting on thorns lest some fatal accident 
 should befall her costly dishes, which she will not be able to re- 
 place except at a considerable sacriflce. Archbishop Whately 
 wisely remarks that ‘ it may, perhaps, be laid down in reference 
 to what may be called ornamental expense — anything that is 
 not so strictly required as a decency that you would be cen- 
 sured and ridiculed for being without it — that you should 
 have such articles only as you can afford, not only to buy, but 
 to replace, supposing them of a perishable nature.’ For the 
 honour, as Bacon calls it, of any display of wealth, consists, 
 surely, in not only having such and such articles, but having 
 them without uneasiness, without any very anxious care about 
 them. If you have a very fine set of china-ware, and are in a 
 continual apprehension of its being broken, you had better, in 
 point of respectability as well as of comfort, have been content 
 with plain Worcester. If a lady is in a perpetual fever lest 
 some costly veil or gown should be soiled or torn, this indi- 
 cates that she would have done better to wear a less costly 
 dress. There is something in what is said by little Sandford 
 in the tale, who preferred a horn cup to one of silver because 
 it never made him uneasy. This rule applies to dinner-giving, 
 ah mitio: if you are wise, and if you wish your friends to be com- 
 fortable, you will take care to keep within your means. Do 
 not give a dinner at all unless you can afford it, and, if you 
 give one, do not let it be on a scale which will tax your re- 
 sources. Do not attempt too much. If you cannot afford to 
 entertain more than four guests, do not ask six. And do not 
 suppose that your dinner will ‘go off’ the better for an extrava- 
 'gant outlay. It is to be presumed and hoped that your guests 
 do not come to see your silver-plate or your crystal, or to be 
 filled with envy at the sumptuous decorations of your table; 
 
THE STORY OF A LITTLE DINNER. 
 
 I2I 
 
 if they do, it is evident they are not worth any expenditure. 
 No etiquette requires that you should entertain your guests in 
 order that they may laugh at your ostentation or ridicule your 
 economy. No etiquette requires that you should undertake an 
 outlay by which your creditors will suffer. Proportion your 
 dinner to your income, to the size of your room, to the con- 
 veniences at your command. There is a story told of the late 
 Colonel Hanger that George IV., when Prince Regent, invited 
 himself to dine with him, and that, as the Colonel was a man 
 of small income, everybody wondered how he would acquit 
 himself under the burden of such an honour. The appointed 
 day arrived and the appointed hour. The Prince, attended 
 by an equerry, appeared at the Colonel’s modest lodging, was 
 received with great courtesy, and, while dinner was preparing, 
 was amused by the Colonel’s lively and intelligent conversation. 
 In due time a neatly-dressed handmaiden laid the whitest of 
 cloths ; the usual appurtenances were scrupulously bright and 
 clean, though of the most moderate character; and it was with 
 a keen appetite that the Prince sat down — to a baked leg of 
 mutton, ‘ done to a turn,’ with baked potatoes. There was 
 some good ale, and, after dinner, a bottle of excellent wine — 
 nothing more. But the Prince declared that he had never 
 enjoyed a dinner so much in his life, and hinted at a second 
 visit, which, however, the Colonel was too wise to accept, 
 knowing that repetitions are rarely successful. 
 
 The moral of the story is obvious, of course, to the meanest 
 understanding ; and none of my readers have a mean under- 
 standing. Had Colonel Hanger foolishly attempted to put 
 before the Prince a dinner of half a-dozen courses, he would 
 have made a grievous failure, and have involved himself in a 
 pecuniary loss which might have gravely inconvenienced him. 
 
 Having arranged your room and your table, and decided 
 to regulate your dinner in accordance with your means, you 
 will decide upon the number of your guests. But here 
 you will bear in mind the extent of your accommodation 
 and of your establishment. One cook cannot prepare a dinner 
 for more than twelve or fourteen persons ; and one table- 
 maid cannot wait properly upon more than eight or ten. If you 
 keep a butler, or butler and footman, and if your cook have 
 assistants in the kitchen, of course you can double the number 
 of your invites. But I write chiefly for readers whose menage is 
 
122 
 
 WAITERS AND WAITING. 
 
 on a modest footing, and such I advise to give two dinners with 
 six guests at each, rather than one dinner to twelve ; you will 
 avoid trouble, and expense, and vexation of spirit, and your 
 guests will have good cause to rejoice. Otherwise, you must 
 resort to hired waiters, and probably seek additional plats 
 from the nearest confectioner ; both expedients being fatal to 
 the success of your dinner. 
 
 Mrs. Gaskell’s remarks on this subject are worth con- 
 sidering : — 
 
 ‘ Part of my care beforehand,’ she says, ‘ should go to the 
 homely article of waiting. I should not mind having none at 
 all ; a dumb-waiter, pepper, salt, bread, and condiments within 
 the reach or by the side of all. Little kindly attentions from 
 one guest to another tend to take off the selfish character of the 
 mere act of eating ; and, besides, the guests would (or should) 
 be too well educated, too delicate of taste, to interrupt a burst 
 of wit, or feeling, or eloquence, as a mere footman often does, 
 with the perpetual Sherry, or Madeira ?” or with the names of 
 those mysterious entremets that always remind me of a white- 
 kid glove that I once ate with Bechamel sauce, and found very 
 tender and good, under the name of Oreilles de Veau a-la- 
 something, but which experiment I never wish to repeat. There 
 is something grateful and kindly in the little attention by which 
 one guest silently puts by his neighbour all that he may require. 
 I consider it a better opening to ultimate friendship, if my un- 
 known neighbour readily passes me the salt, or silently under- 
 stands that I like sugar to my soup, than if he had been intro- 
 duced by his full name and title, and labelled with the one dis- 
 tinguishing action or book of his life, after the manner of men 
 who are rather showmen than hosts.' 
 
 I venture to submit, however, that the dinner must be a very 
 small one, indeed, at which the guests could be trusted to help 
 themselves or to help each other. It would be necessary, too, 
 that they should be very intimate with their host and hostess. 
 On the whole, I am inclined to think that Mrs. Gaskell over- 
 rates the advantages which would grow from this mutual bene- 
 volence system ; and I cannot believe that A. and B. will glide 
 into an affectionate intimacy because A. passes B. the salt, and 
 B. reciprocates by handing A. the pepper ! It seems to me that 
 the ‘ little attentions ' spoken of would prove a serious obstacle 
 to conversation. Fancy being interrupted in the middle of your 
 
FEMALE ATTENDANTS. 
 
 123 
 
 best anecdote with the request, ^ Kindly hand me the mustard !’ 
 or quenched in the very beginning of the flow of your eloquence 
 by the question : ‘ May I offer you some cabbage 
 
 To continue our quotation from Mrs. Gaskell : — 
 
 ^ 1 have always believed that the charm of those little suppers, 
 famous from time immemorial as the delightful P.S. to operas, 
 was that there was no formal waiting, or over-careful arrange- 
 ment of the table ; a certain sweet neglect pervaded all, very 
 compatible with true elegance. The perfection of waiting is 
 named in the story of the White Cat, where, if you remember, 
 the hero prince is waited upon by hands without bodies, as he 
 sits at table with the White Cat, and is served with that delicate 
 fricassee of mice. By hands without bodies, I am very far from 
 meaning hands without heads. Some people prefer female 
 waiters ; footwomen as it were. I have weighed both subjects 
 well in my mind, before sitting down to write this paper, and 
 my verdict goes in favour of men ; for, all other things being 
 equal, their superior strength gives them the power of doing 
 things without effort, and consequently with less noise than any 
 woman. ^ 
 
 I am compelled to differ from Mrs. Caskell. There seems 
 to me no comparison between the ‘ waiting ’ of a deft, good- 
 tempered, trim little Amaryllis and the solemn formal attendance 
 of a stately footman or ponderous butler, clothed in all the 
 panoply of upper-servantdom. Mrs. CaskelFs argument as to 
 superior strength falls to the ground now that the principal 
 viands are placed and carved on the sideboard. If you have 
 ^ women-footmen,’ take care that they are neatly dressed, and all 
 dressed alike, and that each has a particular portion of the table 
 to herself. They should be well drilled beforehand, so as to 
 wait noiselessly, vigilantly, and expertly. There should be no 
 delay ; each guest’s wants should be anticipated ; and there 
 should be no noise, no clashing of plates or ringing of metal, 
 and, above all, no talking, except that which is done by the host 
 and hostess, and their guests. 
 
 I pass on now to the consideration of two important points ; 
 who should be your guests, and how they should be seated. 
 To begin at the beginning : The letter of invitation to a formal 
 dinner-party should be issued from three weeks to ten days in 
 advance, according to circumstances. In London, and in the 
 press of the season, the longer interval is requisite. You will 
 
124 
 
 DINNER INVITATIONS AND REPLIES, 
 
 use an engraved card, if your social position authorise the 
 formality ; or, more modestly, send a written invitation, which 
 is generally from the pen of the hostess. It may run as 
 follows : — 
 
 Mr, and Mrs, request the favour [or pleasiire\ of Mr. 
 
 and Mrs, ^s company at dinner on da}\ the , at 
 
 — o'clock. 
 
 If the invitation be addressed to persons of rank superior to 
 your own, for the word ‘ favour,’ or ‘ pleasure,’ substitute 
 ‘ honour.’ 
 
 The reply, if an acceptance, should be thus worded : — 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. have much pleasure in accepting Mr, 
 
 and Mrs, 's polite invitation to dinner on the . 
 
 If the invitation be declined, some good reason should be 
 stated. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs, regret that., owing to a previous engage- 
 
 ment [or, owi? 2 g to illness in the famil}\ or, in consequence of 
 their leaving town^ etc., etc.], they cannot have the pleasure of 
 
 acceptmg Air, and Mrs, ' s polite [or, kindl\ invitation for 
 
 the 
 
 Observe, the answer, whether affirmative or negative, should 
 be addressed to the mistress of the house, and despatched 
 within twenty-four hours of the receipt of the invitation ; and 
 if an acceptance be once given, it should be regarded as a 
 ‘ debt of honour,’ and conscientiously fulfilled. Fiat justitia., 
 ruat coelu7n. Only in the case of some unforeseen and un- 
 avoidable emergency should it be recalled, and then only 
 after a frank and full explanation to your hostess. 
 
 Invitations, where and when possible, should be sent by a 
 servant ; but there is no breach of etiquette in making one of 
 her Majesty’s postmen your servant for the nonce, if the 
 distance be great. 
 
 The choice of guests is a subject of great delicacy. It is a 
 good rule to have an equal number of ladies and gentlemen, 
 and of course married couples cannot be divided. They 
 should occupy as nearly as possible the same social status, and 
 it will be well to arrange that they shall be of the same political 
 complexion. You will not invite individuals to meet one 
 another who are notoriously on ‘ bad terms,’ as the consequence 
 
ABOUT THE GUESTS. 
 
 125 
 
 would be a feeling of coldness and restraint which would infallibly 
 mar the success of your entertainment. Nor will you bring 
 together persons of widely different tastes and characters ; it is 
 only in a salad that oil and vinegar mix ! Sort your guests as 
 carefully as you harmonise the colours of your dress. Let 
 there be just sufficient difference to create variety, and not so 
 much as to produce antagonism. I should not myself invite 
 Mr. Bradlaugh to meet the Archbishop of Canterbury ! A 
 country squire, fresh from his fields and coverts, will hardly 
 assimilate with a millionaire from Capel Court and West- 
 bournia. At the same time do not give ^ shop ’ dinners ; that is, 
 do not let your guests be all of the same class or profession, 
 except on some special occasion. A party wholly composed 
 of medical men or clergymen or lawyers is not to be thought 
 of without a shudder. The guests themselves will resent the 
 enormity. Nor is it advisable to construe too narrowly the 
 law of social equality. A professional man of good repute 
 will hold his own in any circle ; while wealth, mere wealth, 
 wealth without culture or refinement, is scarcely tolerated in 
 really good society. 
 
 Mnhigh English society,’ to quote that accomplished member 
 of society, Mr. Hayward, in his ‘ Treatise on Codes of Manners,’ 
 ‘ any calling was some few years since derogatory to the perfect 
 character of a gentleman ; it is now otherwise. Yet the dis- 
 tinction of the aristocratic professions, as opposed to other 
 callings, is maintained, and it will perhaps continue to be so. 
 These are the Church, the bar, the higher walks of medicine, 
 the army and navy. The different members of these pro- 
 fessions, and their wives and families, are fit for any society ; 
 there is no possible objection to their mixing at a dinner-table 
 with nobility, provided they be well-bred and agreeable. The 
 literary man, if a gentleman by education and manners, is 
 always an agreeable addition ; and the highest in rank have 
 in this country set the example of inviting artists, architects, 
 and sculptors, but not always theh' families^ to their tables.’ 
 
 I have italicised a phrase in this last sentence in order to 
 offer the remark that, except under very special circumstances, 
 no husband who respects his wife and himself will accept 
 an invitation from which she is excluded. Nothing, to my 
 mind, betrays the snobbishness that disfigured and degraded 
 the character of Moore the poet more than the eagerness 
 
126 
 
 MR. BUNG ATS DINNER. 
 
 with which he pushed his way into social circles which frowned 
 upon his admirable wife. The spectacle is by no means a 
 pleasing one of Bessy in her humble little home darning her 
 children’s socks, and Tom Moore singing his sentimental 
 songs in ^gilded drawing-rooms,’ as the pet and protege of 
 dowagers and demireps ! 
 
 Do you recollect that famous dinner in Paternoster Row 
 given by Mr. and Mrs. Bungay, the rich publisher and the 
 rich publisher’s wife ? 
 
 ‘The house-porter in an evening coat,’ and gentlemen with 
 their hands encased in large white gloves of the celebrated 
 Berlin web, received the guests’ hats and coats in the passage 
 of Mr. Bungay’s house, and bawled their names up the stair. 
 In the drawing-room Mrs. Bungay, in red satin and a turban, 
 welcomed each new arrival. There v/as young Mr. Pendennis, 
 a rising litterateur; Mr. Bore, the editor of ‘ The Londoner ;’ 
 Mr. Trotter, who, from, having broken out on the world as a 
 poet of a tragic and suicidal cast, had now subsided into one 
 of Mr. Bungay’s back-shops as reader for that gentleman ; and 
 Captain Semple, an ex-beau still about town, and related in 
 some indistinct manner to Literature and the Peerage. . . . 
 This gentleman was listened to with great attention by Mrs. 
 Bungay; his anecdotes of the aristocracy, of which he was 
 a middle-aged member, delighted the publisher’s lady ; and 
 he was almost a greater man than the great Mr. Wagg himself 
 in her eyes. 
 
 Mr. Bungay, we are told, went about to his guests as they 
 arrived, and did the honours of his house with much cordiality. 
 As the talk rattled on — Mrs. Bungay surveying mankind from 
 the window — a magnificent vision of an enormous grey cab- 
 horse appeared, and moved rapidly. A pair of white reins, 
 held by small white gloves, was visible behind it ; a face pale, 
 but nobly decorated with a chin-tuft, the head of an exiguous 
 groom bobbing over the cab-head — these bright things were 
 revealed to the delighted Mrs. Bungay. ‘The Honourable 
 Percy Popjoy’s quite punctual, I declare,’ she said, and sailed 
 to the door to be in waiting at the nobleman’s arrival. 
 
 The Honourable Percy Popjoy entered, in ‘ extremely lac- 
 quered ’ boots, with his hat under his arm, and a look of inde- 
 scribable good-humour and fatuity in his round dimpled face, 
 upon which Nature had burst out with a chin-tuft, but, ex- 
 
PRECEDENCE— A BURNING QUESTION 
 
 127 
 
 hausted with the effort, had left the rest of the contenance 
 bare of hair. 
 
 The great Mr. Wagg and the great Mr. Wenham followed, 
 and so the ill-assorted dinner-party was gradually made up. 
 You may read of it and all its vulgarity in Mr. Thackeray’s 
 ‘ History of Pendennis,’ and learn from the sharp satire of the 
 chronicler what to avoid. 
 
 The arrangement of the guests is the next subject of con- 
 sideration. This may seem a small matter, but as society is at 
 present constituted, established rules of procedure, by prevent- 
 ing the outbreak of jealousy, rivalry, and ill-feeling, are really very 
 valuable — they are the oil which subdues the friction of the 
 wheels within wheels of the social machine. In the first place, 
 remember the French axiom, ^ Place aux dames P If you can- 
 not, at your party, pair off ladies and gentlemen in due order 
 of precedence without putting husband and wife together — 
 which is inadmissible — you must be guided by the ladies’ order 
 of precedence, and, so far, suit the acknowledged claims of the 
 gentlemen. For example, a baroness’s daughter ^ taken in ’ by 
 plain Mr. Smith will go before plain Miss Smith ‘ taken in ’ by 
 Lord Tomnoddy. There is but one exception to this rule, 
 namely, that the hostess must always be taken in by the gen- 
 tleman of highest rank present. Further, according to Sir 
 Bernard Burke, ‘ married ladies and widows are entitled to the 
 same rank amongst each other as their husbands would respec- 
 tively have borne between themselves, provided such rank 
 arises from a dignity and not from an office or profession. It 
 should be clearly understood that by rank through dignity 
 alone, and not by profession or office, is precedence conferred 
 upon a lady.’ An example will render this deliverance clear : 
 The Archbishop of Canterbury takes precedence of all peers, 
 save dukes of the blood royal j but his wife, unless a peeress in 
 her own right, or otherwise possessed of rank, has no special 
 position, and her place will depend upon circumstances. 
 
 Persons of title take precedence, of course, according to 
 their titles, unless foreign ambassadors of the first class are 
 present, or Anglican bishops, who really rank with earls, but, 
 in obedience to the unwritten law of courtesy, usually go before 
 even dukes and marquises. The same precedency is accorded 
 to all the dignified clergy. The wives of clergymen rank 
 before barristers’ wives, and the wives of esquires, Le. gentle- 
 
128 
 
 ORDER OF PRECEDENCE. 
 
 men neither in the professions nor commerce, before both 
 clergymen’s wives and barristers’ wives. The wives of physi- 
 cians follow those of the gentlemen ‘ learned in the law.’ 
 
 Among peers or peeresses of the same rank the order of 
 precedence is regulated by the date of creation, and this rule 
 applies also to baronets and knights. You must not, however, 
 be misled by ^courtesy titles,’ that is, the titles given to the eldest 
 sons of dukes, marquises, and earls. These are selected from their 
 father’s inferior titles : thus, the eldest son of the Duke of 
 Argyll is called the Marquis of Lome ; the eldest son of the 
 Duke of Sutherland, the Marquis of Stafford; the eldest son of 
 the Marquis of Ripon, Earl de Grey ; the eldest son of the 
 Marquis of Salisbury, Viscount Cranborne ; the eldest son of 
 Earl Fortescue, Viscount Ebrington ; the eldest son of the Earl 
 of Raven sworth. Lord Eslington. The general rule, but not 
 the absolute one, and therefore the presumption, but not the 
 certainty, is that the eldest son of a peer will bear a courtesy 
 title representing the rank in the peerage next below that of 
 his father. The bearers of these titles take rank simply as the 
 eldest sons of their fathers ! The eldest son of a duke ranks 
 after marquises and before earls ; the eldest son of a marquis 
 after the younger sons of dukes of the blood royal and before 
 the younger sons of dukes and before viscounts ; the eldest son 
 of an earl after viscounts and before the younger sons of 
 marquises and bishops ; the eldest son of a viscount, who has 
 no courtesy title, but is styled Honourable, after barons and 
 before earls’ younger sons ; the eldest son of a baron, also 
 styled Honourable, after the younger sons of earls and before 
 privy councillors and judges. 
 
 The younger sons of dukes and marquises are ^ lords,’ but 
 they have no territorial title, and are distinguished by their 
 Christian names, as Lord Claud Hamilton, Lord Colin Camp- 
 bell. The daughters usually enjoy the same rank as their 
 eldest brother, and follow immediately after his wife. Daughters 
 of dukes, marquises, and earls are styled ladies (always with 
 the Christian name) : Lady Elizabeth Campbell, Lady Muriel 
 Hay. 
 
 The younger sons of dukes rank after the eldest sons of mar- 
 quises and before viscounts ; the eldest sons of marquises after 
 those of earls and before bishops; the younger sons of marquises 
 after those of earls and before bishops ; the younger sons of 
 
DUTIES OE THE LADY OF THE HOUSE. iig 
 
 earls after the eldest sons of viscounts and barons ; the younger 
 sons of viscounts after privy councillors and judges and before 
 the younger sons of barons, while the eldest sons of barons 
 take rank after those of viscounts and before baronets. 
 
 As the guests arrive, the lady of the house prepares to re- 
 ceive them in the drawing-room, advancing about halfway to 
 meet them as they enter. Now is the time for her to prove 
 herself equal to her great position, like Napoleon on a battle- 
 field. She must have something pertinent and pleasant to say 
 to each. Her remarks must not be so long as to weary, nor so 
 brief as to make the new-comer feel that he is being ^ snubbed.' 
 No more attention must be given to one guest than to another, 
 and by striking out suitable topics of conversation she must 
 keep all interested and make them to settle down into a mood 
 of tranquil satisfaction. She must rigidly control her temper 
 — must be ‘mistress of herself,' — though some untoward 
 guest by his late-coming delay the dinner and strike terror 
 into the cook’s heart. Her equanimity must be perfect, so 
 that no contretemps shall be able to disturb it. At last, when 
 all are assembled and dinner has been announced, she takes 
 the arm of the gentleman of the highest rank present, while 
 her husband offers his to the lady of the highest rank. These 
 two couples lead and the others follow according to precedence, 
 the different couples having been settled by previous arrange- 
 ment. As they enter the warm, brilliantly-lighted, and well- 
 ventilated dining-room (with a temperature of about 63 degrees), 
 the master of the house indicates where they will sit, or they 
 are sometimes allowed to seat themselves. 
 
 The lady of the house usually takes the head of the table — • 
 sole monarch of all she surveys. According to the present 
 rational arrangement, she has nothing to do, however, but to 
 converse with her guests and partake of her own share of the 
 viands. She is no longer required to exhaust herself in dis- 
 secting poultry or hacking and hewing large joints of meat, as 
 in the old time, when the lady who presided at the dinner-table 
 needed not only the savoir faire^ but a considerable share of 
 physical strength. Thus, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, her 
 mother being dead, took the headship of the marquis's table. 
 The mistress of a country house, as Lady Mary’s grand-daughter 
 observes, had then not only to persuade and encourage her 
 guests to eat voraciously, but to carve every dish, when chosen, 
 
 9 
 
130 BOW to ENSURE THE SUCCESS OF A DINNER, 
 
 with her own hands. The higher her rank, the more indis- 
 pensable this laborious duty. Each joint was placed before her 
 in turn, to be operated upon by her, and her alone. The lords 
 and squires on either hand proffered not their assistance. The 
 master of the house, seated opposite to her, did not act as 
 croupier, but contented himself with pushing the bottle about 
 after dinner. As for the crowd of guests who sat below the 
 salt, the most inconsiderable among them, the squire’s younger 
 brother, the chaplain who mumbled prayers and took the vacant 
 hand at whist, the curate in rusty cassock from the neighbouring 
 village, or the subaltern from the nearest military station, if 
 compelled, through her neglect, to help himself to a slice of 
 the mutton that steamed at the end of his board, would have 
 digested it as an affront, and gone home in dudgeon, half- 
 inclined to vote the wrong way at the next election. There 
 were then professional carving-masters, who taught young 
 ladies the craft scientifically, and from one of these Lady Mary 
 received lessons thrice a week, so that she might acquit herself 
 to admiration on her father’s public days ; on which occasions, 
 that she might discharge her duties without let or hindrance, 
 she ate her own dinner alone an hour or two beforehand. 
 Now-a-days, however, young ladies learn to cook and not to 
 carve. 
 
 Relieved from those cares, which must have sat so heavily 
 on the shoulders of our grandmothers, the mistress of the house 
 is at leisure to draw upon her conversational resources for the 
 benefit of her guests. If she observe an ebb in the tide of 
 talk, she must be prompt to arrest it with some a propos remark. 
 If she notice that a subject is nearly thrashed out, she must 
 be quick to start her friends on another course. She will inter- 
 fere with a happy suggestion, if she discover that the conversa- 
 tion is nearing the rocks of scandal. Her husband, it is to be 
 presumed, will do his part at his end of the table ; and in this 
 way the electric current will run from pole to pole, making a 
 complete circuit of your little coterie, and quickening and 
 stimulating every member of it. A hostess who can talk — that 
 is, can talk well — or, at least, sensibly and to the purpose, will 
 ensure the success of a dinner, though it were only the pro- 
 verbial dinner of herbs. It is a great mistake to think that, if 
 the presiding lady be young and pretty, she can hold her 
 tongue and be content with dispensing bright glances and sweet 
 
THE BILL OF FARE, 
 
 131 
 
 smiles ; one might as well put at the head of the table a wax 
 figure from Madame Tussaud’s ! Even at those symposia where 
 Macaulay poured out his conversational riches, it was felt that 
 not a little of their charm was due to the lively gossip of Lady 
 Holland. 
 
 Now, as to the bill of fare, or inejiu^ which should be nicely 
 written on an ornamental card, and placed, if the dinner be 
 one of some pretensions, by everybody’s plate. I need hardly 
 say that it must consist of fish, soup, entrees, and dessert. It 
 may sometimes happen in the country that the fish of necessity 
 must be conspicuous by its absence ; but this should rarely be 
 the case now that the railways place us in command of all the 
 great markets, and a telegram will bring to our door in a few 
 hours the scaly spoils of Billingsgate. The extent of your pro- 
 vision will be regulated, however, by what you know of your 
 guests. There are people so constituted as to consider it an 
 insult if the dinner-table to which they are invited does not 
 groan beneath its weight of dainties. Happily, you are not 
 likely to be reduced to such expedients as Caleb Balderstone, 
 when called upon to provide for the Master of Ravenswood’s 
 unexpected guests, or the lover in Boccaccio’s tale — recently 
 dramatised by Mr. Tennyson — who killed his favourite falcon 
 that his lady love might have wherewithal to eat. Our hosts 
 now sin rather in the way of excess, which is almost as great a 
 fault as scarcity. You may dine at tables where the profusion 
 seems to crush out the conversation, where the display reminds 
 you of the ^solemn feast’ and costly made by Julian : — 
 
 ‘ All round his hall 
 
 From column on to column, as in a wood, 
 
 Not such as here — an equatorial one, 
 
 Great garlands swung and blossom’d ; and beneath. 
 
 Heirlooms, and ancient miracles of Art, 
 
 Chalice and salver, wines that. Heaven knows where 
 Had suck’d the fire of some forgotten sun. 
 
 And kept it thro’ a hundred years of gloom, 
 
 Yet glowing in a heart of ruby — cups 
 Where nymph and god ran ever round in gold — ■ 
 
 Others of glass as costly — some with gems 
 Moveable and resettable at will, 
 
 And trebling all the rest in value — ah heavens I 
 Why need I tell you all ? — suffice to say 
 That whatsoever such a house as his. 
 
 And his was old, has in it rare or fair 
 Was brought before the guests.’ 
 
 9—2 
 
132 ^ENOUGH JS JS GOOD AS A FEAST: 
 
 Agaia I say, that this excess is a fault. A refined taste will 
 be offended by a glow and glare and ostentation which reveal 
 the host’s pride, rather than his desire for the comfort of his 
 friends. As a general rule, the supply should be liberal, but 
 not lavish, and the viands should be well-cooked and delicate, 
 rather than sumptuous and unusual. Your object should be 
 to send your guest away with a pleasant sense of having 
 thoroughly enjoyed himself, though unable to say in what one 
 thing his enjoyment consisted; not with his mind confined to 
 one or two particular dishes of a rare and exceedingly costly 
 character. The expenditure often poured out upon dinner- 
 parties is a blunder ; the meal sinks, like Tarpeia, crushed 
 beneathTts weight of gold. After all, my friends, we are not 
 wholly material, and we do not come to one another’s tables 
 entirely for the cotelettes d Maintenon and the mayonnaise and the 
 last device of the inventive genius of the kitchen. We come to 
 show the kindliness of our sympathies, and to exchange thoughts 
 and fancies on things old and new ; not to gratify our palates, but 
 to open our hearts and elevate our minds. Few of us, I 
 suppose, cherish such wild dreams of impossible dishes as did 
 Ben Jonson’s Sir Epicure Mammon when revelling in his anti- 
 cipations of tlie illimitable sensuality to be purchased by 
 boundless wealth : — 
 
 ‘ Thy meat shall all come in, in Indian shells, 
 
 Dishes of agate set in gold, and studded 
 With emeralds, sapphires, hyacinths, and rubies, 
 
 The tongues of carps, dormice, and camels’ heels, 
 
 Boil’d in the spirit of sol, and dissolv’d pearl, 
 
 Apicius’ diet, ’gainst the epilepsy : 
 
 And I will eat these broths with spoons of amber, 
 
 Headed with diamond and carbuncle. 
 
 My foot-boy shall eat pheasants, calver’d salmon. 
 
 Knots, godwits, lampreys : I myself will have 
 The beards of barbels served, instead of salads ; 
 
 Oil’d mushrooms ; and the swelling unctuous paps 
 Of a fat pregnant sow, newly cut off, 
 
 Drest with an exquisite and fragrant sauce.’ 
 
 For my own part, I am willing to believe that ‘ enough is 
 as good as a feast, ^ because ^ enough ’ is a feast. Kind hostess, 
 let your table be bounteously, but not ostentatiously, spread ; 
 and, before all, let your dishes be well cooked and of a whole- 
 some, digestible character. And see that they be served-up 
 either hot or cold, according to their nature; not ‘betwixt 
 
BILLS OF FARE FOR A YEAR, 
 
 133 
 
 and between/ neither hot nor cold, like the greasy soup at a 
 third-rate restaurant — a Laodicean ‘ neither-the-one-thing-nor- 
 the-other/ which every honest stomach rebels at. 
 
 I shall scarcely be expected to write a cookery book or to 
 draw up bills of fare. Yet I shall subjoin two or three to assist 
 the reader and myself in our discussion of this all-important 
 subject. 
 
 Let us, for instance, consider a bill of fare for six persons 
 (January). First course: Palestine soup; fried smelts; stewed 
 eels. Entries: Ragout of lobster; broiled mushrooms ; vol-au-vent 
 of chicken. Second course : Sirloin of beef ; boiled fowls and 
 celery sauce ; tongue, garnished with Brussels sprouts. Third 
 course : Wild ducks ; Charlotte aux pommes ; cheesecakes ; 
 transparent jelly, inlaid with brandy cherries ; blancmange ; 
 Nesselrode pudding. 
 
 Dinner for eight persons (February). First course : Mock 
 turtle soup ; fillets of turbot a la creme ; fried filleted soles 
 and anchovy sauce. Entrees : Curried mutton ; macaroni a la 
 Milanaise. Second course : Stewed rump of beef a la jar- 
 diniere ; roast fowls ; boiled ham. Third course : Roast 
 pigeons ; rhubarb tartlets ; meringues ; clear jelly ; cream ; 
 ice pudding ; souffld Dessert and ices. 
 
 Dinner for five persons (March). First course : Bonne 
 femme soup ; boiled turbot and lobster sauce ; salmon cutlets. 
 Entrees : Compote of pigeons ; fillets of mutton and tomato 
 sauce. Second course : Roast lamb ; boiled half calf’s head, 
 tongue, and brains ; boiled bacon-cheek, garnished with spoon- 
 fuls of spinach ; vegetables. Third course : Ducklings ; plum- 
 pudding ; ginger cream ; trifle ; rhubarb tart ; cheesecakes ; 
 fondues, in cases. Dessert and ices. 
 
 Dinner for six persons (April). First course : Tapioca soup ; 
 boiled salmon and lobster sauce. Entrees : Calf’s head en 
 tortue ; oyster patties. Second course : Saddle of mutton ; 
 boiled capon and white sauce ; tongue ; vegetables. Third 
 course : Souffle of rice ; lemon cream ; Charlotte a la Pari- 
 sienne ; rhubarb tart. Dessert. 
 
 Dinner for twelve persons (May). First course : White 
 soup ; asparagus soup ; salmon cutlets ; boiled turbot and 
 lobster sauce. Entrees : Chicken vol-au-vent ; lamb cutlets 
 and cucumbers ; fricandeau of veal ; stewed mushrooms. 
 Second course ; Roast lamb ; haunch of mutton ] boiled and 
 
134 
 
 BILLS OF FARE FOR A YEAR. 
 
 roast fowls ; vegetables. Third course : Ducklings ; goslings ; 
 Charlotte rum ; Vanilla cream ; gooseberry tart ; custards ; 
 cheesecakes ; cabinet pudding and iced pudding. To conclude 
 with dessert and ices. 
 
 Dinner for eight persons (June). First course : Vermicelli 
 soup ; trout a la Geneve ; salmon cutlets. Entrees : Cote- 
 lettes d’agneau puree de pois ; Madras dry curry. Second 
 course : Roast beef ; tongue ; boiled ham ; vegetables. Third 
 course : Roast ducks ; compote of gooseberries ; strawberry 
 jelly; pastry; iced pudding; cauliflower with cream sauce. 
 Dessert. 
 
 Dinner for ten persons (July). First course : Soup h la 
 Paysanne ; crimped salmon and parsley batter ; trout aux frais 
 herbes. Entrees : Salmi of duck ; macaroni with tomatoes. 
 Second course : Loin of veal with bechamel sauce ; salad ; 
 braised ham ; vegetables. Third course : Turkey poult ; lob- 
 ster salad ; cherry tart ; lemon cream ; marrow pudding. 
 Dessert and ices. 
 
 Here is a dinner for eight persons (August) : Soup Julienne ; 
 fillets of turbot and Dutch sauce ; red mullet. This forms the 
 first course. For entrees : Riz de veau aux tomatoes ; fillets 
 of ducks and peas. Second course : Haunch of venison ; 
 boiled capon and oysters ; ham garnished, and vegetables. 
 Third course : Leveret ; fruit jelly ; compote of greengages ; 
 plum tart ; custards ; omelette souffld Dessert and ices to 
 follow. 
 
 Dinner for eight persons (September). First course : Pales- 
 tine soup ; red mullet and Italian sauce. Entrees : Minced 
 fowl and macaroni ; lamb cutlets, with puree de pois. Second 
 course : Loin of veal, with bechamel sauce ; roast haunch of 
 venison; braised hare; grouse pie; vegetables. Third course: 
 Roast hare ; plum tart ; whipped cream ; peach jelly. Dessert. 
 
 Dinner for twelve persons (October). First course : Carrot 
 soup a la Cr&i ; soup a la Reine ; baked cod ; stewed eels. 
 Entrees : Riz de veau and tomato sauce ; vol-au-vent of 
 chicken.; pork cutlets and sauce Robert ; grilled mushrooms. 
 Second course : Rump of beef a la jardiniere ; roast goose ; 
 boiled fowls and celery sauce ; tongue, garnished ; vegetables. 
 Third course : Grouse ; pheasants ; quince jelly ; lemon 
 cream ; apple tart ; compote of peaches ; Nesselrode pudding ; 
 cabinet pudding ; scalloped oysters. Dessert and ices, 
 
WHAT A ‘ COMPANY DINNERS SHOULD BE. 
 
 135 
 
 Dinner for six persons (November). First course : Game 
 soup ; slices of codfish and Dutch sauce ; fried eels, Entrees ; 
 Kidneys a la maitre d’hotel ; oyster patties. Second course : 
 Saddle of mutton ; boiled capon and rice ; small ham ; lark 
 pudding. Third course : Roast hare ; apple tart ; pineapple 
 cream; clear jelly; cheesecakes; marrow pudding; Nesseb 
 rode pudding. Dessert. 
 
 Dinner for twelve persons (December). Game soup ; carrot 
 soup a la Creci ; codfish au gratin ; fillets of whitings a la 
 maitre d’hotel. Entrees : fillet de boeuf and sauce piquante ; 
 fricasseed chicken ; oyster patties ; curried rabbit. Second 
 course : Roast turkey and sausages ; stewed beef h la jar- 
 diniere ; boiled leg of pork ; vegetables. Third course : 
 Partridges ; Charlotte aux pommes ; mince pies ; orange jelly ; 
 lemon cream ; apple tart ; dessert and ices. 
 
 From the preceding bills of fare, one for each month, the 
 reader will be able to form some idea of what a ^ company 
 dinner’ should or may be. For my own part, I think that 
 there are too many items in each, and that the pruning-knife 
 may be carefully applied to their luxuriance. At all events, 
 these are decidedly for what may be called state occasions, 
 when it is desired to do special honour to special guests, or to 
 exhibit all the resources of the establishment. As a rule, a 
 good dinner may be made up of two courses : the first, to in- 
 clude soup, or for a large party, fish and joint, with entrees ; 
 the second : roast (game, fowl, or fish) ; and entremets : salad, 
 vegetables, and sweets. Or it may be even simpler, and yet 
 very good. For instance : soup, joint, and one entree; roast 
 (fish or fowl), vegetables, and sweets. 
 
 Is the reader a total abstainer? And, being such, does he 
 compel his guests to abstain for the time they remain at his 
 table ? If he answer these questions affirmatively, he may pass 
 on at once to the next paragraph. For as we take no heed of 
 teetotalism in these pages, we must needs say a word or 
 two in reference to the liquors. Let them be good ; let them 
 be sufficient in quantity : but discourage any attempt to ‘ push 
 the bottle ’ beyond the limits of a becoming moderation. The 
 days have gone by when the ‘ gentlemen,’ after the ladies had 
 left, sat down deliberately to drink as much as, and even more 
 than, they could carry ; when they sank below the table, one 
 
136 WHAT TO DRINK AT DINNER, 
 
 after the other, and terminated the dinner in a debauch. But 
 even now, and even in good society, it is not unknown for 
 guests to enter the drawing-room, after a protracted session, 
 with flushed faces, boisterous manners, and thick speech. Let 
 no such scene occur beneath your roof, and to prevent it keep 
 a rigid guard upon yourself, and set an example of rigid tem- 
 perance. 
 
 It is usual to place sherry on the table with the soup ; then 
 port, claret, and madeira ; and with dessert, port, sherry, 
 champagne, claret, and hocL Provide Bass’s ale and Guin- 
 ness’s stout for the wise souls who adhere to the drink of their 
 stalwart forefathers. Many mineral and cooling waters are 
 now supplied : such as Apollinaris, seltzer, potash, zoedone, 
 lemonade, Bilin, and the like. Take care that your wines are 
 of the best quality. Good port can hardly be obtained even at 
 any price, and you are at liberty to omit it, and instead^of cham- 
 pagne you might substitute some of the light dinner wines, 
 Greek or Hungarian, now deservedly in fashion. No sensible 
 man will vary his liquors at dinner. A glass of Bass with his 
 roast, and one or two glasses of sherry afterwards ought to suffice 
 him ; or he may take a glass or two of claret during dinner and a 
 glass of sherry with dessert. If he respect himself and his 
 hostess he will observe the most rigid moderation. Happily 
 the days are past when men thought it a matter of vaunt that 
 they could take their three bottles. 
 
 It is perhaps unnecessary to say that the old custom ot 
 drinking wine with people has become almost as obsolete as the 
 dodo, while the once famous saying of ‘no heel-taps’ is as 
 much exploded as Cambronne’s fictitious rhodomontade, ‘ The 
 Guard dies, but never surrenders.’ 
 
 I have before me a manual of etiquette containing much 
 minute advice to diners-out, so accurate that it irresistibly re- 
 calls to mind an amusing passage in one of Charles Dickens’s 
 works, where the speaker affectionately assures a neophyte in 
 social practices that ‘ in London it is not the custom to put the 
 knife in the mouth — for fear of accidents ; and that while the 
 fork is reserved for that use, it is not put further in than is 
 necessary !’ The speaker continues : — ‘ It is scarcely worth 
 mentioning, only it is as well to do as other people do. Also, 
 the spoon is not generally used overhand, but under. This 
 has two aavantages. You get at your mouth better (which, 
 
TRIVIALITIES OF ETIQUETTE, 
 
 137 
 
 after all, is the object), and you save a good deal of the atti- 
 tude of opening oysters on the part of the right elbow. And 
 excuse my mentioning that society as a body does not expect 
 one to be so strictly conscientious in emptying one’s glass as 
 to turn it bottom upwards with the rim on one’s nose.’ The 
 directions given in the manual to which I refer are equally 
 precise. Here is a specimen or two : 
 
 ‘ Do not spit out of your vioidh the skins of grapes, stones of 
 fruit, pips, or anything else {!) Receive them on the prongs of 
 your fork, laid horizontally, and place them as conveniently as 
 so inelegant a process will allow upon your plate.’ 
 
 ‘ Do not play with your fingers on the table as if on a piano, 
 nor make pellets of bread and roll them about. Do not illus- 
 trate your remarks with plans drawn with your nail on the 
 cloth or with the knives and forks. Do not stretch your legs 
 out under the table, nor try to reach the feet of your opposite 
 neighbour.’ 
 
 ‘Do not touch any of the fruit with your fingers. If you 
 wish to peel an apple, pear, or orange, hold the fruit on your fork 
 in the left hand and peel with a silver knife in your right.’ 
 
 ‘ Do not eat as if for the first time in your life, that is to say, 
 do not eat ravenously, and do not eat in a noticeable way. 
 Do not smack your lips or take a long breath after eating, as if 
 the exercise had fatigued you. Do not make any noises in 
 your mouth or throat, and do not pass your tongue round the 
 outside of your gums. Do not ever, even with cheese, put 
 your knife in your mouth, or pick your teeth, or thrust your 
 fingers inside your jaws. Remove fish-bones, if you have 
 allowed any to intrude, by means of your napkin. On no 
 account spit them on to your plate. Do not take the bones of 
 birds, etc., up in your fingers to suck them. Wipe your finger- 
 tips, if soiled, on your table-napkin, not on your tongue or on 
 the table-cloth. Never use the table-cloth to wipe your mouth 
 with — you might as well use it instead of a handkerchief. 
 Make no remarks upon what is set before you, either to praise 
 or dispraise. Do not drink or speak when you have any eat- 
 ables in your mouth.’ 
 
 For what barbarians are such directions as these intended? 
 To no one who has mingled ever so little in decent society 
 can they be necessary, to no one who has the slightest preten- 
 sions to be admitted as a guest at any ordinary dining-table. 
 
138 VULGARITY OF WOULD-BE REFINEMENI, 
 
 I suppose there is a ‘ social sphere/ the inmates of which ‘ spit 
 fish-bones on their plates/ and ^ put their knives in their 
 mouths/ and ‘make pellets of bread and roll them about/ 
 perhaps even propel them at one another ; but I cannot 
 imagine that these Goths and Vandals, these wild strange 
 specimens of uncivilised man, are ever likely to patronise books 
 of etiquette or the laws of good society, into which, by the way, 
 I should think they have as little chance' of intruding as the 
 Spaniards have of recovering Gibraltar ! 
 
 It has always seemed to me that books on etiquette are, as a 
 rule, vulgar. I have before me one of the best of them, and 
 yet, in discussing supposed ‘ habits at table ’ it descends to the 
 most atrocious vulgarities. The author proposes to accompany 
 his reader to dinner, to determine ‘ whether he is a well-bred 
 man or not,* and specially for the purpose of giving him the 
 advice which, I suppose, is to make him a well-bred man. 
 How far that advice is couched in the language of a man ol 
 good breeding let us see. 
 
 ‘ The first thing you do,* he says, ‘ is to sit down * — an ele- 
 mentary principle which hardly needs to be set forth in large 
 type. ‘ Stop, sir !* exclaims our arbiter elegantiarum ; ‘ pray do 
 not into the table that way. Come I no nonsense ; 
 
 sit up, if you please. I can*t have your fine head of hair filling a 
 side dish on my table ; you must not bury your face in the 
 plate, you came to show it, and it ought to be alive.* What 
 wit ! what elegance ! Who could fail to profit by instructions 
 so agreeably conveyed ? But, to continue (as the heroes say 
 in melodrama), ‘ Your soup you eat with a spoon ’ — did it ever 
 occur to any rational being to eat it with a knife ? — ‘ Yes, that 
 will do ; but I beg you will not make that odious noise in 
 drinking your soup. It is louder than a dog lapping water : 
 and a cat would he quite gejiteel to itl More wit ! more ele- 
 gance ! What an exquisite humourist is this professor of 
 etiquette ! Yet another specimen : ‘ Fish must never be 
 touched with a knife. Take a fork in the right, and a small 
 piece of bread in the left hand. Good ; but — ? Oh ! that is 
 atrocious ; of course you must not swallow the bones ; but you 
 should rather do so than spit them out in that way. Put up 
 your napkin, like this, and land the tail-bone on your plate. 
 Don*t rub your bread in the sauce, my good man, nor go 
 proggmg aboiit after the shrimps or oysters therein.^ Has the 
 
SOME PLAIN ADVICE TO GUESTS, 
 
 139 
 
 reader had enough, or would he like one more dainty quotation ? 
 ‘ That is the fourth time wine has been handed to you, and I 
 am sure you have had enough. Decline this time, if you please. 
 Decline that dish, too. Are you going to eat of everything that 
 is handed ? I pity you, if you do. No, you must not ask for 
 more cheese; and you must eat it with your fork. Break the 
 rusk with your fingers. Good. You are drinking a glass of 
 old port. Do not quaff it down at a gulp in, that way. Never 
 drink a whole glassful of anything at once.’ 
 
 To any person really ignorant of the habits of good society the 
 best advice I can give is, not to study manuals of etiquette, which 
 deal in such trivial and even offensive matters as this ; but to 
 observe closely and silently what good society does, A quick and 
 careful observer will soon pick up knowledge enough to save 
 him from the commission of disagreeable solecisms. The main 
 obstacle in his way will be ne7'vous?iess^ and that nervousness 
 usually springs from self-consciousness. The unaccustomed guest 
 is recommended, therefore, to think as little as possible of 
 himself and his doings, and, above all, not to suppose that 
 everybody is watching his motions for the purpose of unfavour- 
 able criticism. Let him cherish a due measure of self-respect, 
 and be equally on his guard to keep down vanity or excessive 
 humility. Do not let him by every action proclaim that 
 ‘ I-think-myself-as-good-as-you ’ kind of independence, which 
 self-raised men are too apt to affect ; but let him avoid the servile 
 manner which craves indulgence on the plea of admitted 
 inferiority. If A. invites you to his table, you are, as A.’s guest, 
 the equal of A. and his friends ; but neither more nor less. 
 Burns, the ploughman of Mossgiel, had no opportunity of 
 gaining a knowledge of social usages, and assuredly he never 
 had recourse to any handbook on etiquette ; yet when, after 
 the publication of his first volume of poems, he was invited to 
 Edinburgh, and introduced into its most exclusive circles, 
 he comported himself with a propriety which won general 
 admiration. And such will always be the case where and when 
 a man respects himself, while respecting those with whom he is 
 thrown into association. So Mrs. Craik wisely represents her 
 hero, John Halifax, on his first appearance in Mrs. Jessop’s 
 drawing-room — and in society — as taking his place with ‘ modest 
 self-possession.’ ‘Society’s dangerous waters accordingly 
 became smooth to him, as to a good swimmer, who knows his 
 
140 
 
 GUESTS SHOULD BE PUNCTUAL. 
 
 own strength, trusts it, and struggles not.’ It may be that, in 
 some past age of darkness, such minute directions as we have 
 censured may have been of service to a limited class. But now 
 that society as a whole has made an upward movement — now 
 that the laws of courtesy are happily substituted for the ‘ rules 
 and regulations’ of gentility — they are not only unnecessary 
 but offensive, and their retention in so-called manuals of 
 etiquette is a grave mistake. 
 
 But one maxim there is which may be enforced in the very 
 best society, both upon host and guest : Be punctual. Let the 
 hostess keep exact time in all her arrangements, and let the 
 guest make his appearance at the exact time prescribed on his 
 card of invitation. To be too late is a crime, and to be too 
 early a blunder. In the latter case you burst in upon an un- 
 prepared circle ; in the former, you delay everybody and 
 threaten a well-cooked dinner with ruin. Either offence is 
 sufficiently grave, but, of the two, the former is the more un- 
 pardonable, for it inconveniences your hostess, disturbs the 
 cook, and spoils the temper' of the other guests, whom you 
 keep idly waiting in the drawing-room through your negligence 
 and vanity. To all guests who are more than five minutes 
 behind the appointed time the hostess would be fully justified 
 in addressing the poet’s prohibition : 
 
 ‘ “ Too late ! too late ! you cannot enter now !” ’ 
 
 I can fancy her chanting to herself in irreverent parody : 
 
 ‘ Late, late, so late ! and now the soup is cold I 
 Late, late, so late ! in vain the fib is told, 
 
 Too late, too late ! you cannot enter now. 
 
 ‘ My watch was wrong, for that I do repent. 
 
 And sure I am, fair lady, you’ll relent — 
 
 Too late, too late ! you cannot enter now. 
 
 ‘ No dinner — none ! oh, this is sad despite. 
 
 And see ! your room’s ablaze with cheerful light !’ — 
 
 But not for you — you cannot enter now. 
 
 ‘ Have I not heard your cook’s a very Ude? 
 
 O let me in — I hope I don’t intrude !’ — 
 
 No, no ; too late ! you shall not enter now ! 
 
 Hunger is said to be the best sauce ; I am sure that good 
 conversation is the best accompaniment of a good dinner. 
 But what does good conversation imply ? First, that each 
 guest will talk only upon such subjects as he really understands ; 
 
ABOUT CONVERSA TION A T DINNER, 1 4 1 
 
 second, that he will be careful not to talk more than his share. 
 During the more substantial stages of the repast, opportunities 
 for wise, or witty, or any kind of talk are few, and we must 
 address ourselves chiefly to our neighbours ; but when the 
 dessert is on the table — across the walnuts and the wine — the 
 flow of reason may gradually absorb every person present. It 
 is then that a man shows what is, or what is not in him. It is 
 then that Dunderhead proses and Dazzle effervesces, and that 
 you and I, my friend, endeavour to display the extent of our 
 information and the solidity of our judgment ! We do not 
 talk much, but what we say is to the purpose, and we are 
 generally anxious to lead the conversation into a channel ac- 
 ceptable to every guest. We are not less anxious to avoid ill- 
 natured and splenetic remarks ; and at the first sign of the 
 cloven foot of Scandal mutter a Benedicite, and change the 
 subject. Ever borne in memory by you and me, dear friend, 
 is Sir William Temple’s wise remark, that the first ingredient 
 in conversation is truth, the next good sense, the third good 
 humour, and the fourth wit. But ‘wit,’ perhaps, is not 
 within our reach ? Very well, stick to the other ingredients. 
 For my part, I can dispense with wit, if I can secure truth, 
 good sense, and good humour. 
 
 The art of conversation is not to be taught in books : it can 
 be acquired only by constant intercourse with society acting 
 upon a well-stocked mind. Both conditions are essential to 
 success : experience, and information. We must know not only 
 what to say, but how to say it. And, remember, if the faculty 
 of talking well to one indispensable accomplishment in a 
 successful conversationalist, another is the faculty of listening 
 patiently. The man who always talks and never listens is a 
 bore of the greatest magnitude ; so is the man who always 
 listens and never talks. For conversation must be neither 
 monologue nor duologue ; but the harmonious combination ot 
 many voices and many minds — a pot pourri, to which every 
 flower contributes its distinct odour, while all are so happily 
 blended as to produce one general effect. Dr. Johnson lias 
 some sage observations on this part of our subject : — ‘ He that 
 would please in company,’ he says, ‘ must be attentive to what 
 style is most proper. The scholastic should never be used but 
 in a select company of learned men. The didactic should 
 seldom be used, and then only by judicious aged persons, or 
 
142 
 
 HINTS TO TALKERS, 
 
 those who are eminent for piety or wisdom. No style is more 
 extensively acceptable than the narrative, because this does 
 not carry an air of superiority over the rest of the company, 
 and therefore is most likely to please them ; for this purpose 
 we should store our memory with short anecdotes and enter- 
 taining pieces of history. Almost every one listens with eager- 
 ness to extemporary history,^ which, however, has a fatal 
 tendency to degenerate into ill-natured gossip. ‘ Vanity often 
 co-operates with curiosity, for he that is a hearer in one place 
 wishes to qualify himself to be a principal speaker in more in- 
 ferior company, and therefore more attention is given to narra- 
 tions than anything else in conversation. It is true, indeed, 
 that sallies of wit and quick replies are very pleasing in con- 
 versation, but they frequently tend to raise envy in some of the 
 company; but the narrative way neither raises this nor any 
 other evil passion, but keeps all the company nearly upon an 
 equality, and if judiciously managed will at once entertain and 
 improve them all.^ 
 
 Such, I say, is the sage advice of Dr. Johnson, who was himseh 
 a famous conversationalist, but I doubt whether the reader will 
 be able to make much use of it. The fact is, it is far easier to 
 say what the social talker should 7iot do than what he may do. 
 
 I remember to have seen a book with the title of ‘ What to 
 Eat, Drink, and Avoid,^ and I remember thinking, as I skimmed 
 its pages, how much easier it was to ‘ avoid ’ than to ‘ eat ^ or 
 ‘ drink.’ And so, in conversation, it is easier to know what not 
 to say than what to say. My hints must deal in negatives : — 
 Don’t repeat old jokes, venerable Joe Millers, or fossil riddles 
 dug up from some antediluvian strata and furbished anew for 
 the occasion. They are probably as familiar to your hearers 
 as to yourself, and you have no right to inflict them upon 
 society’s jaded ears : — 
 
 ‘ Stale reversions, 
 
 Gleaned from the rags and frippery of wit.’ 
 
 Don't dress up the whimsicalities of Fimch and parade them 
 for your own. Don’t w^eary the company with your own 
 personal experiences, or with those of your sisters, your cousins, * 
 and your aunts. Society has never any indulgence for such 
 details. Don’t in mixed company parade your theological or 
 political views ; you cannot be justified in provoking a differ- 
 ence of opinion at a table which is not your own. Don’t turn 
 
TOPICS OF CONVERSATION. 
 
 143 
 
 sacred subjects into ridicule ; the serious will be disgusted with 
 your flippancy, and the man of the world will condemn your 
 want of taste. And by the utterance of a double entendre.^ do 
 not degrade yourself — no, not even when the ladies have with- 
 drawn — or by the repetition of a ‘ hazardous anecdote,’ or by 
 an allusion which impure minds can twist into an impure mean- 
 ing. Well says Cowper : — 
 
 ‘ There is a prurience in the speech of some, 
 
 Wrath stays Him, or else God would strike them dumb ; 
 
 His wise forbearance has their end in view. 
 
 They fill their measure and receive their due. 
 
 The heathen lawgivers of ancient days. 
 
 Names almost worthy of a Christian’s praise. 
 
 Would drive them forth from the resort of men. 
 
 And shut up every satyr in his den.’ 
 
 Cowper’s poem of ‘ Conversation ’ from which I take this 
 extract, is full of sound counsel, which may be commended to 
 the consideration of the reader. As, for instance, when he 
 warns the talker against inflicting on his audience protracted 
 details of their own paltry little lives : 
 
 ‘ A story in which native humour reigns. 
 
 Is often useful, always entertains ; 
 
 A graver fact, enlisted on your side. 
 
 May furnish illustration, well applied ; 
 
 But sedentary weavers of long tales 
 Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails. 
 
 ’Tis the most asinine employ on earth 
 To hear them tell of parentage and birth. 
 
 And echo conversations dull and dry, 
 
 Embellished with “ He said,” and, “ So said I !” ’ 
 
 The poet tells us not only what our talk should not, but what 
 it should be. Thus he says : — 
 
 ‘ A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct. 
 
 The language plain, and incidents well-linked ; 
 
 Tell not as new what everybody knows. 
 
 And new or old, still hasten to a close. 
 
 There centring in a focus round and neat. 
 
 Let all your rays of information meet : 
 
 What neither yields no profit nor delight 
 Is like a nurse’s lullaby at night ; 
 
 Guy, Earl of Warwick, and fair Eleanore, 
 
 Or giant-killing Jack, would please me more.’ 
 
 Topics of conversation are not far to seek in these active 
 days of ours, when the thoughts of men are widened by the 
 process of the suns. The current history of the time — the last 
 
144 
 
 A PROTES r AGAINST ^ SLANG! 
 
 drama or opera, or newest book — the scene of war — and there 
 is always war somewhere — the last device of some scrupulously 
 great or greatly unscrupulous statesman — the latest exploit of 
 swimmer or mountain-climber — the last invention — these, and 
 similar themes, will call forth and maintain an agreeable 
 discussion. After all, in company conversation, quite as much 
 depends on the way you say a thing as on the thing that is 
 said. You must learn to express yourself with conciseness 
 and accuracy, and, if possible, with a happy turn of expression 
 that, though it will not be wit, will sound witty. Your talk should 
 not be in epigrams, yet should it be epigrammatic. Around the 
 dinner-table, elaborate criticism or argument, pathos or profun- 
 dity, would be wofully out of place. You are not to soliloquise 
 like Hamlet, but to bandy light speeches and sharp sayings like 
 Mercutio. Of course you will avoid bitterness ; there must be 
 no vinegar, but a touch of lemon-juice will flavour the mixture. 
 Don’t talk like Scribonius, in wild hexameters and dashing iam- 
 bics ; nor like Verdigris, in mordant jests which where they fall 
 leave a deep scar; nor like Pomposo,in stilted harangues in glori- 
 fication of yourself and all that belongs to you, your wife, and 
 your oxen, and everything that is yours ; nor like Simper, in 
 petty commonplaces which sound, and are, as empty as the 
 exhausted receiver of an air-pump. Eschew everything that 
 savours of the irreverent, and, as you love me, let not your 
 tongue give way to slang ! The slang of the aesthetic disciple 
 of sweetness and light — the slang of the new school of erotic 
 poets — the slang of the art-critic — the slang of the studios — 
 the slang of the green-room — the slang of Mayfair — and the 
 slang of the Haymarket ; shun each and all as you would flee 
 from the shield of Medusa ! Plain English and pure, from the 
 well undefiled of the best writers and speakers : let that be the 
 vehicle in which your opinions are conveyed, and the plainer 
 and purer the better. 
 
 Lord Beaconsfield, in his ‘ Lothair,’ describes the conversa- 
 tion that fascinates society with his accustomed skill. As I 
 have already hinted, it is not wit, but it sounds like it. Here 
 is a specimen : — 
 
 ‘ Why do you not marry, Hugo ?” said Bertram. 
 
 ‘ “ I respect the institution,” said Hugo, which is admit- 
 ting something in these days; and I have always thought 
 that every woman should marry, and no man.” 
 
CONVEJ^SA TION IN HIGH LIFE, 145 
 
 ‘‘‘It makes a woman and it mars a man, you think?” said 
 Lothair. 
 
 ‘ “ But I do not exactly see how your view would work prac- 
 tically,” said Bertram. 
 
 ‘ “ Well, my view is a social problem,” said Hugo, “ and 
 social problems are the fashion at present. It would be solved 
 through the exceptions, which prove the principle. In the first 
 place, there are your swells who cannot avoid the halter : you 
 are booked when you are born ; and then there are moderate 
 men like myself, who have their weak moments. I would not 
 answer for myself if I could find an affectionate family with 
 good shooting and first-rate claret.” 
 
 ‘ “ There must be many families with such conditions,” said 
 Lothair. 
 
 ‘ Hugo shook his head. “ You try. Sometimes the wine is 
 good and the shooting bad ; sometimes the reverse ; some- 
 times both are excellent, but then the tempers and the manners 
 are equally detestable.” 
 
 ‘ “ I vote we three do something to-morrow,” said Bertram. 
 
 ‘ “What shall it be ?” said Hugo. 
 
 ‘ “ I vote we run down to Richmond at sunset and dine, and 
 then drive our teams up by moonlight. What say you, 
 Lothair ?” 
 
 ‘ “ I cannot, I am engaged. I am engaged to go to the 
 opera,” 
 
 ‘ “ Fancy going to the opera in this sweltering weather !” 
 exclaimed Bertram, 
 
 ‘ “ He must be going to be married,” said Hugo.^ 
 
 In ‘ Lothair ’ you will find pages upon pages of this conversa- 
 tion, which will as little bear analysis as a vol-au-vent^ and must 
 be taken, like champagne, while it effervesces. 
 
 It is not usual now to sit long at dessert after the ladies, on re- 
 ceiving the usual telegraphic signal from the hostess, have sailed 
 out of the room. There is no duller company than that of a 
 dozen or so of male creatures, without a pair of bright eyes 
 among them ; it is a relief, therefore, to rise from the. wine, of 
 which we have had enough, at the earliest moment, and seek 
 the refined repose of the drawing-room ; besides, what greater 
 compliment can we pay the ladies than to show that life with- 
 out them is intolerable? Very pleasant is it to exchange 
 agreeable nothings with them while we sip our tea or coffee. 
 
 10 
 
146 
 
 THE DINNER OF TO- DA K 
 
 Then a little music — a little more conversation — and, about 
 eleven, we go home. A bath and a change of dress, and we 
 are ready to fulfil our engagement with Mrs. Blank, whose 
 card we received some days ago, inscribed in the right-hand 
 corner with the magic word — ‘ Dancing.’ 
 
 There is a sound of revelry by night, 
 
 And Harley Street has gathered (about ten) 
 
 Much beauty and some chivalry, and bright 
 
 The gas shines o’er sweet maidens and young men ! 
 
 Mrs. Haweis sketches with a lively pen the dinner of to-day. 
 the dinner of the new style ; in her sketch there is little, I 
 think, of caricature. It is not, however, a dinner d. la Nusse, 
 
 Her satire is levelled first at the host, who, when he should 
 be concentrating his attention on his guests, and doing his 
 best to elicit their conversational faculties — a most arduous 
 task in a company of restive Englishmen — is working hard, 
 with carving knife and fork, at the bottom of the table. Of 
 course, he carves badly — most Englishmen do — never hears 
 when he is addressed, splashes his cuffs with gravy, and bedews 
 his honest brow with perspiration. He has little time, poor 
 man ! to refresh his own exhausted frame ; so constant are the 
 demands, like Oliver Twist’s, for more. 
 
 At the head of the table, behind a pair of fowls, sits the 
 mistress. ‘ She knows she cannot move her arms freely (what 
 woman in a low-necked dress ever could ?) ; her bracelets 
 entangle themselves with the legs of the fowl and with each 
 other, and clank like chains and gyves. She gladly accepts the 
 offer of the nearest cavalier, made with half a heart, but 
 noblesse oblige^ to ‘‘ save her the trouble.” Of course, the gen- 
 tleman carves worse than the host ’ — carving is a science, and 
 success in it can be gained only by study and practice — ‘ more 
 crest-fallen jokes — conversation flags — all watch him — he 
 becomes more nervous and proceeds still more slowly — he 
 explains that he is awkward — the guests wish he would not 
 explain, as it delays him, and the remark is quite superfluous — 
 his knife slipping, sends a leg dancing across the table, where 
 it settles in a nimbus of grease upon the hostess’s lap — she 
 assures him with a glare that she does not mind ; on the 
 contrary.” . . . The silence is deadly. ... At last all are served, 
 one of them having got all the meat, another all the gravy, and 
 none of them any stuffing; the carver then obtains a little 
 
JVJJVT OF TACT IN CONFFFSATION 
 
 147 
 
 flabby scrap for himself, perfectly cold, just as all the other 
 plates are removed/ 
 
 As for the rest of the company, they probably get enough to 
 eat, but they have other sorrows. They are obliged, by the 
 stern law of etiquette, to sit alternately, men and women. Few 
 of them, if any, are well matched ; the host and hostess having 
 no other idea of assorting and coupling their guests than 
 according to their social rank and precedence. A young votary 
 of the aesthetic, with lorn look, limp figure, and tight-clinging 
 robe, is seated next to a jovial squire, whose notions of the 
 aesthetic never rise above his turnip-field. A strict High 
 Churchman, fresh from vespers at St. Werburga’s, is tempor- 
 arily yoked with a fair Agnostic who has abandoned all faith, 
 except in herself. A stolid worshipper of the antiquities, whose 
 motto is, ‘ Whatever is, is wrong,' has become the partner of 
 the daughter of a Radical M.P., who is dangerously clever 
 about Home Rule, the obstinacy of the landed interest, and a 
 vote for everybody. Young Pumpkin, of the 107th, has ‘taken 
 down ' Miss Marrow, of an uncertain age, and has collapsed 
 before her volley of questions, de quibusdavi rebits et 7nitltis 
 aliis. Generally a strange want of tact is shown in leading the 
 conversation. No attempt is made to throw out subjects on 
 which all, or nearly all, the guests may have something to say, 
 nor, by judicious questions, to interest them, one after the other, 
 in the interchange of speech. So, by degrees, the conversa- 
 tion breaks up into a number of separate dialogues, interrupted 
 occasionally by some chance or inopportune remark, blurted 
 out by host or hostess, when he or she haply calls to mind 
 that something is expected from them — that, at the dinner- 
 table, England expects every host or hostess to do his or her 
 duty. 
 
 Few hosts or hostesses remember how much of the success 
 of an entertainment rests not upon the cuisine, or the floral 
 decorations, or the display of plate or glass, but upon the skill 
 with which they combine the heterogeneous elements of the 
 company they have assembled. Apart these are apparently 
 antagonistic. So are lemon and sugar and whisky and water, 
 but skilfully combined, they make punch. A clever hostess will 
 soon fuse the materials into some degree of unity. And it is 
 incumbent upon her or the host, or upon both, to effect this 
 result ; they are responsible ; it was their volidon that brought 
 
 10 — 2 
 
148 
 
 FAILURE OF MODERN DINNERS. 
 
 so many portentous atoms into contact ; and they are bound 
 to prevent them from flying off from one another at a tangent. 
 Of themselves, their tendency is centrifugal; it is reserved 
 for the attractive power of the entertainers to imbue them 
 with a centripetal force. A man who feels that he has no 
 capacity for such work should never give a dinner-party ; he 
 will be the happier, and his might-have-been guests will be the 
 happier, for his abstaining. 
 
 I hold it true, whatever befall, that our modern dinners are 
 generally failures ; and I appeal to my readers to say whether 
 the sight of a dinner-card does not fill them with unspeakable 
 agony. They must accept the invitation, or offend where they 
 do not want to offend ; yes, they must go, but what they must 
 suffer ! It is a forlorn hope — without the glory. You cannot 
 even flatter yourself that your presence and your suffering will 
 benefit your host ; you know that the day afterwards he will be 
 writhing with the consciousness of tm coup manquCy and that he 
 will be angry with every one of his guests for having witnessed 
 it. The only thing that can ensure success is just that supreme 
 talent for managing individuals which is so exceedingly rare. 
 It is on record that Emile Ollivierand his cabinet plunged into 
 the German war with a ‘ light heart ’ — well, the result was — 
 Sedan. So, too, these dinner-givers, who enter so lightly upon 
 their hazardous and arduous task, they, too, must have their 
 Sedans. It is possible, if they have any intelligence, that they 
 will learn by experience, and convert defeat into victory — 
 unhappily, it must be at the cost of much suffering on the part 
 of their friends. 
 
 ’Tis ‘ thou art the cause 
 
 Of our anguish,’ good fellow | 
 
 The authority already quoted thus disposes of this melan- 
 choly subject: — ‘To the gourmand, who cares only for the 
 dishes, our dinners are a failure ; for they are not sufficiently 
 long for him, there is too little variety in the viands, a decided 
 falling-off of late years in the wine-bibbing, and the courses 
 are whisked aw^ay before he can quite assure himself of their 
 flavour.’ Some people’s dinners, by the way, are all decoration 
 and no substance — as full of flowers as an Irish M.P.’s orations. 
 ‘ To the girl who hopes to see, and be seen, they are a failure; 
 for everyone knows that the close and formal arrangement of 
 heads at a dinner, together with the general glitter of the 
 
J SECRET CRY OF DESPAIR. 
 
 149 
 
 table— arranged \vith a view to dazzle, not to set off, the diners— 
 prevents the fairest face from ‘‘ telling/’ Pictures packed close 
 never tell as those do which are arranged some feet apart ; a 
 human face requires even more care, more space, more repose 
 in its background to set it off, and no pretty woman ever 
 makes a due impression at a dinner-table/ Does any woman 
 ever look pretty at a dinner-table ? Eating is not a graceful 
 process, and few women do it gracefully. ‘ The meal is equally 
 a failure to the ordinary people, who look upon it as it should 
 be looked upon — an opportunity for those who can seldom 
 meet at any other time to spend a few pleasant hours together. 
 It is very proper that dinner should be the time fixed for these 
 social gatherings. A company, like individuals, must meet on 
 some common basis, on some equal footing. Everybody can 
 eat ; therefore eating is a good common basis. But to make a 
 number of people happy whose faculties do not begin and end 
 upon that very moderate basis, there must be other bases 
 supplied. Food is a good one to begin upon, but not to begin 
 and end upon.^ 
 
 We must, however, in spite of reproach and lamentation — 
 we must still give, and go to, dinners. Noblesse oblige — that is, 
 Society commands us — and few of us have the courage to defy 
 Society. Yet, in secret, the cry of despair arises, and many 
 there be who feel inclined to address their persecutors in 
 mournful accents, thus : — 
 
 Ask me no more : the morn may dim the sea ; 
 
 And Saxon eloquence in Irish eyes 
 Bid the salt tears of penitence arise : 
 
 But oh, -my host, how can I answer thee ? 
 
 Ask me no more. 
 
 Ask me no more : what answer can I give ? 
 
 Oft have I suffered at thy prandial board, 
 
 And scarcely yet to health am I restored ! 
 
 Ask me no more, if thou wouldst have me live ; 
 
 Ask me no more. 
 
 Ask me no more : thy fate and mine are seal’d : 
 
 I would have dined at home, but all is vain : 
 
 My fate compels me to thy board again : 
 
 Enough, dear host, reluctantly I yield ; 
 
 Ask me no more. 
 
 The moral of all this is, that people who give dinner-parties 
 should, in the future, strike out a new line. Hitherto, the 
 
ISO OBJECT OF THE DINNERPARTY, 
 
 dinner has been a kind of Juggernaut, to which the guests have 
 been remorselessly sacrificed. The object with most hosts and 
 hostesses is either to discharge as promptly as possible what 
 they conceive to be a duty incumbent upon their position, or 
 to exalt and aggrandise themselves by an ostentatious enter- 
 tainment. In the first instance, they reason that, because A. 
 and E. and C. have made D. miserable, argal, D. must make 
 A. and B. and C. miserable. In the second, they do not ask 
 themselves how they shall provide for the pleasure and comfort 
 of their guests, but to whom they shall exhibit the evidences of 
 their wealth ; forgetting that, at the same time, they exhibit, 
 in the most conspicuous manner, their vulgarity and absolute 
 want of taste. I humbly suggest that more should be thought 
 of the guests, and less of the dinner. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 ‘ Youth and Pleasure meet 
 To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.’ 
 
 Byron, 
 
 * The music, and the banquet, and the wine — 
 
 The garlands, the rose odours, and the flowers — 
 
 The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments — 
 
 The white arms and the raven hair — the braids 
 And bracelets ; swan-like bosoms, and the necklace, 
 
 An India in itself, yet -dazzling not 
 
 The eye like what it circled ; the thin robes. 
 
 Floating like light clouds ’twixt our gaze and heaven ; 
 
 The many- twinkling feet so small and sylph-like. . . . 
 
 All the delusion of the dizzy scene, 
 
 Its false and true enchantments . . . Art and Nature.’ 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Bliss of the Ball — Its Drawbacks and Qualifications — Balls and Balls— 
 Luxury and Expense — Form of Invitation — Requisites and Elements 
 of Success — Decorations — Flowers — Method of Lighting — The Floor 
 — Musical Instruments— Distribution of Dances — Ball Scene in ‘ Daniel 
 Deronda ’ — Ball-room Flirtations — Proposals — Engagements — The 
 Morning’s Repudiation — Mrs. Barrett Browning — The Refreshment- 
 room — The Supper-room — Its Provisions and Decorations — Lines 
 from Keats’s ‘Eve of St. Agnes’ — A Roman Supper — Moderation in 
 Dancing — To take Leave, or not to take Leave — General Rules — Lord 
 Byron. 
 
 E ball is the paradise of youth and love. When 
 we have turned forty, and begin to feel the effects 
 of sitting up o’ nights, and have a reasonable dread 
 of rheumatic twinges, and are secretly conscious 
 that a figure ‘ inclining to corpulency ’ does not 
 show to advantage in minuet or quadrille, we regard it as a 
 weariness and a delusion, and are ungrateful enough, perhaps. 
 
152 
 
 DELIGHTS OF THE BALD 
 
 to denounce it as fit only for fools. But in the happy spring- 
 time of life, when the brain is fertile in pleasant fancies, and 
 the heart throbs with unexpressed hopes — when every day 
 brings with it a new pleasure, and every night a new reason for 
 looking forward with joyous anticipation to the morrow — when 
 our energies are as exhaustless as our spirits, and no sense of 
 fatigue or weariness can oppress us, the ball-room becomes an 
 enchanted world of light and music and perfume, into which 
 that ubiquitous ‘ black care ’ of the Roman poet durst not in- 
 trude, where sorrow is never seen, and past and future are 
 forgotten in the innocent intoxications of the present. To the 
 young ear, what so delightful as merry music ? To the youth- 
 ful eye, what so attractive as the spectacle of fair forms grace- 
 fully revolving in the soft, sweet mazes of the mystic dance ? 
 And if we know that ‘ at the ball ’ we shall meet that ‘ other half^ 
 of one's self — Romeo or Juliet, as the case maybe ; but Romeo 
 without his melancholy, and Juliet without her tragedy — can it 
 be wondered at that it draws us thither with an irresistible at- 
 traction ? Ah, when the noontide comes, and already the 
 shadows of evening gather over our downward path, how will 
 remembrance bring back to us the days when it was bliss to 
 touch one beloved hand, to take one trusting form in our reverent 
 embrace — when it was joy untold for Romeo and Juliet to 
 tread the painted floor together, and with close-linked arms to 
 circle round and round to the strains of Strauss or Gung’l ? 
 And then, in the pauses of the dance, the brief whisper on the 
 cool balcony, or beneath the broad palms of the conservatory ! 
 And last of all, the privilege of draping those graceful shoulders 
 with the protecting shawl, and the last sweet pressure of clinging 
 fingers as Juliet passed into the carriage that was to bear her 
 from our wistful gaze ! Is there one of us who, in our later 
 years, does not feel and know the truth of that fine passage of 
 Emerson's in one of his earlier essays : — 
 
 ‘ Be our experience in particulars what it may, no man ever 
 forgot the visitations of that power to his heart and brain which 
 created all things new ; which was the dawn in him of music, 
 poetry, and art ; which made the face of Nature radiant with 
 purple light, the morning and the night varied enchantments ; 
 when a single tone of one voice could make the heart bound, 
 and the most trivial circumstance associated with one form is 
 put in the amber of memory ; when he became all eye when 
 
A PLEASANT THING TO LOOK AT. 
 
 153 
 
 one was present, and all memory when one was gone ; when 
 the youth becomes a watcher of windows, and studious of a 
 glove, a veil, a ribbon, or the wheels of a carriage ; when no 
 place is too solitary, and none too silent, for him who has richer 
 company and sweeter conversation in his own thoughts than 
 any old friends, though best and purest, can give him ; for the 
 figures, the motions, the words of the beloved object are not, 
 like other images, written in water, but, as Plutarch said, 
 ‘‘enamelled in fire,’’ and made the study of midnight.’ 
 
 ‘ Thou art not gone being gone, where’er thou art, 
 
 Thou leav’st in him thy watchful eyes, in him thy loving heart.’ 
 
 It is while we are subject to the ‘visitations ’ of that power 
 of Love, which invests the commonplace with so sweet and 
 rare a romance, that balls are delightful, and ball-rooms as 
 fascinating as the New Atlantis or the island of Calypso. And 
 therefore, my dear sir, when you feel disposed to grumble at 
 the domestic revolution which has converted your library into 
 a tea-room, and stripped your drawing-room of its whilom de- 
 coration, and filled the ante-chamber with Godfrey’s band, and 
 crowded your modest staircase with vases of fragrant flowers, 
 bethink you of that golden age when you moved heaven and 
 earth for invitations to the balls at which the fair Leonora had 
 contrived to prepare you for her appearance ! Do not be- 
 grudge to your sons and daughters that cup of innocent plea- 
 sure of which you yourself have drunk right eagerly. Balls are 
 not wholly free from alloy : they are not without the fell looks 
 of jealousy, and the furtive glances of suspicion, and the hiss of 
 wounded vanity ; but what are these compared with the full 
 flood of happiness which they pour into so many tender bosoms 
 and manly hearts ? I was very fond of balls — consiile Planco; 
 and not of balls only, but of impromptu dances and those de- 
 lightful informal little parties which, in well-regulated families, 
 always end with a dance ; and, though stern moralists condemn 
 them, I confess I never could, nor can 1 now, detect their 
 impropriety. Nor know I any pleasanter sight than that of a 
 well-lighted room, echoing with merry music, in which a number 
 of young men and maidens, the latter attired in bright and 
 semi-diaphanous robes, their eyes shining with pleasure, and 
 their rosy lips curved with happy smiles, are ‘ threading the 
 mazes ’ of the old-established quadrille, or circling round in 
 the fascinating waltz. If you can dance no longer, my friend 
 
154 
 
 SPECIMENS OP PALLS. 
 
 look on, and be happy in the happiness of others. And if you 
 have reached middle age, you ought mot to dance ; dancing is 
 for the young ; and nothing can be more ridiculous than the 
 appearance of a stout gentleman of fifty, or a scraggy female of 
 years unknown, capering and prancing along with ‘ sweet seven- 
 teen ^ or blushing one and-twenty. No ; the elderly must 
 reserve themselves for special occasions, such as the annual 
 Christmas or New Year family gathering, when Paterfamilias 
 and his spouse may fitly lead the country dance, as did Mr. 
 and Mrs. Wardle and Mr. Pickwick on that famous Christmas 
 night at Dingley Dell. 
 
 There are balls — and balls. This may seem a trite, but is 
 really a profound, remark, in which is embodied the whole 
 philosophy of the subject. For example : I read in the 
 columns of a fashionable journal that Mrs. So-and-So had ‘ a 
 crowded party ’ ' in Lancashire Square. ‘ The back of the 
 house was converted into a fairy garden, with ice, palms, 
 cascades, and lakes full of lilies.' I read of another, that ‘the 
 house was beautifully decorated, the especial feature being a 
 rockery of ferns and ice, illuminated with coloured lights. 
 The garden was lighted up with arches of lanterns.' Of 
 another entertainment, I read that the floral decorations were 
 confined to roses, and that the guests wore no other flowers 
 
 but roses. Again I read : ‘ Last week Captain N and the 
 
 officers of the gunnery-ship at Harbourmouth gave a most 
 successful afternoon party, all the arrangements being of the 
 most elaborate and complete description. The upper deck of 
 the Anaximander was converted into a ball-room, and at the 
 foremast a sort of tent was arranged (for non-dancing guests), 
 profusely decorated with exotics and ornamented with arms 
 and flags. The magazine was used as a promenade between 
 the dances, and ladies were to be seen reclining on shells with 
 their feet on torpedoes, the machine-guns being utilised as tea 
 and strawberry tables. On the poop was a cool-looking arbour, 
 in which the band was stationed. The refreshment-tables on 
 the main-deck extended the whole length of the ship.' Balls 
 such as these can be given only by members of the Upper 
 Ten Thousand, owing to the heavy expenditure they necessi- 
 tate. In my humble opinion, they are a mistake, for, instead 
 of serving to bring young people together for an innocent and 
 graceful amusement, their chief object is to display the wealth 
 
i^OPV TO GET UP A BALL, 
 
 155 
 
 and luxuriousness of the ball-giver. An entertainment to 
 which some three hundred or four hundred persons are invited 
 may fairly be called ‘public/ and to public balls many grave 
 objections may justly be raised. I prefer those properly 
 called ‘ private balls/ at which the number of guests is suffi- 
 cient to impart an air of novelty and not so large as to assume 
 a miscellaneous character, at which every person present is 
 well known to and is able to receive and appreciate the atten- 
 tions of the hostess. Under no circumstances can a ball be 
 other than expensive, but it is better to limit the expense, so 
 as to admit of its repetition, than to lavish upon one entertain- 
 ment an outlay which compels you to stint your amusements 
 for the rest of the season. 
 
 We will assume, however, that for good and sufficient reasons 
 you have decided to give a ball. Your first care is to issue your 
 invitations, and therefore you must at once decide upon the 
 style of ball you intend to give. Is it to be ‘ a crush,’ that is, 
 will you fill your rooms to overflowing, so that to find room for 
 dancing in such a crowd is as hazardous as to cross the Valley 
 of Balaklava under the fire of Russian guns ? Is it to be 
 simply a ‘ large ball,’ that is, over a hundred and under two 
 hundred guests ? or ‘ a ball ’ proper, say from fifty to a hun- 
 dred ? or ‘ a dance,’ say twenty to fifty ? You will be guided 
 in your decision, if you are sensible, by the space at your dis- 
 posal and the pecuniary resources absolutely at your command. 
 Do not ask more guests than you can make comfortable, nor 
 more than you can entertain without embarrassing yourself by 
 the cost. When you have settled on the number, draw up your 
 list, including in it only ‘ eligibles,’ that is, persons who can 
 da7ice^ and taking care that there shall be as many gentlemen 
 as ladies. You will also invite about a third more than you 
 can accommodate, to allow for disappointments. The invita- 
 tions must be sent out three weeks in advance, and may either 
 
 be by engraved card : ‘ Mrs. requests the favour of Mr. 
 
 ’s company, on Friday, the , at lo o’clock,’ with 
 
 the word ‘ Dancing ’ in the left-hand corner, and the address 
 
 in the right-hand ; or may be written as follows : ‘ Mrs. 
 
 requests the favour of Mr. (or Miss) ’s company at a 
 
 dance on Friday, the , at lo o’clock.’ Invites who do 
 
 not send an excuse in a day or two may be considered as 
 accepting. 
 
DECORATION OF THE BALL-ROOM. 
 
 156 
 
 Having secured your guests, you must next address your- 
 self to the task of giving them a becoming welcome, and, for 
 this purpose, you will want ample space, good light, good 
 music, a good dancing floor, tasteful decorations, and refresh- 
 ments satisfactory both in quality and quantity. If possible, 
 your ball-room should be on the drawing-room floor, and if it 
 open on a conservatory so much the better ; if on a balcony, 
 the latter, by a judicious use of flowers and evergreens, may be 
 converted into a temporary ‘ bower.’ The fireplace should be 
 filled in with ferns and exotics, which may be built up with 
 Virginia cork into any pretty fanciful shape your ingenuity 
 can devise. The walls should be ornamented with a fresh, 
 light paper and draped with lace curtains, and in the corners 
 may be placed a statuette, or a small fountain of perfumed 
 water, or a bed of flowers. Floral decorations cannot be too 
 abundant ; in the winter you will use evergreens. The stair- 
 case leading up to the ball-room should be made into an alley 
 of plants, shrubs, and flowers, and flowers must also lend their 
 freshness and fragrance to the cloak-room, the hat-room (for 
 gentlemen), and the refreshment-room. Endeavour to secure a 
 thorough ventilation, so that your guests may not suffer from 
 the fatigue and depression engendered by a heated atmosphere. 
 As for the lighting, it should be done by brackets from the 
 walls, for gasaliers are dangerous. Wax tapers, so arranged 
 that they shall not drop on the shoulders of your guests, or 
 colza or argand lamps, with soft white globes to subdue the 
 glare, are preferable to gas. The conservatory, balcony, and 
 staircase may be illuminated by coloured lamps or Chinese 
 lanterns. 
 
 It will be seen that I lay great stress on the decoration of 
 the ball-room, and who would introduce a number of well- 
 dressed ladies and gentlemen into a dull, dim, heavy apart- 
 ment, as sombre as the dining-rooms of the olden times ? To 
 render dancing thoroughly enjoyable the conditions should be 
 carefully studied, all around should be brightness and sweet 
 odours — the frame should be worthy of the picture. We read 
 of a ball-room, the walls of which were ‘ completely hidden 
 with drapery, ropes and wreaths of evergreens, cases of birds 
 and animals, vases of flowers, and mirrors, large and small 
 and though in this case the decoration may have been on a 
 scale too large for ordinary purposes, the principle underlying 
 
THE FLOOR, THE MUSIC, AND THE DANCES. 157 
 
 it was the right one. Nor need the application of it involve 
 any very great expense, if the hostess and her daughters bring 
 their taste and dexterity into play. Of course if they entrust 
 the decoration to professional hands the work will be well 
 done, but the outlay will be very considerable, and there is no 
 reason why as good an effect should not be produced at much 
 smaller cost, if they draw upon their own energies, with one or 
 two capable assistants. The main materials employed should 
 be drapery and flowers, which are readily manipulated by 
 ladies’ fingers. 
 
 As for the floor, it should be well polished or covered with 
 a diaper cloth or ^ dancing drugget.’ ‘ You should hire a man,’ 
 says an erudite authority, ‘ who, with a brush under one foot 
 and a slipper on the other, will dance over the floor for four or 
 five hours till you can almost see your face in it.’ 
 
 The music for a small private ball may consist of a piano 
 and violin, or a piano, violin, flute, and harp, according to the 
 size of the ball-room. The musicians should be placed on a 
 raised platform at one end of the room, and the platform may 
 be ornamented with evergreens and pots of flowers. You will, 
 of course, arrange your dances beforehand, and print the pro- 
 gramme on a double card, with the dances on one side, and on the 
 other a blank space to be filled up with the names of partners. 
 To each card, which should be given to the guest in the ball- 
 room, let a small pencil be attached. The number of dances 
 may vary from sixteen to twenty-four, supper forming a break 
 in the middle. There should be about as many waltzes as 
 quadrilles, half as many galops, one or two polkas, a minuet, a 
 mazurka, and a cotillon. It is customary for the hostess to 
 lead off the first quadrille. The young ladies of the house 
 must see that the dances are promptly formed, and should not 
 themselves dance until all their friends are provided with part' 
 ners. For this purpose they are at liberty to ask any gentle- 
 man present to be introduced to a partner, but, as he is bound 
 to accept the invitation, they must exercise due care in their 
 selection. No lady will engage herself two-deep for any dance, 
 nor will she, except in novels, throw over a partner she has once 
 accepted for any new-comer, however \ desirable.’ The rules 
 of politeness hold good in the ball-room, as elsewhere. If a 
 lady do not wish to dance, she must decline with some polite 
 excuse, and never with a direct refusal ; and, after having re- 
 
158 
 
 A BALL^ROOM SCENE 
 
 fused one gentleman, she must not agree to dance with 
 another. The gentleman, when introduced, makes no elabo- 
 rate speech, but murmurs a complimentary phrase, ‘ May I 
 have the pleasure of your hand for the next dance?’ or, if she 
 be engaged for the next, he may ask her to enter his name in 
 the first space on her engagement card. 
 
 It is not usual for a young lady to dance more than twice or, 
 at the utmost, thrice with the same gentleman in one evening, 
 unless she has some particular motive for drawing upon her 
 head a disagreeable amount of attention. A gentleman will 
 not fail to dance with the ladies of the house, and, if he have 
 a good heart, he will take pity upon one or other of those 
 less favoured damsels who, too often, are allowed to sit in 
 neglected solitude. 
 
 There is a ball-room scene in George Eliot’s ‘ Daniel 
 Deronda.’ Do you recollect it ? 
 
 Gwendolen Harlech, the heroine — of course you remember 
 that self-willed, passionate beauty — did not look the worse, we 
 are told, under the chandeliers in the ball-room, where the 
 soft splendour of the scene and the pleasant odours from the 
 conservatory could not but be soothing to the temper, when 
 accompanied with the consciousness of being pre-eminently 
 sought for. Hardly a dancing man but was anxious to have 
 her for a partner, and each whom she accepted was in a state 
 of melancholy remonstrance that she would not waltz or polka. 
 
 ‘Are you under avow. Miss Harlech?’ ‘Why are you so 
 cruel to us all?’ ‘You waltzed with me in February.’ ‘And 
 you who waltz so perfectly !’ were exclamations not without 
 piquancy for her. The ladies who waltzed naturally thought 
 that Miss Harlech only wanted to make herself particular, but 
 her uncle, when he overheard her refusal, supported her by 
 saying : 
 
 ‘ “ Gwendolen has usually good reasons.” He thought she 
 was certainly more distinguished in not waltzing, and he wished 
 her to be distinguished. 
 
 ‘ Among the remonstrant dancing men, however, Mr. Grand- 
 court, the great prize in the matrimonial lottery, was not 
 numbered. After standing up for a quadrille with Miss 
 Arrowpoint, it seemed that he meant to ask for no other^ 
 partner. Still, Gwendolen noticed that he did sometimes 
 quietly and gradually change his position according to hers, 
 
FROM ^DANIEL DERONDA, 
 
 159 
 
 SO that he could see her wherever she was dancing, and if he 
 did not admire her — so much the worse for him. 
 
 ‘Later in the evening, Gwendolen had accepted Herr Klesmer 
 as a partner, and the two became quite friendly, until she 
 begged to be deposited by the side of her mamma. 
 
 ‘ Three minutes afterwards her preparations for Grandcourt’s 
 indifference were all cancelled. Turning her head for some remark 
 to her mother, she found that he had made his way up to her. 
 
 ‘ “ May I ask if you are tired of dancing. Miss Harlech ?'^ he 
 began, looking down with his former unperturbed expression. 
 
 ‘ “ Not in the least. 
 
 ‘“Will you do me the honour — the next — or another 
 quadrille 
 
 ‘ “ I should have been very happy,’^ said Gwendolen, looking 
 at her card, “ but I am engaged for the next to Mr. Clintock 
 — and, indeed, I perceive that I am doomed for every quadrille; 
 I have not one to dispose of.’’ . . . 
 
 “‘I am unfortunate in being too late,” he said, after a 
 moment’s pause. 
 
 ‘ “ It seemed to me that you did not care for dancing,” said 
 Gwendolen. “ I thought it might be one of the things that 
 you had left off.” 
 
 ‘ “ Yes, but I have not begun to dance with you.” . . . 
 
 ‘“I begin to think that -my cavalier has forgotten me,” 
 Gwendolen observed, after a little while. “ I see the quadrille 
 is being formed.” 
 
 ‘ “ He deserves to be renounced,” said Grandcourt. 
 
 ‘ “ I think he is very pardonable,” said Gwendolen. 
 
 ‘ ‘‘ There must have been some misunderstanding,” said Mrs. 
 Davilow. “ Mr. Clintock was too anxious about the engage- 
 ment to have forgotten it.” 
 
 ‘ But now Lady Brackenshaw came up and said : “ Miss 
 Harlech, Mr. Clintock has charged me to express to you his 
 deep regret that he was obliged to leave without having the 
 pleasure of dancing with you again. An express came from his 
 father, the archdeacon ; something important : he was obliged 
 to go. He was au desespoir,^^ 
 
 “ Oh, he was very good to remember the engagement under 
 the circumstances,” said Gwendolen. “ I am sorry he was called 
 away.” It was easy to be politely sorrowful on so felicitous 
 an occasion. 
 
i6o 
 
 A DANCER^S DUTy, 
 
 ‘ Then I can profit by Mr. Clintock’s misfortune ?’^ said 
 Grandcourt. “ May I hope that you will let me take his place ?” 
 
 ‘ ‘‘ I shall be happy to dance the next quadrille with you/’ 
 
 This is the kind ot conversation — only somewhat neater and 
 sharper in expression — which one often hears in the ball-room, 
 and it fairly enough indicates the feelings with which a young 
 lady sometimes gets rid of an unwelcome partner. Is it neces- 
 sary to say that she must take care not to betray them ? Noblesse 
 oblige : in the ball-room, as in all other spheres, and on all other 
 stages, we must be guided by the golden rule of courtesy, to do 
 unto others as we would that they should do unto us, and to 
 spare their self-love, their susceptibilities, as we wish others to 
 spare ours. 
 
 After every dance, the cavalier will offer his arm to his fair 
 partner, and propose to conduct her to the refreshment-room. 
 If she decline, he will escort her back to her chaperon or party, 
 procure a seat for her, and before he goes in quest of another 
 dancer, murmur some pleasant words of acknowledgment of 
 the pleasure he has derived from her condescension. It is not 
 ‘ good form ’ to pay particular attention to any one lady, unless 
 it is understood that between her and her satellite an under- 
 standing exists, the customary prelude to a formal engagement. 
 There are opportunities, no doubt, in the balcony, or in the 
 conservatory — or behind some accommodating cluster of palms 
 and ferns — of brief but delightful converse between ‘ young men 
 and maidens,’ — the exchange of those ‘ honeyed nothings,’ which 
 sound so eloquent to interested ears. I have no faith, however, 
 in the love which springs up or matures in the ball-room ; I do 
 not believe in its constancy, and I am sure it is wanting in that 
 deep respect which underlies all true love. Yet I am told that 
 ‘ proposals ’ have been made and accepted in this gay scene, 
 while the air has rung with the soft strains of the waltz or the 
 vivacious rhythm of the polka. Words so serious should be 
 seriously spoken, in a fitting place and at a fitting time ; and I 
 would fain have every maiden whose love is so lightly demanded 
 answer, next day, in the language of Mrs. Browning : 
 
 ‘ “Yes/’ I answered you last night ; 
 
 “No,” this morning, sir, I say ; 
 
 Colours seen by candle-light 
 Will not look the same by day. 
 
WARNING TO THOUGHTLESS LOVERS. i6i 
 
 ‘ When the viols played their best, 
 
 Lamps above and laughs below, 
 
 Love me sounded like a jest, 
 
 Fit iox yes ^ or fit for 7io. 
 
 ‘ Call me false or call me free, 
 
 Vow, whatever light may shine, — 
 
 No man on your face shall see 
 Any grief for change on mine. 
 
 ‘ Yet the sin is on us both ; 
 
 Time to dance is not to woo ; 
 
 Wooing light makes fickle troths 
 Scorn of me recoils on yoic. 
 
 ‘ Learn to win a lady’s faith 
 Nobly as the thing on high. 
 
 Bravely, as for life and death. 
 
 With a loyal gravity. 
 
 ‘ Lead her from the festive boards. 
 
 Point her to the starry skies ; 
 
 Guard her, by your truthful words. 
 
 Pure from courtship’s flatteries. 
 
 ‘ By your truth she shall be true. 
 
 Ever true, as wives of yore ; 
 
 And her yes, once said to you. 
 
 Shall be Yes for evermore.’ 
 
 From pathos to bathos there is but one step. From this 
 wise warning to thoughtless lovers we pass on to the refresh- 
 ment-room, where the hostess will have provided light wines, 
 sweets, cooling drinks, and ices. It must be understood that 
 to linger here would be an impertinence, and to partake immoder- 
 ately an unpardonable offence. Supper will, of course, be laid 
 in another room. The cavalier takes thither the partner with 
 whom he is dancing when supper is announced ; finds her a 
 seat ; waits upon her until her few small wants are supplied j 
 then escorts her back to the ball-room ; and offers his services 
 to any lady who may not have found ‘ a guide, philosopher, and 
 friend.’ Having satisfied the laws of courtesy, he may then con- 
 sider the demands of his own appetite. 
 
 As to the supper itself, all will depend of course on the taste 
 of the hostess and the skill of the cook. The table should be 
 decorated as freely as for dinner. Everything should be served 
 up cold, and ready carved. There should be ices of many 
 kinds, fowls and birds, pates and jellies, trifle and mayonnaise, 
 champagne, sherry, hock, seltzer-water, and the all-satisfying 
 Bass. What other ‘ cates ’ and ‘ dainties ’ may grace the board. 
 
BALL REFRESHMENTS AND SUFFER, 
 
 162 
 
 I leave to the fertile invention of my lady readers, reminding 
 them en passmit of the petit souper—ioxgvet these French 
 phrases— which Keats’s Porphyro prepared, in golden dishes 
 and baskets bright of wreathed silver, for his beautiful Made- 
 line : 
 
 ‘ A heap 
 
 Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd ; 
 
 With jellies soother than the creamy curd, 
 
 And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon ; 
 
 Manna and dates, in argosy transferr’d 
 From Fez ; and spiced dainties, every one, 
 
 From silken Samarcand to cedar’d Lebanon.’* 
 
 There is here, perhaps, an excess of sweetness, as in Mr. 
 Swinburne's alliterative erotics — asurplusage of smoothness, as in 
 the honeyed verse of the poet of ‘The Earthly Paradise' — but yet 
 in the midst of bright eyes and waltzing music, of floating robes 
 and tresses, and wreaths and garlands of flowers, 'twould be more 
 suitable than the strange succession of queer viands which 
 loaded the supper-table of a Roman patrician. Take, for 
 example, the sapper which Lentulus gave to Glaucus : how it 
 would astonish the inhabitants of Belgravia and the denizens of 
 Mayfair ! Nine guests reclined on the triclinium, the most 
 honoured being placed lowest in the middle couch. As soon 
 as all were in a reclining posture, the attendant slaves removed 
 their sandals, and comely pages carried round water in silver 
 basins, in which each guest daintily dipped his fingers. Then, 
 at a signal from the host, the servants deposited the dishes of 
 the first course in the centre of the table. The chief ornament 
 of this course was a bronze ass, — its panniers filled with olives, — • 
 on the back of which rode a Silenus, exuding from his pores a 
 sauce which fell upon the roast breast of a young sow. Among 
 the other delicacies were sausages on silver gridirons, with 
 Syrian plums and pomegranates beneath in imitation of pie ; 
 and vegetables, shell-fish, snails, and lizards, served up in silver 
 dishes. To wash down this fare the guests drank a beverage 
 called mulsum^ compounded of wines and honey. N ext appeared 
 on a small tray, a carved figure of a brooding hen. The eggs from 
 beneath were handed round to the guests, and proved to be made 
 of dough, on breaking which with the spoon a fat figpecker was re- 
 vealed in the pepper-seasoned yolk. This luscious morsel having 
 
 * ‘Eve of St, Agnes.’ 
 
AFTER SUPPER AND LEAVE-TAKING, 163 
 
 been despatched, each guest had recourse to the vmlsiirn^ or to 
 pure Falernian without any tempering of honey. A wild boar 
 graced the second course — a wild boar stuffed with countless little 
 sausages ; and while the guests were partaking of this lordly dish, 
 a sudden noise was heard overhead : the ceiling opened, and a 
 large silver hoop, to which were suspended tiny bottles of silver 
 and alabaster, silver garlands with beautifully wrought leaves, 
 and circlets and other trifles, descended upon the table ; and 
 after the dessert, prepared by the new cook, whom Lentulus 
 had purchased for a hundred thousand sesterces, had been 
 served up, the party rose, to saunter along the marble colon- 
 nades, or take a bath before all again assembled in the brilliant 
 saloon. 
 
 What a supper ! O dura Romanonim ilia I It is evident 
 enough that the Romans were not dancing men; such a repast 
 would have incapacitated them for waltz or polka for many a 
 week ! 
 
 Supper over — or, at least, your part in it — you return to the 
 ball-room, and in due order fulfil whatever engagements you may 
 have contracted. Some resolute and enthusiastic dancers foot 
 it through the entire programme of a score and more of dances ; 
 the wise man and the prudent young lady will not exceed one- 
 half that number; they will be rewarded for their abstinence on 
 the morrow. At a large ball it is not necessary, when you re- 
 tire, to take leave of the hostess ; but this is a duty not to be 
 omitted when you have been present at that less formal affair 
 yclept ‘a dance.’ So you go your way, a happier man, it is to 
 be presumed, than when you entered upon ‘the glittering 
 scene;’ for either you have availed yourself of fresh oppor- 
 tunities of sweet converse with the ‘ queen of your soul,’ or you 
 have, perhaps, seen for the first time a face that will hence- 
 forth haunt your memory, and listened to a voice that hence- 
 forth will be as music in your ears ; or, at all events, you have 
 enjoyed an hour or two of pleasant companionship under all 
 the conditions that can make such companionship delightful. 
 Ah, Youth, make the best of your time ! It is sunshine now, 
 and music, and fragrance ; life is radiant in the purple light ol 
 hope and love. But the years are ever envious of human happi- 
 ness, and will not tarry by us. The spring will soon be past, 
 and summer also ; and then come the faded leaves and broken 
 
 II — 2 
 
164 
 
 ABOUT DANCING. 
 
 dreams of autumn, when we no longer take pleasure in the 
 blithest strains that ever stirred the feet of the dancer, and the 
 waxen floor and the garlanded walls become to us a weariness 
 and a sham ! 
 
 I have said nothing about dancing, because that is a subject 
 for professional teachers. For my own part, I do not like to 
 see a gentleman dance too well ; he doe's not want to be 
 taken for a dancing-master. It is enough if he dance like 
 a ge7itle7na7i^ without that constraint, that gene^ which most 
 Englishmen seem to experience, so that they look as if they 
 were performing a task, or as if they felt they were making fools 
 of themselves. For heaven’s sake don’t dance out of time ! 
 That would show you have no ear for music, and, moreover, 
 ’twould embarrass your partner. And don’t go through your 
 steps with the prim and deliberate air of a board-school pro- 
 digy repeating the names of the rivers in Mesopotamia. Use 
 your hands and feet as if they belonged to you, and not as if 
 you had hired them for the occasion, and were afraid of wearing 
 them out. Do not assume the grave air of Lord Justice X. 
 when he is engaged in solving some abstruse legal problem ; 
 but, on the other hand, avoid that vacant, silly, stereotyped 
 smile which the ladies of the ballet seem to think it de rigueiir 
 to display. Unless you are entirely self-possessed, have a good 
 figure, and know what you are about, you should confine your 
 efforts to the modest quadrille, and not venture upon the 
 prancing polka or the bounding valse. Remember that no 
 spectacle under heaven provokes more laughter than a bad 
 dancer floundering round a ball-room, exposed to the sharp 
 criticisms of pitiless bright eyes and relentless rosy lips. A man 
 can never recover from the shame in which such an exposure 
 involves him. 
 
 On the whole, I think I may commend to my miale reader 
 Byron’s description of a good dancer, as indicating the excel- 
 lences he should affect and the errors he should avoid. The 
 poet is speaking of his naughty hero, Don Juan : — j 
 
 ‘ And then he danced ; — all foreigners excel 
 The serious Angles in the eloquence 
 Of pantomime ; — he danced, I say, right well, 
 emphasis^ and also with good sense — 
 
 A thing in footing indispensable ; 
 
 He danced without theatrical pretence, 
 
DESCRIPTION OF A GOOD DANCER, 
 
 165 
 
 Not like a ballet-master in the van 
 
 Of his drilled nymphs, but like a gentleman, 
 
 ‘ Chaste were his steps, each kept within due bound, 
 And elegance was sprinkled o’er his figure ; 
 
 Like swift Camilla, he scarce skimm’d the ground. 
 And rather held in than put forth his vigour ; 
 
 And then he had an ear for music , sound, 
 
 Which might defy a crotchet critic’s rigour. 
 
 Such classic pas — sans flaws — set off our hero. 
 
 He glanced like a personified Bolero.’ 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF DRESS. 
 
 ^ The glass 
 
 Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.’ 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 ‘ Costly the habit as thy purse can buy, 
 
 But not expressed in fancy ; rich, not gaudy.’ 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Importance of Dress as a Social Agent — Its Use and Abuse contrasted — 
 A Man’s Dress an Index to his Character — Illustrations — How far we 
 may consult the Caprices of Fashion — Masculine Dress of the present 
 Day — Leigh Hunt’s Invective against ‘ Things as they were ’ — The 
 Philosophy of Dress conveyed in Twenty-two Axioms, amended and 
 adapted from ‘ Pelham ’ — Economy and Consideration in Dress — Our 
 Dress should be Suitable to our Means, Age, and Social Position — 
 Richard B rath wait on the Becoming — The Etiquette of Dress — Ladies’ 
 Dress : a Mystery — Its various Changes — Mrs. Oliphant on the Ladies’ 
 Dress of To-day — Principles by which it should be Regulated — Ben 
 Jonson’s Advice — The Grace of Simplicity — Ruskin upon Dress — 
 Robert Herrick upon Dress — On Harmony of Colouring — The Classifi- 
 cation of Colours — Colours, and how they should be Worn — Dress for 
 Dinner Parties — Court Dress for Ladies — Description of Dresses 
 actually Worn in the present Season — At Balls, Weddings, Races, State 
 Concert, Garden Party — A Protest against Exaggeration. 
 
 O long as the present constitution of Society endures’ 
 Dress must always remain a matter of importance’ 
 and rightly so, for it is a duty we owe to others as. 
 well as to ourselves to make the best of our per- 
 sonal appearance. There is at least as much 
 affectation in slovenliness as in over-dressing; the vanity of 
 Alcibiades may have been shown in the purple and fine linen 
 in which he was arrayed, but the pride of Diogenes was not 
 less conspicuous in the holes of his cloak. A man who does 
 not dress well when he can afford to do so must either be mean 
 
DRESS ART INDEX TO CHARACTER. 
 
 167 
 
 and miserly, or a fool. An ill-fitling coat is no mark of genius, 
 but simply a sign that you do not or will not employ a good 
 tailor. Unquestionably, extravagance in dress is a vice and a 
 folly, but so is excess in eating and drinking ; and as you do 
 not give up the practice of eating dinner because some men 
 eat too much, there is no reason why you should dress badly 
 because the fools of Fashion dress to an extreme. The law of 
 moderation applies to Dress as it does to Diet. I have as 
 little patience with the foppery of cheap clothes and nasty as 
 with that of fine clothes and costly. To care not how you dress 
 is as much a mistake as to constitute dress the chief object of 
 your thoughts, and make your tailor indispensable to your 
 existence. 
 
 After all, a man’s dress is still, to some extent, an index to 
 his character. Study his hat, his coat, the fit of his trousers, 
 the shape of his boots, and you will arrive at some notion of 
 his taste and judgment. This might also be true of a lady’s 
 dress, almost without reference to the consideration whether 
 the capricious despotism of fashion curtail or tighten her habi- 
 liments, or widen or protract them to a redundancy. It is 
 often asserted that nowadays all classes dress alike ; the clerk 
 like the peer, the wife of a London tradesman like the wife of 
 blue-blooded patrician. Is it so ? The various articles of which 
 their attire is made up — its component parts, so to speak, — 
 may be the same, but they differ in that undefinable something 
 which is the impress made on a person’s dress by a person’s 
 character. You can tell the gentleman from the snob, how- 
 ever they may be dressed ; they wear their clothes differently. 
 And Mrs. Smith from ’Olborn ’111, resplendent in silks and 
 satins, is detected by her garb, even before she opens her 
 mouth and scatters about her h’s. ‘ As the index tells us the 
 contents of stories, and directs to the particular chapter, even 
 so,’ says an old writer, ^ does the outward habit and superficial 
 order of garments (in man or woman) give us a taste of the 
 spirit, and demonstratively point (as it were a manual note 
 from the margin) all the internal quality of the soul ; and there 
 cannot be a more evident, palpable, gross manifestation of 
 poor, degenerate, dunghilly blood and breeding, than a rude, 
 unpolished, disordered, and slovenly outside.’ Why, in the 
 choice of the pattern of a man’s trousers you may see some- 
 thing of the ‘ internal quality of his soul 1’ It is for this reason 
 
i68 
 
 INDIVIDUALITY IN DTESS. 
 
 that our novelists always insist so strongly on the dress of their 
 heroes and heroines ; they feel that the mind influences the 
 apparel; that a lady’s temper betrays itself in her bonnet, and 
 a man’s disposition in the cut of his coat. Who does not 
 remember Colonel Newcome’s ^ Stultz coat, a blue swallow- 
 tail, with yellow buttons, a very high velvet collar, with a high 
 waist, indicated by two lapelles, and a pair of buttons high up 
 in the wearer’s back ?’ George Eliot draws a strong contrast 
 in the dress of Dorothea Casaubon and Rosamond Lydgate. 
 
 ‘ Let those who know,’ she says, ‘ tell us exactly what stuff it 
 was that Dorothea wore in those days of mild autumn — that 
 thin white woollen stuff soft to the touch and soft to the eye. 
 It always seemed to have been lately washed, and to smell of 
 the sweet hedges — was always in the shape of a pelisse with 
 sleeves hanging, all out of the fashion. Yet if she had entered 
 before a still audience as Imogene or Cato’s daughter, the 
 dress might have seemed right enough : the grace and dignity 
 was in her limbs and neck ; and about her simply parted hair 
 and candid eyes the large round poke which was then in the fate 
 of women, seemed no more odd as a head-dress than the gold 
 lumber we call a halo.’ Against this striking picture let us put 
 ‘ Rosamond’s infantine blondness and wondrous crown of hair- 
 plaits, with her pale blue dress of a fit and fashion so perfect 
 that no dressmaker could look at it without emotion, a large 
 embroidered collar, which it was to be hoped all bachelors 
 would know the price of. Her small hands, duly set off with 
 rings, and that controlled self-consciousness of manner which is 
 the expressive substitute for simplicity.’ 
 
 The reader will not forget the exquisite picture which Ten- 
 nyson draws of Rose, the Gardener’s daughter : 
 
 ‘ One arm aloft — 
 
 Gown’d in pure white that fitted to the shape — 
 
 Holding the bush, to fix it back, she stood.’ 
 
 ‘Gown’d in pure white that fitted to the shape’ — the line 
 seems to assist us to a conception of Rose’s dainty innocence 
 and spotless purity. 
 
 No doubt, in our dress we must be governed to some extent 
 by Fashion ; we must restrict our individuality in order to be 
 decent like other people. But I contend that the theory I 
 have laid down is justified by the results of everyday experience; 
 and that a man’s dress is still a trustworthy index to his charac- 
 
AIERITS OF FIENDS DRESS NOIV-A-DAYS. 
 
 169 
 
 ter. There is a wide and deep philosophy of clothes, as 
 Teufelsdrdckh has shown us ; and we may even go so far as to 
 say that the habits and disposition of a nation are shown in its 
 style of dress. Look at our English costumes of the present 
 day? Are they not those of an active, majestic, vigorous 
 people, who delight in bodily exercises, and travel wide and 
 far ? Who can conceive of the dress of our eighteenth century 
 ancestors as adapted for mountain-climbing, or wilderness-ex- 
 ploring, or for any pursuit or occupation in which agility is an 
 essential ? There can be no doubt as to the gallantry and 
 pictorial value of the Vandyck dress, with its large hat and 
 waving feathers, its short cloak and jewelled rapier, and its long 
 breeches meeting the top of the wide boots ; but was it a 
 costume in which Englishmen could have conquered India or 
 made themselves masters of Africa ? 
 
 A good deal of cheap rhetoric has been expended on the 
 dress — and more particularly the men’s dress — of the present 
 day. Granted that it is not particularly picturesque (though I 
 think ‘ the knickerbocker ’ might commend itself to an artistic 
 eye) or graceful, I claim for it the merits of simplicity, comfort, 
 convenience. You may go anywhere and do anything in it. 
 It is easily thrown off, easily put on ; it is cleanly and neat, 
 and sufficiently becoming. Think of the cocked hats, the long 
 waistcoats, the ugly formal coats, the tight knee-breeches of 
 the gentlemen of the Georgian era — or of the thick folded 
 cravats, the short vests, the long coats of the age of Brummel, 
 and congratulate yourself, my friend, that you live in the third 
 quarter of the nineteenth century. Take up an engraving of 
 one of Hogarth’s pictures, or a caricature by Gillray, and tell 
 me whether you are not thankful that your stalwart manly 
 figure is not encased in the ugly and indecorous attire which is 
 therein represented. It is only forty years ago that Leigh 
 Hunt penned a most caustic diatribe against the fashion of 
 masculine clothes then in vogue. Speaking of the ‘modern 
 coat,’ he exclaims, ‘ What a thing it is ! what a horse-collar for a 
 collar ! what snips at the collar and lapelles ! what a mechanical 
 and ridiculous cut about the flaps ! what buttons in front that 
 are never meant to button, and yet are no ornament ! And 
 what an exquisitely absurd pair of buttons at the back !’ 
 Rising into indignant eloquence, he cries out: — ‘ There is abso- 
 lutely not one iota of sense, grace, or even economy in the 
 
170 A COXCOMB'S PHILOSOPHY OF DRESS. 
 
 modern coat. It is an article as costly as it is ugly, and as 
 ugly as it is useless. In winter it is not enough, and in hot 
 weather it is too much. It is the tailors’ remnant and cabbaging 
 of the coats formerly in use, and deserves only to be chucked 
 back to them as an imposition in the bill.’ 
 
 Even this warm outburst of anger dees not satisfy our author, 
 and he continues : — ‘ The coat, as it now exists, is a mere 
 nuisance and expense, and disgraces every other part of the 
 dress, except the neckcloth. Even the hat is too good for it, 
 for a hat is good for something, though there is more chimney- 
 top than beauty in it. The coat is a sheer piece of mechanical 
 ugliness.’ 
 
 Leigh Hunt adds : — ‘ The neckcloth is worthy of the coat 
 and certes it is astonishing how our fathers and grandfathers 
 could consent to swaddle their throats in such yards of linen ! 
 
 ‘ Some man with a desperately bad throat must have invented 
 the neckcloth, especially as it had a padding., or pndding., in it 
 when it first came up. His neck could not have been fit to be 
 seen. It must have been like a pole or a withered stalk, or 
 else he was some faded fat dandy ashamed of his double chin. 
 
 . . . The neckcloth is ugly, is useless, is dangerous to some, 
 and begets effeminate fear of colds with all.’ 
 
 Here we may reproduce the maxims of Pelham, embodying, 
 as they do, what may be called, a ‘ Coxcomb’s Philosophy of 
 Dress.’ 
 
 1. Do not require yoitr dress so much to fit as to adorn you. 
 Nature is not to he copied., hut to he exalted hy art. Apelles 
 hlamed Frotogenes for being too natural. 
 
 Our present dress, however, is adapted rather to the purpose 
 of fitness than that of adornment. We do not wear our clothes 
 with the view of dazzling or surprising others, but for our own 
 convenience. 
 
 2. Never in your dress altogether desert that taste which is 
 gefieral. The world co?isiders eccentricity in great things genius, 
 in small things, folly. 
 
 Moreover, it will pardon to genius much which it will not 
 pardon to commonplace. A small poet can better afford to 
 imitate Tennyson in his blank verse than in his shovel hat and 
 Spanish cloak. 
 
 3. Always rernemher that you dress to fascinate others, net 
 yotirself. 
 
PELHAAPS AIAXIMS. 
 
 171 
 
 It would be wiser to say : ‘ Always remember that you dress 
 not to disgust or surprise others, and to suit yourself.’ 
 
 4 . Keep your mind free fro7n all violent affections at the hour 
 of the toilet. A philosophical serenity is perfectly necessary to 
 success. Helvetius says justly that our mere aims form our pas- 
 sions. 
 
 It is difficult to believe that the process of pulling on a 
 dress-coat and black trousers can raise any violent affections ; 
 though, if they do not happen to fit, they will probably induce 
 an explosion of impatience. 
 
 5 . Rememher that no7ie hut those whose courage is unquestion- 
 ahle can venture to be effeminate. It was only in the field that 
 the Spartans were accustomed to use perfumes and curl their 
 hair. 
 
 6. Never let the finery of chains and rings seem your own 
 choice: that which natw'ally belongs to women should appear 
 womi only for their sake. We digitify foppe7y when we mvest it 
 with a se7iti7nent. 
 
 It is best to wear but little jewellery : a man never looks to 
 less advantage than when he enters into competition with a 
 jeweller’s shop-window. The love of charms, and trinkets, and 
 rings is a survival of barbarism. 
 
 7 . To WIN the affection of your 77iistress, appear 7teglige7it in 
 your costu77ie ; to preserve it, assiduous ; the first is a sig7i of 
 the PASSION of love ; the second, of its respect. 
 
 ^ Our sole comment on this maxim we shall borrow from Mr. 
 Burchell In the ‘ Vicar of Wakefield ’ — ‘ Fudge !’ 
 
 8 . A 77ia7i 7nust be a profou7id calculator to be a C07isu77i77iate 
 dresser. One must 7tot d7'ess the same whether 07ie goes to a 
 777mister or a 77iist7'ess, an avaricious uncle or a7i oste7itatious 
 cousin ; the7x is 710 diplo77iacy more subtle tha7i that of dress. 
 
 9 . Is the great 77ian whom you voould conciliate a coxco77ib I — 
 go to Imn m a waistcoat like his ow7i. ‘ l77iitatio7i,^ says the 
 author of ‘ Laco7i^ ‘ is the si7ice7'est flatteT'yl 
 
 It is a flattery, however, which many people do not relish. I 
 have observed that most ladies regard with displeasure the 
 imitation by one another of little peculiarities and originalities 
 of costume. 
 
 10 . The ha7idsome 7nay be showy hi dress ; the plain should 
 study to be unexceptionable : just as hi great men we look for 
 so77iething to adinwe ; in ordinary inen we ask for iiothing to 
 forgive. 
 
172 
 
 MAX/MS UPON DRESS, 
 
 But just as a great man can be content to trust to his own 
 greatness^ and make no ostentation of it, so even a handsome 
 man — or a gentleman — dispenses with showiness; he has that 
 in himself which passeth show. 
 
 11. There is a study of dress for the aged^ as well as for the 
 young. Inattention is no less mdecorous in the one than in the 
 other ; we may distinguish the taste appropriate to each,, by the 
 reflection that youth is made to be loved — age to be respected. 
 
 This maxim is one to be warmly commended and endorsed. 
 One’s moral feeling, one’s sense of right and wrong, is shocked, 
 when old age bedizens itself with the flowers of youth ; when 
 our grandmothers disport themselves in the costume proper to 
 their granddaughters. 
 
 12. A fool may dress gaudily,, but a fool cannot dress well, for 
 to dress well requires judgment ; and Rochefoucault says with 
 truth, ‘ Oji est quelquefois un sot avec de 1 ' esprit, mais on ne Vest 
 jamais avec du jugement.^ 
 
 13. There may be fnore pathos in the fall of a collar, or the 
 curl of a lock, than the shallow think for. Should we be so apt 
 as we are now to compassionate the 7 nisfortunes, and to forgive the 
 insincerity, of Charles I., if his pictures had portrayed him in a 
 bob-wig and a pig-tail I Vandyck was a greater sophist than 
 Homer. 
 
 14. The most graceful principle of dress is neatness ; the inost 
 vulgar is preciseness. 
 
 15. Dress co 7 itains but two codes of morality — private and 
 public. Attefition is the duty we owe to others ; cleanlmess that 
 which we owe to ourselves. 
 
 16. Dress so that it may 7 iever be said of you, ‘ What a well- 
 dressed man P — but, ‘ What a gentle 77 ian-like 77 ian 
 
 It would be better, I think, to dress so as to call forth no 
 remark at all. A popular journalist acutely remarks that 
 ^ when the woman is very pretty, one never looks at her dress ; 
 and when the toilette is very striking, one forgets to look at 
 the wearer. In the first case, the dress is an adjunct to the 
 woman ; in the latter the woman is an accessory of the dress.’ 
 And he proceeds to relate an experience of his own at a ball 
 given by Royalty. ‘ There was present,’ he says, ‘ a perfect 
 costume of dark sage-green and velveteen and old gold plush, 
 the latter in small quantities. The man-o’-war cap was of old 
 gold plush, and the manner of the whole get-up was as excellent 
 
MAXIMS UPON DRESS. 
 
 173 
 
 as the colouring. But what was the wearer like ? Well, 
 though I looked at her several times, I have not retained any 
 idea of her. The dress effaced her I On the other hand, a 
 very charming woman with dark eyes and hair of real gold, 
 whose figure was absolute perfection, appears now, in my 
 recollection of her, to have walked about in a kind of cloud of 
 creamy whiteness, with a halo of the same, which I suppose 
 must have been a bonnet or a hat, or perhaps a parasol.’ 
 
 Men and women endeavour to attract notice by their dress 
 only when they are aware there is nothing attractive in them- 
 selves. 
 
 17. Avoid many colours ; and seek^ by some one prevalent and 
 quiet tint^ to sober down the others. Apelles used oiily four 
 colours^ and always subdued those which were fnore Jloi'id by a 
 darkening va^mish. 
 
 It is one of the few things for which we have to thank the 
 aesthetic craze that the love of showy, vivid colours has died 
 out, and a wise partiality crept in for soft cool hues and quiet 
 neutral tints. ‘The fine full tones of blue and green, the 
 bright pinks, the orange -yellow,’ which once made our wives 
 and daughters look like walking bits of rainbow, or as if they 
 had heaped on their raiments the loudest colours on the 
 painter’s pallette, are no longer to be seen, and harmony of 
 tints is more highly prized than violent effects. It is possible 
 to err in this direction, and one does not wish to see society 
 dissolving away into vague neutral shades which almost escape 
 the eye ; still, even this would be better than the old extreme 
 which attired it in all the showiness of a kaleidoscope. 
 
 1 8. Nothing is step er fid al to a deep observer I It is in trifles 
 
 that the mind betrays itself. In what part of that letter said a 
 kmg to the wisest of living diploinatists., ‘ did you discover irreso^ 
 hition ? ‘ In it’s u’s and g’s,’ was the answer. 
 
 Yet it must be a trifling mind which can allow itself to be 
 absorbed in trifles ; and the man or woman who devotes all 
 his or her time and thought to dress should 7 nake it, not 
 wear it ! 
 
 19. A very benevolent 7nan will never shock the feelings of 
 others by an excess either of inattention or display ; you fnay 
 doubt^ therefore., the philanthropy both of a sloven and ci fop. 
 
 20. There is an indifference to please in a stocking down at 
 heel ; but there may be 7 nalevolence in a dmnond ring. 
 
174 
 
 EXPENDITURE ON DRESS. 
 
 21 . Inventions in dressing should resemble Addison's definition 
 of fine writing., and consist of ^ refinemefits which are natural^ 
 without being obvious. ' 
 
 22 . He who esteems trifles for themselves is a trifler ; he who 
 esteems thein fro77i the co7iclusions to be dra%vn fro77i tJwn^ or the 
 adva7itage to which they ca7i be put^ is a philosopher. 
 
 Whether these maxims will be of any considerable service to 
 the reader I will not conjecture ; but they are certainly not 
 without a certain amount of shrewdness and knowledge of the 
 world. To me, however, it seems that the whole philosophy of 
 dress, so far as the majority of ‘ respectable ^ and more than 
 (but not less than) respectable people are concerned, may be 
 summed up in much smaller compass. I should say, for in- 
 stance, that, in the first place, a man’s dress should suit his 
 income. The alliteration of dress and debt too often carries 
 with it the suggestion of a close relationship common enough 
 in every-day life ; yet, to plunge one’s self into the slough of 
 pecuniary despond simply for the sake of personal display ap- 
 pears so great a folly that it is difficult to conceive of its actual 
 commission. It is everybody’s duty to dress decently ; but no 
 one is required to dress ‘better’ — a vague and unmeaning 
 phrase, incapable of analysis — than he can afford. A man’s 
 expenditure upon dress should bear a fixed and a moderate ratio 
 to his income ; but obviously this ratio must not increase pro- 
 gressively with the increase of his means. If he have a 
 
 year, he may spend upon dress; if ;^Soo, he should not 
 
 spend more than^^qo ; if ^t,ooo, he will not require to spend 
 more than In the multitude of counsellors there may 
 
 be safety, but in the multiplying of clothes there is no glory. 
 We do not estimate our neighbours by the number of coats 
 they possess, nor is an additional pair of trousers an additional 
 claim to our esteem. If a friend come to dine with me, I ex- 
 pect that he will do as others do, and don a dress-coat ; but 
 I don’t require him to have three more dress-coats in his ward- 
 robe at home. 
 
 Next, we should dress according to our age. To the 
 thoughtful observer it is painful, to the caricaturist ridiculous, 
 to see an elderly gentleman attired in the loose costume of 
 youth, the lady of uncertain years flaunting about in the 
 fanciful and free garments of ‘sweet seventeen.’ Grey hair, 
 crow’s-feet about the eyes, bent shoulders, and the generous 
 
APPROPRIATENESS OF DRESS. 
 
 175 
 
 fulness of a ‘fair round body with good capon lined,’ do not 
 harmonise with ‘ pot hats,’ cut-away coats, turned-down collars, 
 and tight pantaloons. The combination is not according to 
 the eternal fitness of things. Let Youth wear the levities and 
 fripperies of youth ; while Old Age goes slowly and decorously, 
 with a gravity that commands respect. 
 
 VVe should dress, also, according to our social position. 
 There is a certain uniformity in all dress nowadays, it is true, 
 and no such class distinctions exist as were recognised even as 
 late as the last century. Duke and costermonger wear coats 
 of the same ‘ cut the lady of rank and the seamstress’s ap- 
 prentice alike figure in dresses generally of the same form, if, 
 indeed, it happen that the material of them varies. Yet a 
 difference does still obtain, and we are continually meeting 
 with persons of whom we say, ‘ They are dressed above their 
 station,’ and consequently above their means. No man with a 
 limited income should aspire to a fashionable appearance. 
 Let him be ‘point-device in his accoutrements,’ let neatness 
 stand impersonated in him, let his clothes be of good texture 
 and admirable cut, but let him keep within that class-limit 
 which is easily recognised though not easily defined. Quaint 
 old Brathwait discourses learnedly on this point : — 
 
 ‘ Reproofe touching Apparell may be occasioned when any 
 one weareth Apparell above their degree, exceeding their estate 
 in precious attire. Whence it is that Gregory saith : There bee 
 some who are of opinion that the weare of precious or sump- 
 tuous Apparel is no sinne ; which, if it were no fault, the 
 Divine Word would never have so punctually expressed, nor 
 historically related, how the Rich Man, who was tormented in 
 hell, was cloathed with Purple and Silke. . . . The second 
 point reprehensible is, Softnesse or Delicacy of Apparell : Soft 
 Cloathes introduce soft mindes. Delicacy in the habit begets 
 an effeminacy in the heart. . . . The third thing reproveable 
 is, Forraine Fashions : when we desire nothing more than to 
 bring in some Outlandish habit different from our owne ; in 
 which respect (so Apishly-anticke is man) it becomes more 
 affected than our owne. . . . The fourth thing reproveable is. 
 Superfluity of Apparell, expressed in these three particulars : 
 first, in those who have divers changes and suits of Cloathes ; 
 who had rather have their garments eaten by moaths, than they 
 3hould coyer the poore members of Christ . . . Secondly, wee 
 
176 
 
 ETIQUETTE OF DRESS. 
 
 are to consider the Superfluity of such [women] who will have 
 long garments purposely to seem greater ; yet, which of these 
 can adde one cubit to her stature ? This put me in remem- 
 brance of a conceited story which I have sometimes heard, of 
 a diminutive Gentleman who, demanding of his Taylor what 
 yards of Sattin would make him a suite, being answered farre 
 short in number of what hee expected, with great indignation 
 replied : Such an one of the Guard, to my knowledge, had 
 
 thrice as much for a suite, and I will second him/’ Which his 
 Taylor, with small importunacy, condescended to, making a Gar- 
 gantua’s suite for this Ounce of man’s flesh, reserving to him- 
 selfe a large portion of shreads, purposely to forme a fitter 
 proportion for his Ganemede [Ganymede]’s shape. . . . The 
 third Superfluity ariseth from their vanity who take delight in 
 wearing great sleeves, misshapen Elephantine bodies, traines 
 sweeping the earth, with huge poakes to shroud their phan- 
 tasticke heads.’ 
 
 As to the etiquette of dress, it is very simple; morning 
 costume should be worn (by gentlemen) up till four in the 
 afternoon; for full-dress matinees, concerts, ‘at homes,’ dinner 
 parties, and balls, evening dress; that is, black dress-coat, w'aist- 
 coat, and trousers, with white necktie. White waistcoats now 
 are seldom worn, except by waiters. Let your clothes be of 
 the best material and well-cut ; economy as well as good taste 
 confirms this recommendation. But it is in the quality (and 
 quantity) of your linen that you can best show your appreciation 
 of ‘the Beautiful and True.’ Do not wear shirts at 425*. per 
 dozen unless you are obliged ; let your collars, handkerchiefs, 
 socks, under-garments, all be of good make and shape. .Re- 
 member, too, that a gentleman is known by his boots ; your 
 ‘ snob ’ may put himself into a Poole’s coat, but his awkward 
 feet can never be inserted in a decent pair of boots. Don’t 
 affect singularity ; let your head-covering resemble as nearly as 
 possible that of other men, and, for goodness’ sake, don’t wear 
 any garments brought out by advertising tailors and hosiers, 
 and ticketed the Ajax scarf, or the Agamemnon necktie. Do 
 not indulge in violent colours; let your walking-dress be a 
 ‘ quiet ’ tweed of uniform shade, with a tie of neutral tint and 
 a black hat. If you carry an umbrella, let it be one fit to hold 
 over a lady’s head in a shower of rain, with a neat, light handle 
 simply ornamented. If you carry a stick, eschew the monstrosi-. 
 
LADIES^ DRESS, 
 
 i?7 
 
 ties in which ’Arry and Bob delight \ but on the other hand 
 avoid the pitiful abortion of a school which distinguishes itself 
 by aping simultaneously dandyism and decrepitude. If you are 
 going to pay visits doff your tweed walking-coat or jacket, and 
 don a neat frock-coat, which may be either black or a black- 
 blue. Your gloves, of course, will fit you like your skin ; the 
 best kid, of a colour to suit your clothes. As you are a gentle- 
 man, you will not be desirous of being mistaken for a groom, 
 and therefore will not dress like one. 
 
 Something must be said, I suppose, about ladies’ dress, but 
 it is a subject which I, as a member of the stronger sex, 
 approach with the utmost deference, if not with some mis- 
 giving. It is so comprehensive, so various, so complex. It 
 has, too, a technology of its own which no man, unless he be 
 a Worth, can pretend to have mastered. A page of a ‘ Fashion 
 Book will puzzle him more than a chorus of ^schylus !’ And, 
 besides, its changes are so sudden and so incomprehensible ] 
 at one time the feminine skirt is expanded like a balloon, 
 at another it is compressed and confined like a sack. At 
 one time the bodice is worn high and close about the neck, 
 at another it is as free and liberal as Nora Creina’s. There is 
 the gown of the present day; I do not think Mrs. Oliphant 
 has criticised it a jot too severely, and I intend to quote her 
 criticism. But who knows ? By the time this book is in the 
 reader’s hands it may have been discarded, and the female 
 form divine may once more be enclosed in an ample ring-fence 
 of crinoline. Here, however, is Mrs. Oliphant’s diatribe, which 
 I quote because, being written by a lady and a lady of un- 
 doubted culture, it cannot be ignored on the ground that it 
 springs from masculine incompetency : 
 
 ‘ Instead of flowing as a long skirt ought to do, it is pain- 
 fully bound in across the body like the swaddling-clothes which 
 are so pernicious to infants ; but worse than these, for no 
 swaddling-clothes that were ever invented confined the limbs ; 
 and the bondage of this dress at times reaches, or is said to 
 reach, the extravagance of preventing movement altogether, so 
 that a lady in full dress can hardly walk, can with difficulty get 
 upstairs, and cannot by any possibility sit down. We think 
 it proper to add that this is said to be the case. We have 
 never had the bad fortune to see an actual example which had 
 attained this climax of impossibility. All excessive fashions, 
 
 12 
 
178 
 
 A DIATRIBE AGAINST BLOOMER ISM, 
 
 however, belong to a small class; and the great majority of 
 womankind (as of mankind) are blamed for sins and absurdities | 
 committed by the few, and of which the many are entirely \ 
 
 innocent ; so that we do not presume to deny the fact so * 
 
 generally insisted upon. But the general approach. to such a 
 state of affairs is more dangerous than one extreme instance of , 
 extravagance now and then. We have never seen a lady who : 
 could not sit down, but we have seen many with, as the poet 
 describes, “ two shy knees tied in a single trouser,^’ and the 
 trouser itself so tightly strained that even the slim person of a 
 girl was pulled into unnecessary protuberances. This is so 
 far from being a pleasant spectacle that we cannot wonder at 
 the bitterness of the criticism it has called forth. The effect 
 upon elderly women whose persons are neither slim nor small 
 is proportionately terrible.' 
 
 If a male creature may be allowed to offer an opinion, I 
 would say that the so-called Princesse dress was the grace- 
 fullest and most becoming outer garment for women intro- 
 duced within the Victorian period. It was elegant in itself, 
 and it ‘ became ' everybody who wore it — the slender shaped 
 girl and the buxom matron, always provided the latter 
 allowed it a certain flowingness of outline and amplitude of 
 scope. With such a dress as the Princesse I think ladies are 
 well provided. For walking, however, they need a shorter 
 skirt, reaching just to the ankle. With a skirt so shortened, 
 they obtain all necessary freedom of movement, and are not 
 called upon to envy their Turkish sisters — who, by the way, 
 seldom walk at all — or to covet the baggy trousers invented by 
 Mrs. Bloomer. I, for one, deny the superior grace or 
 becomingness of the Turkish or Bloomer costume, which I 
 believe to be in favour only with eccentrics, or with simple- 
 minded females who have never seen it ‘ in real life.' Sure 
 am I that critics of my own sex would give an unanimous vote 
 in favour of the Princesse as opposed to the Oriental- American 
 creation ! Ladies of England, stick to that simple, flowing, 
 decorous garment, which you have inherited from northern 
 ancestresses; a garment which, when properly designed, is 
 equally adapted for young and old, for Pharaoh's lean kine 
 and Pharaoh's fat kine, for maid and matron, grand-daughter 
 and grandmother ; a garment which follows the general lines 
 of the figure with sufficient closeness, while never hazarding 
 
THE GRACE OF SIMPLICITY IN DRESS. 
 
 179 
 
 too plain an indication ; a garment which, with its tight-fitting 
 bodice and graceful skirt, is probably as near perfection as it 
 is possible for female humanity to attain ! 
 
 As to the general character of a lady’s dress, I suppose 
 nothing more can be said than was said so finely and concisely 
 by Ben Jonson more than three centuries ago; for though the 
 fashions of dress may change, the principles which should 
 regulate it are immutable : — 
 
 ‘ Still to be neat, still to be drest 
 As you were going to a feast ; 
 
 Still to be powdered, still perfumed : 
 
 Lady, it is to be presumed. 
 
 Though art’s hid causes are not found. 
 
 All is not sweet, all is not sound. 
 
 Give me a look, give me a face 
 That makes simplicity a grace ; 
 
 Robes loosely flowing, hair as free ; 
 
 Such sweet neglect more taketh me 
 Than all th’ adulteries of art : 
 
 They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.’ 
 
 The grace of simplicity is not sufficiently studied by some 
 of our leaders of fashion. On the contrary, they seem bent on 
 challenging one another to a competition in extravagant osten- 
 tation, and not only cross the boundaries of simplicity, but 
 even of modesty. Happily there are still thousands of English 
 ladies who are not infected by this vicious love of luxury and 
 show, who do not covet the distinction of being noticed in 
 Society-papers or of attracting the attention of a crowd at 
 public entertainments, who shun the meretricious honour of 
 appearing in shop-windows photographed in a curious variety 
 of dress and attitude. To dress for one's family circle — for 
 one’s parents, one’s husband, one’s lover, one’s friends — to 
 dress so that she shall please but not surprise, is all that a 
 true woman will aim at. Nor will she adhere slavishly to the 
 prevailing mode. She will not carry her individuality to eccen- 
 tricity, but she will individualise the fashion, adapting it to her 
 personal requirements, and restraining it within graceful and 
 gracious limits. In some recent advice by Ruskin she will 
 find much to meet her approval, as in all advice that is based 
 on good sense and moderation. 
 
 ‘ Dress,’ says Ruskin, ‘ as plainly as your parents will allow 
 you, but in bright (if not glaring) colours (if they become you), 
 and in the best materials ; that is to say, in those that will 
 
 12 — 2 
 
i8o GENERAL DIRECTIONS ABOUT LADIES^ DRESS. 
 
 wear longest. When you are really in want of a new dress, 
 buy it (or make it) in the fashion ; but never quit an old one 
 merely because it has become unfashionable. And if the 
 fashion be costly, you must not follow it. You may wear 
 broad stripes or narrow, light colours or dark, short petticoats 
 or long (in moderation), as the public wish you ; but you must 
 not buy yards of useless stuff to make a knot or a flounce of, 
 nor drag them behind you over the ground. And your walking- 
 dress must never touch the ground at all. I have lost much 
 of the faith I once had in the common-sense and personal 
 delicacy of the present race of average Englishwomen by 
 seeing how they will allow their dresses to sweep the streets, 
 as if it is the fashion to be scavengers. If you can afford it, 
 get your dresses made by a good dressmaker, with utmost 
 attainable precision and perfection.^ 
 
 Your dresses should be made ‘ to fit,’ not only as a matter of 
 personal adornment (which, however, is by no means to be 
 neglected), but because ill-fitting dresses provoke comment 
 and draw attention; and it should be a lady’s object to avoid 
 everything that savours of publicity. For the same reason 
 if it be well to follow the fashion, it must be done modestly, 
 and without unnecessary outlay. I say, unnecessary outlay, 
 because one of the great vices of English society at the present 
 day is its extravagance, and women’s extravagance is mainly 
 shown in their dress, often with sad consequences to their hus- 
 bands and themselves ; with loss of self-respect, domestic peace, 
 and even honour. 
 
 Your dresses should be made ‘to fit;’ but while neatness 
 should govern your costume in all its parts, do not fall into the 
 opposite extreme of rigid preciseness. I have seen ladies so 
 tied and laced and pinned up as to convey the impression that 
 if they moved the wondrous structure would perforce fall to 
 pieces. I have seen others with every ribbon and flounce and 
 furbelow so carefully arranged that you would think they had 
 been working out Euclid’s propositions in their silks and satins. 
 Give Nature room to breathe and move. Relieve the formal 
 regularity of your attire by the flow of a ribbon or the graceful 
 lines of a bit of prudent lace. With Herrick I am inclined to 
 say ; 
 
 ‘ A sweet disorder in the dress 
 Kindles in clothes a wantonness ; 
 
ABOUT COLOURS IN DRESS. 
 
 i8i 
 
 A lawn about the shoulders thrown 
 Into a fine distraction ; 
 
 An erring lace, which here and there 
 Enthrals the crimson stomacher ; 
 
 A cuff neglected, and thereby 
 Ribbons to flow confusedly ; 
 
 A winning wave, deserving note, 
 
 In the tempestuous petticoat ; 
 
 A careless shoe-string, in whose tie 
 I see a wild civility ; — 
 
 Do more bewitch me, than when art 
 Is too precise in every part.’ 
 
 In the masculine dress there is little or no opportunity for a 
 contrast or harmonious combination of colours ; but this is a 
 feature of the art of dressing which ladies will do well to study. 
 The costliest materials will fail to produce an agreeable impres- 
 sion unless their colours have been carefully blended. Let us 
 enter therefore into a few details. Colours are divided into 
 three classes : that is, simple or uncompounded : — 
 
 red, blue, yellow. Seco7idary, binary or compound colours, 
 each of which is formed by the mixture of equal parts of two of 
 the primaries : — purple (red and blue) ; green (yellow and blue) ; 
 orange (red and yellow). And tadiary\ binary or mixed colours, 
 formed by the mixture of equal parts of two of the secondaries : 
 — olive (purple and green) ; citrine (orange and green) ; russet 
 (orange and purple). The neutral colours are the greys, browns, 
 slates, drabs, and the like. 
 
 There is yet another division : make a splash of blue paint 
 on a white ground, fix the eye steadily upon it for a minute or 
 so, and then turn to the white, and you will see thereon a faint 
 image of the splash, but the colour will be orange. The colour 
 of any image or reflection of a primary is always that of the 
 secondary; and thus, as the colour of the object added to the 
 colour of the reflection makes up the colours of a ray of white 
 light, the colour of the reflection is called compkfnentm'y , In 
 other words, the complementary colour of any primary is the 
 compound of the two other primaries. 
 
 Primitive Colours, 
 
 Complementary Colours, 
 
 Red, 
 
 Blue, 
 
 Yellow. 
 
 Green, 
 
 Orange, 
 
 Purple. 
 
 Colours are also divided into warm (yellow, orange, red, 
 brown) ; and cold (olive, green, blue). Black and white, which, 
 
i 82 
 
 HARMONY OF COLOUR. 
 
 scientifically speaking, are not colours, become warm or cold 
 according to their position. Tones are the different degrees of 
 intensity of which a colour is susceptible according to the 
 admixture of white or black; but these are sometimes called 
 tints.^ when mixed with white, and shades^ when mixed with 
 black. Hues are the ‘ brightnesses ’ produced by the mixture 
 of two or more colours. 
 
 The object to be aimed at in dress is to secure a perfect 
 harmony of colour. For this purpose, we must take one 
 colour as the motive or basis of our dress, and work upon its 
 varieties. To begin with red : this, as the predominant colour 
 of a dress, could be worn by very few, but its numerous 
 varieties are deservedly popular. Scarlet, for instance, is used 
 to light up the neutral colours ; it also harmonises well with 
 white. Crimson requires white to soften it, or may be com.- 
 bined with blue and gold, or with purple and green. Claret 
 agrees with gold or orange. So does maroon, which may also 
 be used with green. Magenta is best set off by black. Cerise 
 will attune with lilac, silver grey, pale lavender, or may be 
 heightened by a dexterous use of gold and scarlet. As for 
 pink, its delicacy renders it unsuitable for any but the most 
 delicate complexions. The only decorations it will bear are 
 in black or white or silver grey. 
 
 Blue is suitable to most persons, but should be softened by 
 white when it comes in juxtaposition with the skin. How it looks 
 when it stands alone may be seen in Gainsborough’s famous pic- 
 ture of ‘ The Blue Boy.’ It harmonises with its complementary, 
 orange ; but fire and water are not more discordant than blue 
 and yellow. We can also combine blue with a warm brown, 
 crimson, and gold, or with black and purple. Light blue is a 
 trying colour, and by gaslight turns to pale green. When 
 worn, it should be treated abundantly with white, or with grey 
 or drab. 
 
 Yellonu is sometimes effective with brunettes. Black goes 
 well with it. But amber or orange is preferable ; the former, 
 especially, makes a handsome picture, as you may see in some 
 of Titian’s masterpieces. Primrose is fainter and more deli- 
 cate ; and may be treated with purple or cerise. A tall figure, 
 inclined to paleness, may wear orange and black, or orange 
 and purple. 
 
 Green is another difficult colour under gaslight, but may be 
 
TO TREAT DIFFERENT COLOURS, 
 
 183 
 
 worn in the day with combinations of white and scarlet. For 
 evening attire, it should be relieved with gold. Light green may 
 be used with white, or brown, or dark green. Dark green is a 
 favourite with the old painters, but requires to be relieved with 
 white, and treated for colour with a little crimson. 
 
 Purple is the regal colour, and the purpureum lunar is the 
 glory of the poets. It may be embellished with gold or orange, 
 or a little amber, or even scarlet. White should be used to relieve 
 it. Mauve, a new and popular variety, combines with cerise, 
 white, and gold. For slight mourning it may be treated with 
 black and white. Lavender, for half-mourning, requires black. 
 
 Grey, as a neutral colour, is generally useful and widely 
 popular. You will remember that the wife of ‘John Halifax, 
 Gentleman,’ always chose a rich soft grey for her principal 
 dress. It may be enriched with bright colours, even scarlet or 
 crimson, or treated with quiet tints. 
 
 Drab and Fawn are neutral colours, like grey, but some- 
 what warmer. They are susceptible of very various treat- 
 ment, and may be heightened or toned down according to the 
 wearer’s fancy. 
 
 Brown is a good useful colour, which may be relieved by 
 scarlet or dark blue or a touch of crimson. Charlotte Bronte 
 represents her heroine, Caroline Helstone, on one occasion, as 
 dressed ‘ in merino, the same soft shade of brown as her hair. 
 The little collar round her neck lay over a pink ribbon, and 
 was fastened with a pink knot.’ 
 
 Black, when not worn as mourning, may be treated with 
 crimson or white or a deep rich yellow. It is a colour almost 
 always becoming and appropriate, gives dignity to a petite 
 figure, and enhances the mien and bearing of a stately one. 
 George Eliot says of Gwendolen, that ‘ in her black silk, cut 
 square about the round white pillar of her throat, a black 
 band fastening her hair which streamed backwards in smooth 
 silky abundance, she seemed more queenly than usual.’ 
 
 White, the colour of virgins and brides, is equally suitable for 
 morning and evening dress ; only the material will be different. 
 White muslin or any kind of white cloth may be trimmed with 
 scarlet, magenta, cerise, dark green, dark blue ; white silk or 
 satin, with pink or pale green or azure. To refer again to 
 Gwendolen. At the archery fete she wore white cashmere, 
 with a^ touch of pale green to suit her complexion. White 
 
1 84 THE RIGHT DRESS AT THE RIGHT TIME, 
 
 tulle and tarlatan may be wornr over skirts of almost any 
 colour. 
 
 A word or two as to the right kind of dress to be worn at 
 the right time. 
 
 At dinner, a lady may wear blue, silver grey, maize, lavender, 
 black, and even pale green ; the material should be silk, satin, 
 or velvet ; the trimmings of Brussels, Mechlin, or Maltese lace. 
 For jewellery, pearls may be freely used; or emeralds or 
 diamonds as a brooch or neck ornament. Flowers are a 
 favourite ^ garnish.' At a ball, the dress may be of satin, tulle, 
 tarlatan : white tulle over white silk, or white tulle over pink 
 silk, being an appropriate combination for the young. The 
 hair should be coiffured with real flowers. There should be 
 little jewellery. Married ladies may venture on richer and 
 more elaborate costumes ; the young should trust to their 
 youth and beauty. 
 
 Court dress is thus described by an authority of good 
 repute : 
 
 It consists, first, of an entire dress, generally made of some 
 plain but costly silk (occasionally, of velvet). 
 
 The dress, therefore, forms an important part ; next comes 
 the petticoat, usually of some lighter material ; and, lastly, the 
 train. The dress is always made low, and is now generally cut 
 square ; the bodice is trimmed to correspond with the petti- 
 coat and the train. 
 
 The petticoat may be of tulle or Brussels or Honiton lace, 
 and is often looped up with flowers. 
 
 The train is of the richest material of the whole dress. For- 
 merly it was often of satin and is still, but the favourite mate- 
 rial is moire or glace silk. 
 
 It fastens half round the waist, and is about three yards 
 long and wide in proportion. All round it is trimmed with 
 lace in festoons or along the hem, with bunches of flowers at 
 intervals, and is usually lined with white silk. 
 
 The petticoat is ornamented with the same lace as the train : 
 sometimes in flounces, sometimes in puffings or honffons of 
 tulle, and sometimes en tabliei^ that is, down either side. 
 
 The bodice and sleeves are made to correspond exactly 
 with the train and petticoat. 
 
COURT DRESS AND WEDDING-DRESS. 185 
 
 The head-dress consists of feathers, and comprises a lappet 
 of lace depending from either side of the head down almost to 
 the tip of the bodice. Diamonds or pearls, or other jewels, 
 may flash amid the hair, and similar ornaments may gleam on 
 the bodice round the neck and arms. 
 
 The shoes should be of white satin, and trimmed d la mode. 
 The fan should be strictly a dress fan, the gloves should button 
 high above the wrist. 
 
 I transcribe from various sources a few descriptions of 
 dresses actually worn at recent fashionable assemblies, in the 
 belief that these will afford more direct instruction to my 
 readers than any amount of general comment: 
 
 ‘ At Balls a great many white dresses are simply trimmed 
 with coloured ribbons and flowers, foulard, faille, and satin 
 in light colours, such as pale blue, pink straw, and Ophelia, 
 the new shade, like a pink-tinted mauve, and are worn with 
 white tulle and silk muslin overskirts.’ 
 
 At a Wedding I read of ‘ one lady in dark-green velvet, with 
 a large bunch of crimson roses fastened on the shoulder of 
 another, ‘ in violet silk another, ^ in a soft pale shade of 
 lavender, and daruask roses in her bonnet of another, ‘ in 
 sapphire velvet and old point yet another, ‘ in chocolate and 
 cream another, ‘ in gold and wine colour and another, ‘ in 
 salmon and ruby brocade, with bronze velvet’ 
 
 At a Ball : — ‘ White and gold brocade, with skirt of white 
 satin, and a gorgeous coronet of diamonds.’ . . . ‘Cream satin.’ 
 ‘ Pompadour satin, with a crimson scarf arranged round the 
 head.’ ... ‘A black dress trimmed with jet, with a profusion 
 of flowers.’ . . . ‘Black velvet trimmed with magnificent old 
 lace.’ 
 
 At Ascot : — ‘ A wonderful dress of white brocaded velvet, 
 worn with a bonnet of real flowers.’ . . . ‘ A white satin dress 
 embroidered with black chenille and trimmed with a heavy 
 fringe of white chenille and jet’ . . . ‘ A dress of some soft 
 kind of semi-transparent stuff in a pale shade of primrose. 
 The very large straw hat was trimmed with real roses. More 
 roses on the dress and parasol.’ . . . ‘ A ruff of coffee-coloured 
 lace, in which nestles a garland of Marshal Niel roses ; a 
 tightly-fitting dress of velvet of the exact tint of the roses ; a 
 scarlet parasol, overshadowing a little crimped satin bonnet 
 with more roses.’ 
 
i86 
 
 DRESS FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS, 
 
 At a Wedding: — ‘A dark claret velvet embroidered with 
 gold, and a heliotrope velvet with coffee lace and yellow 
 roses.’ 
 
 At Hiirlingham : — ^For the most part the dresses were both 
 becoming and pretty, a preference being shown for such pale 
 tints as cream colour, primrose, and blush-rose pink, a shade 
 that is almost white, but with a delicious warm hue thrown 
 over it, silver grey, and maize. Heliotrope colour appears to 
 have taken a new lease of popular favour. Quite a fourth of 
 the costumes,” says a Society journal, “ had some mixture of 
 this tint, if not consisting entirely of it. An olive-green velvet 
 dress of a pale shade opened over a petticoat of gathered helio- 
 trope satin. The bonnet was made of heliotrope blooms and 
 pansies in various shades of mauve and violet, with pale sage- 
 green leaves ; and the parasol was of heliotrope satin, em- 
 broidered with heliotrope flowers and pansies in chenille, a 
 material that gave a velvety softness to the embroidery.” ’ 
 
 At a State Coricert : — ‘The Princess of Wales wore myrtle- 
 green velvet and satin ; and Princess Christian violet brocade 
 and mauve satin trimmed with lace ; the Duchess of Connaught, 
 cream-coloured satin trimmed with brown lace ; the Duchess 
 of Teck, dark-blue velvet and satin ; the Duchess of Marl- 
 borough, brocaded Irish poplin ; and the Duchess of West- 
 minster, sky-blue satin, with jacket of lace, and an immense 
 bouquet of red roses. Lady Grosvenor was in white and 
 silver.’ 
 
 At a Garden Party : — ‘ Olive-coloured satin shot with pale 
 blue, waistcoat of the latter colour, and bonnet of olive . 
 ‘grey satin, with fichu and trimmings of Indian muslin, and 
 grey satin bonnet with white feather ‘ black and gold 
 . . . ‘dark-blue velvet;’ . . . ‘white silk with black trim- 
 mings.’ 
 
 In dress, as in all other things, I repeat that the error mainly to 
 be avoided is exaggeration. It is pitiful to see how many there 
 are whose constant object appears to be to push the fashion to 
 an extreme, who are never satisfied unless all eyes are drawn 
 upon them by their prononce and outrageous costume. Startling 
 contrasts of colour and wild eccentricities of shape are what their 
 souls delight in. They lie in wait, as it were, for something 
 new, and whenever it appears hoist the signal of innovation 
 without giving any thought to its fitness or elegance, its con- 
 
DJ^£SS ACCORDING TO AGE. 
 
 187 
 
 veniency or grace. This ostentation of waywardness is quite 
 inexcusable in the young, because youth is in itself a charm 
 and always looks best when undisguised in its fair simplicity. 
 The sweet freshness and beautiful purity of youth needs no 
 adventitious embellishment ; like the poet’s Pyrrha, it is sim- 
 plex munditiis. ‘ For dowagers and married women it is 
 another story. They may have to repair the ravages of time, 
 or to conceal imperfections which in youth are overlooked. 
 But even they only make matters worse if they attract attention 
 to themselves by the exaggerated use of any prevailing fashion. 
 If it be easy for the young to dress well, because nothing comes 
 amiss to them ; it is difficult for their elders to do so, who will 
 not accept the fact that they are no longer young.’ There is a 
 great art in being able to recognise one’s position, be it what 
 it may. The sight of an old woman, wrinkled and grey, decked 
 out in every colour of the rainbow and adorned with artificial 
 flowers, affecting a youth which has slipped away from her 
 long ago, is enough to make the observer sad ; while there is 
 something attractive in the sight of one who does not care to 
 fight against her age and infirmities, but who, dressing simply, 
 soberly, and quietly, accepts gracefully the fact that she is old 
 and can discern a blessing in the calm and hush of old age. But 
 the worst exaggeration is that which leads society to imitate the 
 demi-monde — which attires a pure young maiden in the style 
 rendered notorious by some brazen adventuress. When fashion 
 runs riot in the monstrous, the ugly, the inconvenient, it is 
 possible for the cynic to laugh without much bitterness ; but 
 when it indulges in the suggestive, in that trespassing on the 
 bounds of indelicacy which is euphoniously designated ‘ fast,’ 
 the laugh grows savage indeed, and he may be pardoned an 
 outburst of indignation at the madness, the wickedness of such 
 a procedure. To the pure all things are pure, in the sense 
 that all their surroundings, all their motives, all their thoughts 
 and feelings must be pure. 
 
CHAPTER VL 
 
 THE ART OF CONVERSATION. 
 
 ‘ The study of books is a languishing and feeble motion, that heats not, 
 whereas conference teaches and exercises at once. ... I love stout expres- 
 sions amongst brave men, and to have them speak as they think.’ — Thomas 
 Fuller. 
 
 Quotation from William Melmoth — Advantages of Interchange of 
 Opinion — Dangers of Intellectual Isolation — Reciprocal Formation 
 of Judgment — General Rules for the Use of Talkers — A Caution 
 against Compliments — Avoid Calumny, Exaggeration, Ill-nature, Mis- 
 representation — An Anecdote of a Good Listener — Conversation in 
 Modern Society — An Apology for Ball-room Small Talk — The Art of 
 Talking Platitudes well — Small Talk and very Small Talk — Casting 
 Pearls before Swine is Unprofitable — Hints for Talkers in Miscellaneous 
 Company — Frivolity and Vapidity of Ordinary Conversation — Dean 
 Swift upon Conversation — Talking too Much — Talking of One’s Self 
 — Repealing Old Jokes and Old Stories — Interrupting Others and 
 being Interrupted — The Witty Element of Conversation and Small 
 Talk — The Small Talker and the Dinner Table — Very Small Talk. — ■ 
 The Age of the Great Talkers is Past — Luther, Scaliger, Perron, 
 Menage — Lord Bacon as a Talker — Lord Bacon on Conversation — 
 Ben Jonson, Selden, Dr. Johnson — Walpole, Chesterfield, and some 
 other Great Talkers — Sydney Smith and the Charm of his Conversa- 
 tion — A Warning against ‘ Talking Shop’ — Know when to be Silent 
 — Hannay on the Talk of To-day. 
 
 HE art of conversation is one which boasts not only 
 of a magnificent, but even of a sacred charter : 
 ‘ Iron sharpeneth iron ; so a man sharpeneth the 
 countenance of his friend.’ ^ As in water face 
 answereth to face, so the heart of man to man.’ 
 (Proverbs xxvii. 17, 19.) 
 
 Thomas P'uller, who supplies the motto of this chapter, has 
 some fine passages about conversation, as tending to correct 
 prejudice and to dissipate the errors of opinion formed in 
 
THE FREE COMMUNICATION OF SENTIMENTS. 189 
 
 solitariness. Their sense is to a great extent embodied in a 
 more modern and condensed form in a'^passage by William 
 Melmoth, the translator of the Letters of the younger Pliny 
 and the author of Letters 07 i Literary and M07M Subjects. 
 
 ‘ It is with much pleasure/ writes Melmoth, ^ I look back at 
 that philosophical week which I lately enjoyed; as there is 
 no part, perhaps, of social life which affords more real satis- 
 faction than those hours which one passes in rational and 
 unreserved conversation. The free communication of senti- 
 ments amongst a set of ingenious and speculative friends, such 
 as those you gave me the opportunity of meeting, throws the 
 mind into the most advantageous exercise, and shows the 
 strength or weakness of its opinions with greater force of con- 
 viction than any other method we can employ. 
 
 ‘ That “it is not good for man to be alone,” is true in more 
 ways of our species than one ; and society gives strength to our 
 reason as well as polish to our manners. The soul, when left 
 entirely to her own solitary contemplations, is insensibly drawn 
 by a sort of constitutional bias, which gradually leads her 
 opinions to the side of her inclinations. Hence it is that she 
 contracts those peculiarities of reasoning, and little habits of 
 thinking, which so often confirm her in the most fantastical 
 errors ; but nothing is more likely to recover the mind from 
 this false bent than the counter-warmth of impartial debate. 
 Conversation opens our views and gives our faculties a more 
 vigorous play ; it puts us on turning our notions on every 
 side, and holds them up to a light that discovers those 
 latent flaws which would probably have lain concealed in the 
 gloom of unagitated abstraction. Accordingly, one may 
 remark that most of those wild doctrines which have been 
 let loose upon the world, have generally owed their birth to 
 persons whose circumstances or dispositions have given them 
 the fewest opportunities of canvassing their respective systems 
 in the way of free and friendly debate. Had the authors of 
 many an extravagant hypothesis discussed their principles in 
 private circles, ere they had given vent to them in public, the 
 observation of Varro had never, perhaps, been made (or never, 
 at least, with so much justice), that “there is no opinion so 
 absurd but has some philosopher or other to produce in its 
 support.” 
 
 ‘ Upon this principle I imagine it is that some of the finest 
 
190 
 
 ART OF CONVERSATION. 
 
 pieces of antiquity are written in the dialogue manner. Plato 
 and Tully, it should seem, thought truth could never be 
 examined with more advantage than amidst the amicable 
 opposition of well-regulated converse.' 
 
 It is not possible to teach an art of conversation. On the 
 other hand, it is not difficult to lay down certain general rules, 
 the observance of which must be held as indispensable to your 
 success- as a conversationalist in Society — that is, as a talker 
 who talks not to display his wit or acquirements, but to promote 
 the comfort of the company in which he finds himself. 
 
 1. For example, you must avoid all elaborate discussion of 
 political and religious subjects. Our differences on these points 
 go very deep, and any debate which forces them on our con- 
 sideration cannot fail to awaken permanent feelings of irritation 
 and dislike. 
 
 2. However much in the right, you must yield with a good 
 grace when you perceive that persistence in ventilating your 
 opinions will result in open variance. 
 
 3. To talk politics in the presence of ladies is generally a 
 proof that the talker is deficient in tact as well as in politeness. 
 
 4. The true spirit of conversation consists less in displaying 
 one's own cleverness than in bringing out the cleverness of 
 other people. The person who quits your company satisfied 
 with himself and with what he has said, will assuredly be quite 
 as satisfied with you. 
 
 5. To listen well is almost as indispensable as to talk well; 
 and it is by the skill with which he listens that the man of hon 
 ton and of good society is known. If you wish people to listen 
 to you, you must listen to them, — a French writer adds, ‘ or 
 seem to do so ;' but I cannot recommend any such insincerity 
 or deception, which, moreover, I believe in the long-run will 
 prove of no avail. 
 
 6. There is quite as much cleverness shown in listening well 
 as in talking well. 
 
 7. Let not your patience give way when elderly people are 
 garrulous. Respect old age, even when it twaddles : you your- 
 self may live to require the indulgence which you are now 
 recommended to exercise. 
 
 8. There are social Munchausens whose narratives make 
 tremendous demands on your credulity. Do not express your 
 belief in what you disbelieve, for that would be to utter a false- 
 
SOME GENERAL RULES FOR TALKERS, 
 
 191 
 
 hood j do not express an open dissent, for that would be to 
 commit a rudeness. Take refuge in a courteous silence, and — 
 change the subject. 
 
 9. I do not know that I need repeat the minute advice of 
 the author of the ‘ Manuel du Bon Ton,’ that, when anyone is 
 speaking, we should not yawn, or hum an air, or pick our teeth, 
 or drum with our fingers on a piece of furniture, or whisper in a 
 neighbour’s ear, or take a letter out of our pocket and read it, 
 or look at our watch ; and yet the advice is not wholly un- 
 necessary, for when a bore afflicts us it is difficult to avoid 
 showing our boredness, and in our mood of disgust and weariness 
 we almost unconsciously resort to various ways of relieving oui 
 feelings at the expense of our politeness. But even this imper- 
 tinence sinks into the shade before the rudeness of interrupting 
 a speaker, even if it be to expose a fallacy or correct a matter of 
 fact, or to suggest a word or phrase to help him out of a slough 
 of hesitation. Be sure that he whom you interrupt will never 
 forgive you. You may take away a man’s character, and the 
 chances are he will pardon you j but if you wound his vanity, 
 never ! 
 
 10. Do not give another, even if it be a better, version of a 
 story already told by one of your companions. 
 
 11. Be careful how you distribute praise or blame to your 
 neighbours ; some of those present will have their prejudices 
 or partialities, which you will be sure to offend. 
 
 12. Speak of yourself as little as possible. If you speak in 
 praise, you expose yourself to ridicule ; if you blame yourself, 
 nobody will think you in earnest, and it will be assumed 
 that you are seeking for compliments, or that you are affecting 
 an Uriah Heap-like humility ; or, if your vanity be excused, 
 it will be at the expense of your intelligence, — if you are not 
 vain, you must be stupid. 
 
 13. Do not ‘ talk shop ;’ that is, unless specially requested, do 
 not talk of your professional occupation, or private studies, or 
 personal belongings ; neither of your house, nor your wife, your 
 servant, your maid, nor your ox, nor your ass. Society will more 
 easily forgive you for coveting your neighbour’s than for extolling 
 your own. Obviously it is a work of supererogation ; for, if all 
 that you have is all that you represent it to be, it will speak for 
 itself ; and if it be not, your exaggerations will but direct the 
 microscopic eye of criticism to its deficiencies. 
 
192 
 
 SOME GENERAL RULES FOR TALKERS. 
 
 14. Do not pay compliments, unless you can do so with 
 
 grace, and in such a manner that, though the person on whom 
 the sweet flattery is bestowed recognise it as undeserved, he or she 
 may still believe that on your part it is perfectly sincere. Dean 
 Swift says, pithily : ‘ Nothing is so great an instance of ill- 
 manners as flattery. If you flatter all the company, you please 
 none ; if you flatter only one or two, you affront the rest.^ But 
 an elegant compliment at an opportune moment, and spoken 
 with an air of frankness, carries with it an irresistible charm. 
 Thus Chateaubriand, when an old man, met Rachel, the tra- 
 gedienne, then in the first flush of her fame. ‘ What a pity,’ he 
 exclaimed, ‘to be obliged to die, when so much genius is 
 making its appearance in the world !’ ‘ In some cases it may 
 
 be so,’ answered Rachel ; ‘ but you know, sir, there are some 
 who possess the privilege of immortality.’ That was a graceful 
 turn of Sydney Smith’s, when the young lady asked him if he 
 could not bring a certain pea to perfection. ‘ No,’ he said ; 
 ‘ but,’ and he took her by the hand, ‘ I can bring perfection to 
 the pea.’ If you can frame such elegant speeches as these, my 
 dear sir, go on and prosper ; but, I pray you, remember that an 
 awkward compliment is next of kin to an open insult. 
 
 15. In a stormy discussion, do not commit yourself to either 
 side — in medio tutissimus ibis. I need hardly observe, that if 
 everybody acted on this golden rule, there would be no stormy 
 discussions, to the great advantage of Society. Truth lies in a 
 well, I suppose, because it is always calm down there 1 
 
 16. Gesticulate as little as you can while speaking, lest you 
 should be mistaken for a bad actor. Some people spread out 
 their fingers like fans ; others point them at you menacingly, 
 like so many darts ; this man emphasizes his speech by bringing 
 down one unfortunate hand into the palm of the other ; that 
 man nods his head like a child’s toy figure, and carries his arm 
 up and down like a pump-handle. Oh, reform it altogether. 
 
 17. In a general conversation, never attempt to joke with 
 your superiors. 
 
 18. Never make fun (as it is called) out of personal defects. 
 Think of the children who mocked at Elijah. ‘ Go up, thou 
 bald head, go.’ 
 
 19. No gentleman uses an oath at anytime; nor will he 
 sprinkle his conversation with equivoques.^ indelicate allusions, 
 or double ente^idres. Remember St. Paul’s caution : ‘ Let no 
 
DO Mot TALk TOO MUCH, 
 
 193 
 
 corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth/ If a man 
 let down his bucket into a well, and bring up dirty water, we 
 know what must be at the bottom. 
 
 20. If not through goodness of heart, at least through pru- 
 dence, abstain from any remark coloured by exaggeration, 
 calumny, ill-nature, misrepresentation. Do not speak in epi- 
 grams. You cannot say a smart thing of any person without 
 being offensive. Douglas Jerrold was a great wit, but he was a 
 man of singular rudeness, and no doubt made many enemies. 
 When a member of his club, hearing a favourite air mentioned, 
 exclaimed : ‘ That always carries me away when I hear it,’ 
 Jerrold retorted: ‘Can nobody whistle it?’ This was very 
 funny, but it was not very courteous. On another occasion, a 
 gentleman, in a railway carriage, was descanting on the beauties 
 of Nature. ‘ In reading in the fields,’ he said, ‘ sometimes a 
 cow comes and bends its head over me. I look up benignantly 
 at it.’ ‘With a filial smile,’ said Jerrold. Even if such im- 
 pertinences be forgiven in a wit, they will not be forgiven in 
 persons who are not witty but only ill-natured. 
 
 21. Lastly, do not talk too iimch. Even the listeners and 
 admirers who gathered round Macaulay longed occasionally 
 for ‘ flashes of silence ;’ and with inferior conversationalists 
 the desire for some interruption of the flow of talk becomes 
 infinitely stronger. Oh the misery of it when some inordinate 
 gossip gets you by the button-hole and drums away at your 
 aching tympanum with an incessant crash of prattle ! It is a 
 flood, resistless, overwhelming ! You feel as if drowned in it^ 
 at first you struggle, and gasp, and clutch at this reed and at 
 that, but in vain — the waters continue to rise until you are 
 overwhelmed. A good story is told of a certain clever lady of 
 fashion, who was one of those relentless and irresistible conver- 
 sationalists. Some unkind friends, resolved to compensate 
 themselves for their sufferings by mercilessly exposing her, asked 
 permission to introduce to her notice a young gentleman of 
 unusual ability. She consented, and very graciously received 
 him ; but before he had time to open his mouth she launched 
 into the stream of talk, discussing all kinds of topics, and 
 pelting him with volleys of questions to which she allowed him 
 no opportunity of making a reply. At last the gentleman 
 moved, and took leave. 
 
 ‘ Well, what do you think of him ?’ inquired his introducers. 
 
 13 
 
194 INFLUENCES UNFAVOURABLE TO CONVERSATION. 
 
 ^ A very agreeable man, and most intelligent ; it is long since 
 I have met anyone so thoroughly well informed.' 
 
 ‘ Your judgment is quite correct,' was the reply. ‘ Poor 
 fellow ! he has only one fault, or rather misfortune. 'Tis sad 
 that one so agreeable and well-informed should be — deaf and 
 dumb !' 
 
 It cannot be said that Society affords many opportunities for 
 conversation, properly so-called. Nowadays, amusements are 
 so many that our time is cut up into a number of little pieces, 
 not one of which allows of the feast of reason and the flow of 
 soul. A Sydney Smith or a Macaulay, a Curran or Erskine, 
 would have been puzzled to begin or carry on any intellectual 
 fencing in the brief space allowed to a matinee or a kettledrum, 
 a picnic or a garden-party. There is time, perhaps, for a little 
 persiflage, a repartee or two, a gay allusion, a veiled com- 
 pliment, but not for any grave and serious discussion of any 
 great and serious topic. So I fear that the race of Great Talkers 
 is dying out, and conversation becoming more and more the 
 property of the flaneur and the flirt. Would it were otherwise 
 — but in London Society the obvious tendency is to reduce 
 conversation to something as unsubstantial and vague as the 
 melting snow-flake. Of course, there are times when what may 
 be termed full-bodied conversation would be as much out of 
 place as full-bodied port — when light airy talk befits the situa- 
 tion and supplies the want. While you and your partner are 
 waiting your turn in the quadrille you can hardly be expected 
 to discuss mysteries as grave as those which the Archangel 
 Gabriel discussed with Adam. While driving down to Rich- 
 mond with Laura and Kate, a dissertation on the English 
 system of Land-tenure may be fairly considered out of place. 
 When helping a pretty girl up the rocks at Tunbridge Wells, I 
 am not prepared to deliver a lecture on Esthetics. The uni- 
 versal fitness of things would be outraged by such conversa- 
 tional monstrosities. 
 
 A great deal is said about the inanity of Ball-room conver- 
 sation j and I am not inclined to defend it. Indeed, I am 
 certainly of opinion that a couple of liberally well-educated 
 persons should be able to say something moderately sensible 
 to one another ; but it should not be forgotten that the difficul- 
 ties are many which lie in the way of holding any intelligent 
 connected discussion at all in ordinary ball-rooms, during the 
 
BALL-ROOM PLATITUDES, 
 
 195 
 
 periods of the waltz and the intricacies of the quadrille. ^ In 
 the first place/ as a recent writer observes, ‘ two people are 
 introduced to each other who have never met before, and, it is 
 very likely, will never meet again. Under the hopeless con- 
 ditions of heat, rapid exercise, excitement, and often fatigue as 
 well, these two are thrown together into a sort of public tHe-a- 
 tete, neither having the smallest clue to the tone of the other’s, 
 mind, and neither possessing, as far as they know, any ideas in 
 common. Is it worth while trying to find kindred topics for 
 the ten minutes or quarter of an hour that their companionship 
 lasts ? Surely the mental exertion is too great, and it is scarcely 
 surprising that, under circumstances so unfavourable to con- 
 versation in its higher sense, ball-goers should save themselves 
 trouble by falling back upon “ stock subjects,’' should reiterate 
 platitudes night after night, and ‘Uock-up” their intellectual 
 abilities.' 
 
 What ball-goers want is the art of treating platitudes with 
 grace and freshness, just as a skilful cook converts the com- 
 monest materials into piquant dishes. It should not be impos- 
 sible for a well-educated young Englishman to entertain his 
 partner ‘ for ten minutes or a quarter of an hour ’ — not with the 
 higher conversation, but with lively and pertinent remarks 0.1 
 the topics of the season. Surely it is not necessary that hi 
 should degenerate into meaningless babble about ‘ Shakespeare 
 and the musical glasses.' And his partner may reasonably be 
 expected to assist him by the vivacity and good sense of her 
 replies. Unfortunately, the English demoiselle spirituelle is too 
 often given to mistake sauciness for wit : as in Punches sketch, 
 where a shy young man is overwhelmed by one of these irre- 
 pressibles, who demands of him : ‘Pray, sir, have you no con- 
 versation?' — a question which would make any reply almost 
 impossible. 
 
 The writer already quoted observes, with much good sense, 
 that society is, and always must be, to a certain extent, frivo- 
 lous. It is intended for recreation, not for work ; for relaxa- 
 tion, not for fresh application; it is the playground of civilisation, 
 where a great deal of what children call ‘make-believe' neces- 
 sarily goes on ; where all of us are more or less distinctly acting 
 parts, and hiding our real selves under a fanciful mask. It is 
 hardly to be expected, therefore, that a very elevated conversa- 
 tional standard will either be aimed at or sustained. And while 
 
 13—2 
 
196 
 
 SMALL TALK. 
 
 young men remain what they are, I think it may be taken for 
 granted that a lady’s success in the ball-room will depend more 
 on her good looks, grace of manner, and pleasantness of speech, 
 than on her intellectual powers or conversational gifts. A pair 
 of bright eyes will outshine the highest mental endowments ; 
 now, as ever, young Paris gives the golden apple to the fairer, 
 to Aphrodite and not to Pallas — detiir piilchriori. ’Tis pity it is 
 true, perhaps ; and yet, after all, we do not all of us go to the ball- 
 room to seek a wife, a partner for life, but a partner for waltz or 
 quadrille ; and a good dancer, for the nonce, is of more value to 
 us than a female wrangler. There is no reason, indeed, why 
 Pallas should not assume the graces of Aphrodite — why the 
 female wrangler should not dance like a sylph ; but until this 
 consummation is arrived at, sylphs will be more popular than 
 wranglers in ball-rooms, and the conversation will not rise above 
 the sylph-level ! 
 
 The basis of all ordinary social conversation must necessarily 
 be small talk : that is, it must, to a great extent, be talk upon 
 small subjects. We cannot expect to find at a dinner-party, or 
 an ‘ at home,’ a group of people competent, at a moment’s notice, 
 to discuss the great subjects of human thought and speculation ; 
 to investigate scientific problems ; or to inquire into those 
 mutations of peoples and governments which make up the 
 record of history. When Tennyson invited Frederick Denison 
 Maurice to his island home, for the enjoyment of honest talk 
 and wholesome wine, he set before the expected guest a varied 
 and attractive bill of fare. The great wants of the day were 
 not to be forgotten, 
 
 ‘ Whether war’s avenging rod 
 Should lash all Europe into blood 
 
 nor important social questions . . . 
 
 ‘ How best to help the slender store, 
 
 How mend the dwellings of the poor ; 
 
 How gain in life, as life advances. 
 
 Valour and charity more and more.’ 
 
 But then, these were not for the entertainment of a miscel- 
 laneous company of guests ; they were reserved for two con- 
 genial spirits, the poet and his friend, whose minds and hearts 
 were linked together by common interests and sympathies. 
 You may probably remember Dr. Johnson’s hints upon con- 
 versation — which no one was better able to throw out than the 
 
DR. JOHNS ON^S HINTS UPON CONVERSATION. 197 
 
 greatest talker of his time — and you will know that in our social 
 gatherings they can seldom be reduced to practice. We are to 
 choose a conversational style proper to the company. . . Heaven 
 help us when that company consists of young men of the crutch 
 and toothpick school, old men who borrow their ideas from their 
 favourite daily papers, and ^ the milky rabble of womankind T 
 . . . The scholastic we are to use only in a select company 
 of learned men. The didactic is to be seldom employed, and 
 only by judicious aged persons, or those who are eminent (who 
 is to decide their eminence?) for piety and wisdom. No style, 
 we are assured, is more extensively acceptable than the narra- 
 tive, because this does not carry an air of superiority over the 
 rest of the company, and therefore is most likely to please them ; 
 for this purpose we should store our memory with short anec- 
 dotes and entertaining pieces of history. Almost everyone, 
 says Johnson, listens with eagerness to extemporary history. 
 ‘Vanity often co-operates with curiosity, for he that is a hearer 
 in one place, wishes to qualify himself to be a principal speaker 
 in some inferior company, and therefore more attention is given 
 to narrations than anything else in conversation.’ It may pro- 
 bably be thought that a succession of ‘ narrations ’ will hardly 
 tend to exhilarate a company ; but pleasure is not favourable to 
 any effort in the direction of enlightenment. It is true, he admits, 
 that sallies of wit and quick replies are very pleasing in con- 
 versation, but they frequently tend to raise envy in some of 
 the company. And then, he adds, the narrative way neither 
 raises this, nor any other evil passion, but keeps all the com- 
 pany nearly upon an equality, and if judiciously managed, will 
 at once entertain and improve them all. 
 
 No doubt it would require to be ‘judiciously managed;’ 
 but I imagine that the most judicious management would fail 
 to make it acceptable to the ‘ company ’ we nowadays meet 
 with at our social entertainments. In truth, what is said 
 of the decline of letter-writing is true of the art of con- 
 versation. That art is fast dying out. The age of Great 
 Talk has been succeeded by that of Small Talk. There 
 is no time, as I have already pointed out, for the ex- 
 hibition of conversational powers even if we possessed 
 them. We are hurried to three or four parties in a night ; 
 and the numbers gathered at each makes general con- 
 versation impossible. We are forced to fall back upon our 
 
TRIFLING TALK UPON TRIFLES. 
 
 neighbours — Sir Bashford Ruggles, a retired stockbroker, 
 knighted because he presented a loyal address from some 
 City Company, or Miss Cimabue Brown, who breathes 
 nothing but Milies and languor,’ and lives in a kind of mild 
 aesthetic dream. It is to be observed that conversation will 
 always sink to the average level of the company. You will 
 soon find yourself delivering a monologue if you rise above 
 the usual tone of thought and feeling of your companions. 
 
 I wish it were otherwise. It is my belief that few persons 
 realise the entire vapidity and feebleness of the conversation in 
 which day after day, and night after night, they take a part ; 
 and I feel sure they would be surprised, and I hope ashamed, 
 if a shorthand writer’s faithful transcript of it could be brought 
 before them. Let them ask themselves whether, next morning, 
 they can remember that one wise or witty thing has been said, 
 one great truth enforced or illustrated, one generous sentiment 
 uttered. Two or three hundred people meet together at a 
 reception, and the collision of their wits does not strike out a 
 single spark ! A dozen pairs of educated persons assemble 
 round a friend’s ‘ hospitable board,’ and are thrown into con- 
 tact for two or three hours, and what is the result of it? No 
 doubt, there are exceptions ; no doubt, conversation still 
 lingers in some small and select circles — in artistic and literary 
 gatherings ; but I am speaking of society generally, and I 
 venture to say that the conversation of society is as silly as it 
 is dull ; that it seldom rises even to the standard of the 
 dialogue in the Robertsonian drama. 
 
 This might easily be altered, if men and women would allow 
 themselves to be more original. The majority of us, I am 
 willing to believe, can discourse sensibly upon most subjects if 
 we allow ourselves the chance. But society seems to have set 
 the stamp of Fashion upon desultory and idle talk, so that to 
 be a good talker is to earn the reputation of being an eccentric. 
 Of late years, society has deliberately given itself up to the evil 
 powers of Dulness and Folly; or when it ceases to be dull, it 
 becomes indecorous. A hostess is more anxious to obtain the 
 cheap notoriety of a paragraph in a Society journal, than to 
 collect about her a group of friends capable of originating and 
 sustaining an agreeable conversation. So she covers the walls 
 of her reception-rooms with costly tapestries, or converts them 
 into gigantic flower-shows, or fills them with women extrava- 
 
CONVERSATIONAL SOLOISTS, 
 
 199 
 
 gantly undressed, and ^ honest talk and wholesome wine ’ no 
 longer enter into the category of pleasures to be sought after 
 and provided. 
 
 Dean Swift, with his keen eye for the foibles of his fellows, 
 has put on record some faults in conversation that everybody 
 who wishes to talk and talk well should make it his business 
 to avoid. 
 
 He justly condemns the folly of talking too much. No one 
 man in a company has any right to predominate in length and 
 frequency of speech, any more than one player in an orchestra 
 has a right to convert the performance into a solo: The most 
 effective music is that in which each instrument has its proper 
 share. And then these soloists are generally so wearisome ! 
 How they wander from the main subject ; how they double 
 back upon their old track ; how they strike out in this direction 
 and in that only to plunge into a morass or be lost in a desert ; 
 how they repeat the same thing, though as it was not v/orth 
 saying at the outset, it is not made better by repetition ; and 
 how they put down all interruption by the steady and irresistible 
 flow of their platitudes ! But even if a man could talk like a 
 Macaulay, he has no right to prevent others from talking. 
 They have come not to hear a lecture, but to converse ; to 
 talk as well as to listen ; to contribute as well as to receive. 
 
 Still more wearisome is the talk of those who will only talk 
 of themselves ; whose everlasting ‘ I ’ recurs in their speech as 
 certainly as the head of Charles the First turned up in the 
 speech of Mr. Dick. They deluge their hearers with the 
 milk-and-water history of their sayings and doings from child- 
 hood upwards ; and relate the annals of their diseases, with all 
 the symptoms and attendant circumstances. To a talker of 
 this sort, to have had the measles is a boon— the small-pox, an 
 infinite delight ! He can make an hour’s soliloquy out of an 
 attack of asthma; and a fit of cholera will carry him round a 
 score of dinner-tables I Others, as the Dean remarks, are 
 more dexterous, and with great art will lie on the watch to 
 hook in their own praise : ‘ they will call a witness to re- 
 member they always foretold what would happen in such a 
 case, but none would believe them ; they advised such a man 
 from the beginning, and told him the consequences just as 
 they happened, but he would have his own way. Others make 
 a vanity of telling their own faults ; they are the strangest men 
 
200 
 
 SPECIAL TALKERS, 
 
 ill the world : they cannot dissemble ; they own it is a folly ; 
 they have lost abundance of advantages by it ; but if you would 
 give them the world they cannot help it ; there is something in 
 their nature that abhors insincerity and constraint, — with many 
 other insufferable topics of the same altitude/ 
 
 We should all of us wish to hear, I doubt not. Squire Hard- 
 castle’s story about ‘ grouse in the gun-room, but when a man 
 has only one story, and dins that story into your ears every time 
 he button-holes you, you may be excused for finding it de trop. 
 Variety is the life of conversation ; a good thing loses its good- 
 ness on repetition, just as claret and olives pall upon the palate 
 when they enter into our daily fare. The most successful 
 talker is the man who has most to say that is sensible and 
 entertaining on the greatest number of subjects. A specialist 
 can never make a good conversationalist ; his mind runs always 
 in the same groove, and cannot be got to run in any other. 
 He is like the man who had learned to paint for the innkeepers 
 a ‘red lion,’ and by constant practice had acquired some degree 
 of skill in this direction. When invited by a patron to paint 
 him an elephant, he refused, and only after much pressure 
 could be persuaded to consent, even then qualifying his con- 
 sent by the remark that he doubted whether, when the elephant 
 was finished, it could be distinguished from a red lion, after all ! 
 The specialist, in conversation, is always flourishing his ‘ red 
 lion,’ and when he seems for a moment to turn to the ‘ elephant,’ 
 you find, on examination, that it has still a good deal of the 
 ‘ red lion’ about it. 
 
 Swift comments upon two faults in conversation, which 
 appear very different, yet spring from the same root, and are 
 equally blameable : the first, an impatience to interrupt others ; 
 and the second, a great uneasiness when we are ourselves inter- 
 rupted. The chief objects of all conversation, whether con- 
 versation proper or small talk, are to entertain and improve our 
 companions, and in our own persons to be improved and enter- 
 tained ; and if we steadily aim at these objects, we shall cer- 
 tainly escape the two faults indicated by the Dean. If any 
 man speak in company, we may suppose that he does it for the 
 sake of his hearers, and not for his own ; so that common dis- 
 cretion will teach him not to force their attention if they are 
 unwilling to lend it, nor, on the other hand, to interrupt him 
 
 * See ‘ She Stoops to Conquer.* 
 
WIT AND REPARTEE. 
 
 201 
 
 who is in possession, because that is in the grossest manner to 
 indicate his conviction of his own superiority. 
 
 ‘ There are some people/ says Swift, ‘ whose good manners 
 will not suffer them to interrupt you ; but, what is almost as 
 bad, they will discover abundance of impatience, and be upon 
 the watch until you have done, because they have started some- 
 thing in their own thoughts which they long to be delivered of. 
 Meantime, they are so far from regarding what passes, that 
 their imaginations are wholly turned upon what they have in re- 
 serve, for fear it should slip out of their memory; and thus 
 they confine their invention, which might otherwise range over 
 a hundred things full as good, and that might be much more 
 naturally introduced.^ 
 
 I think that wit must be introduced into conversation with 
 great reserve. Such a caution seems, however, little called for, 
 considering the limited number of persons to whom it applies ; 
 but there is a cheap form of wit which most ill-natured indi- 
 viduals can plagiarise, and in a mixed company its effects are 
 not seldom disagreeable. That is, the repartee, or smart 
 answer, which assuredly does not turn away wrath ; the epi- 
 grammatic impertinence which young speakers suppose to be 
 wit. ‘ It now passes for raillery,’ says Swift, ^ to run a man 
 down in discourse, to put him out of countenance, and make 
 him ridiculous ; sometimes to expose the defects of his person 
 or understanding ; on all which occasions he is obliged not to 
 be angry, to avoid the imputation of not being able to take a 
 jest. It is admirable to observe one who is dexterous at this 
 art singling out a weak adversary, getting the laugh on his side, 
 and then carrying all before him. The French, whence we 
 borrow the word “ raillery,” have a quite different idea of the 
 thing, and so had we in the politer ages of our fathers. Raillery 
 was to say something that at first appeared a reproach or reflec- 
 tion, but by some turn of wit, unexpected and surprising, ended 
 always in a compliment, and to the advantage of the person it 
 was addressed to. And, surely, one of the best rules in con- 
 versation is, never to say a thing which any of the company 
 can reasonably wish we had rather left unsaid ; nor can there 
 anything be well more contrary to the ends for which people 
 meet together, than to part unsatisfied with each other or 
 themselves.’ 
 
 This fatal kind of smartness, which all may master who have 
 
202 
 
 UTILITY OF GOOD SMALL TALK. 
 
 no regard for the feelings of others, is very much more common 
 now, I imagine, than in Swift’s time, when people could hardly 
 be persuaded that wit and rudeness were synonymous. It has 
 found its way into the House of Commons, where it is assidu- 
 ously practised by men who have little hope by more worthy 
 means of achieving a reputation ; and on the stage, where, in 
 ‘ drawing-rooms richly upholstered,’ the characters pass their 
 time in saying impertinent things to one another. That such 
 flippancy should pass muster as wit cannot, however, be won- 
 dered at in a generation which mistakes sensuousness for poetry, 
 aestheticism for art, Wagnerism for music, and charlatans for 
 statesmen ! 
 
 I have already made a distinction between conversation and 
 small talk ; but after all, the cautions that apply to the one 
 have a distinct reference to the other. I presume that a good 
 conversationalist is also a good small-talker ; though, of course, 
 the reverse does not follow ; a man may shine in small 
 talk, and prove very dull in conversation. It is not my object 
 or desire to depreciate small talk, which, in the present con- 
 dition of society, is a substitute for conversation, and in any 
 condition would be a necessary complement of it. We cannot 
 always be passing our five-pound notes ; we must sometimes 
 descend to inferior currency, and not only sovereigns, but crowns 
 and two-shilling pieces have their value. Besides, we cannot 
 afford to carry on an exchange by which we always lose. We 
 cannot give our five-pound notes when others stake but shillings 
 and sixpences. Barter is fair and profitable only when we get 
 as much as we give. Our pockets may be full of sovereigns, 
 and yet we shall hesitate to give one for a penny roll ; but to 
 a man who has nothing but counters in his pocket, it does not 
 matter whether the roll cost a penny or a shilling. The 
 moral of this is, that we must put pence into our purse as well 
 as pounds. For want of such a precaution, the meditative 
 scholar is often, in society, at a loss to find topics of conversa- 
 tion ; he has nothing small enough to give, and his companions 
 have nothing with which to conduct an exchange. It is wisdom 
 therefore to pay close attention to this matter of small talk, and 
 endeavour to arrive at a certain command of, and proficiency 
 in, it. Men of the highest gifts cannot dispense with it if they 
 wish to be at no disadvantage in their ordinary intercourse with 
 mankind. 
 
HOWTO TALK PLEASANTLY, 
 
 203 
 
 There are many spheres in which, I grant, the small-talker 
 would be out of place. He would make a sorry figure in an 
 assembly of scholars and thinkers, engaged in the discussion 
 of subjects as momentous and as profound as those with 
 which Goethe overwhelmed the hapless Excelmann. His true 
 arena is the dinner-table. It is there he can make the best 
 use of the old, familiar weapons. He does not shun the tra- 
 ditional allusions to the weather or the crops ; and, indeed, it 
 is clear that he must begin on some topic which he and his 
 companions have in common. That once found, others will 
 naturally spring out of it ; but in passing to and from them, 
 much dexterity is required. If the small-talker show any doubt 
 of his own powers, or put himself forward too obtrusively, he 
 will come to grief, as we all instinctively rebel against an 
 attempt to drag and haul us into conversation. The string that 
 leads us must be invisible. The exchange of small talk is like 
 a game of battledore, in which an accomplished player will 
 sometimes drop his shuttlecock designedly, partly to flatter and 
 propitiate his partner, and partly for the sake of a prospective 
 advantage. When once he has full command of the game, he 
 will quietly take the lead, and guide it surely but gently into 
 the direction best adapted for the display of his powers. The 
 attractiveness of skilfully managed talk of this kind is felt by 
 everybody ; and we remember with pleasure the evening when, 
 unwittingly, we were taken captive by some man or woman 
 whose intellectual superiority, perhaps, we should not be 
 willing to admit, but who, we readily own, enabled us to pass 
 some very pleasant hours. 
 
 But this small talk, which so agreeably flavours conversation, 
 is different indeed from that very small talk in which society 
 nowadays indulges so unblushingly. Go where you will ; not 
 necessarily, as Mr. Hale remarks, into that of the suburban 
 ^ Row ’ or ‘ Terrace ’ of semi-detached villas, or that of the 
 small provincial town, or the colonial garrison, but into the 
 homes and among the families of English gentlemen. Mr. 
 Hale does not, I think, exaggerate when he says it is painful 
 to listen to the general conversation ; a name of a ‘ mutual 
 friend ' (Dickens has made the solecism classical) is mentioned, 
 and something which he or she, his or her belongings, have 
 said or done, is commented upon with a freedom which, to be 
 in any way justifiable, presupposes a thorough knowledge of 
 
204 
 
 A SOCIAL SHORTCOMING, 
 
 all sides of the case ; and the minor worries of life, servants, 
 babies, and the like, furnish the theme for a multifarious and 
 protracted discussion. If there be talk which should disgust 
 all refined tastes and ordinarily intelligent minds, it is the 
 farrago of trivialities which makes the daily staple of conver- 
 sation in some of our English homes. As a proof that I 
 do not exaggerate, let any one refrain for four-and-twenty hours 
 from dealing with such ‘ small deer,^ and observe how great a 
 difficulty he will experience in discovering subjects for con- 
 versation. This shows how injurious is the habit. We feed 
 so long upon infant’s food, that we can digest nothing more 
 substantial. Treading the same easy round day by day, we 
 lack the strength and the nerve to strike into new channels. 
 Unless we can talk about other people’s affairs we must sit 
 silent. ’Tis the only theme we know; we can discuss no other. 
 Our small talk resembles a hand-organ, which is set to a certain 
 number of regular airs, and grinds through these with edifying 
 regularity. But however the ear may desire a change, it cannot 
 be gratified ; there are no more on the barrel. 
 
 I have dwelt at some length upon this subject, because it 
 seems to me of very great importance. The whole tone of 
 society would be raised if we could raise its conversational 
 standard ; if we could lift it from very small talk to small talk, 
 and thence to conversation. This is to be effected by a 
 resolute determination on the part of each to stop his or her 
 supply of very small talk, and to endeavour to contribute some 
 intelligent observation or interesting fact. Women especially 
 may help towards a satisfactory result, for at present women 
 are the great manufacturers of very small talk ; let them rise 
 to the measure of their duties, and pour out the full treasures 
 of their heart and mind ; men will soon follow their example, 
 and we shall live to see the end of the very small talk era. 
 
 Would any compiler nowadays think of preparing a volume 
 of Table-Talk ? Where are the talkers ? Where is the talk ? 
 Who could now find materials for such a book as Xenophon’s 
 ‘ Memorabilia ’ 1 The diner-out, I think, should go through 
 a course of reading of ancient and modern books of ‘ table- 
 talk ’ in search of spangles to deck the dull frieze of his own 
 conversation. There is Luther’s ‘ Table-Talk,’ full of manly 
 wisdom and genial humour, which shows him to us as an easy 
 and ready talker, who did not scruple to throw his heart into 
 
SOME GREA T TALKERS. 
 
 205 
 
 his utterances. Then there are the ^ Scaligerana/ with the 
 frank remarks of the scholar upon men and things, tempered 
 by a genial egotism, which makes us feel perfectly at home 
 with their author. The ‘ Thuana,’ bits of the talk of De Thou, 
 and the ‘ Perroniana,’ the table-talk of Cardinal Perron, come 
 next in chronological order. There is better stuff in the 
 ‘ Menagiana,’ for Menage was an admirable conversationalist ; 
 witty in himself, and the cause of wit in others, from the facility 
 with which his vast stores of information enabled him to lead 
 the conversation into new channels. The contemporaries of 
 Menage frequently ran him close in wit when they rode their 
 own hobbies. But they lived in an age when conversation was 
 studied as an art, and a man’s social success depended upon 
 his skill in it. Mt is a great misfortune,’ says La Bruyere, 
 ‘not to have wit enough to talk well, nor judgment enough to 
 hold your tongue.’ The same writer distinguishes aptly be- 
 tween two kinds of small talkers : ‘ There are persons who 
 speak a moment before they have thought ; there are others 
 with whom you must undergo in conversation all the labour of 
 their minds. They talk correctly, but they talk wearisomely.’ 
 Hannay quotes from Menage another wise remark : ‘ The art of 
 conversation consists much less in your own abundance than 
 in enabling others to find talk for themselves. Men do not 
 wish to admire you ; they want to please.’^ 
 
 In our English literature, we have Lord Bacon’s ‘Apoph- 
 thegms ’ to begin with, though this is scarcely a book of 
 table-talk proper. It records, however, many of the sharp 
 sayings with which the Elizabethan scholars strewed their 
 conversation. Bacon himself was a fine talker, and he had 
 studied the subject, as his ‘ Short Notes for Civil Conversation ’ 
 indicate. I digress to quote one or two of these : 
 
 ‘ In all kinds of speech, either pleasant, grave, severe, or 
 ordinary, it is convenient to speak leisurely, and rather draw- 
 lingly than hastily; because hasty speech confounds the 
 memory, and oftentimes (besides unseemliness) drives a man 
 either to a nonplus or unseemly stammering, harping upon 
 that which should follow ; whereas a slow speech confirmeth 
 
 * Rochefoucault has a similar observation : ‘ The reason why few persons 
 are agreeable in conversation is, because each person thinks more of what 
 he himself intends to say than of what others are saying, and seldom listens 
 but when he desires to speak.’ 
 
2o6 short notes for civil conversation, 
 
 the memory, addeth a conceit of wisdom to the hearers, besides 
 a seemliness of speech and countenance.^ 
 
 ‘ Bashfulness 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 forwards with discretion, 
 both in speech and company of the better sort.’ 
 
 ^ To desire in discourse to hold all arguments is ridiculous, 
 wanting true judgment \ for in all things we never can be 
 exquisite.’ 
 
 ‘ To use many circumstances, ere you come to matter, is 
 wearisome ; and to use none at all, is blunt.’ 
 
 Drummond of Hawthornden has preserved some of the talk 
 of Ben Jonson ; would that somebody had recorded the con- 
 versation of Shakespeare ! Selden’s ‘ Table-Talk ’ exhibits to 
 us a conversationalist of forty-talker power ; a man who could 
 wrap up a world of wisdom in a jest ; who winged his sayings 
 with the feather of wit that they might fly the farther and sink 
 the deeper. From the pages of Boswell we know how Johnson 
 talked. It is fortunate for his fame that Boswell was so in- 
 dustrious and acute ; for it is not the lexicographer, the moralist, 
 or the sententious poet, whom the world admires, but the 
 man who could talk with so much force and point, and deliver 
 his opinions with so much weight. It has been well said, 
 however, that his conversation was not suited to general 
 society ; there was in it too much of the critic and the 
 dialectician. ‘ It had not the winning, easy charm of Sir 
 Walter Scott, but was stern and logical. It kept down all sorts 
 of conversational excellence but its own, and gave rise after- 
 wards to many inferior copies.’ It was difficult, indeed, to 
 join in conversation with a man who, if you differed from him, 
 clenched his fist and straightway knocked you down — meta- 
 phorically, of course. 
 
 Walpole wrote and talked well ; so did Lord Chesterfield. 
 Following them, we have Lord Byron, of whose more serious con- 
 versation Shelley speaks as ‘ a sort of intoxication.’ He lived in 
 an age of great talkers — Curran, Luttrell, De Stael, Sheridan, 
 Mackintosh, Moore. Coleridge was also his contemporary ; who 
 did not so much converse as preach. His talk was a long mono- 
 logue — an uninterrupted flood of eloquence — sometimes mysti- 
 cal, sometimes mysterious, but always brilliant. Sydney Smith 
 
TALKING ^ shop: 
 
 207 
 
 was a happy talker j abounding in humour as well as good 
 humour, always shrewd and sagacious, quick to see the grotesque 
 aspect of things, of a fertile fancy, and with a wide and profound 
 sympathy with all that was true, just, and honourable. His 
 conversation rippled with good things. They came spon- 
 taneously, and one happy image suggested another, in appa- 
 rently interminable succession. His lambent humour played 
 round a subject so as to light up every side of it, discovering 
 a host of analogies and contrasts imperceptible to duller minds. 
 Sydney Smith was the only wit who never lost his temper or 
 said an ill-natured thing; and this, perhaps, was the great 
 charm of his conversation. His hearers were never afraid of 
 him ; whereas, with some wits the listeners, while they laugh, 
 feel uneasy, lest under the jest should lie some mordant sarcasm, 
 or lest the satire just aimed at another, should on the next 
 occasion be directed against themselves. 
 
 In certain ‘ Hints upon Etiquette,’ by published 
 
 nearly half a century ago, but characterised by a good sense 
 which must always render them valuable, I find a wise caution 
 in reference to ‘Talking Shop,’ which I may add to my own 
 emphatic warning against this particularly disagreeable custom. 
 
 ‘ There are few things,’ he says, ‘ that display worse taste than 
 the introduction of professional topics in general conversation, 
 especially if there be ladies present ; the minds of those men 
 must be miserably ill-stored who cannot find other subjects for 
 conversation than their own professions. Who has not felt this 
 on having been compelled to listen to “ clerical slang,” musty 
 college-jokes, and anecdotes divested of all interest beyond the 
 atmosphere of an university; or “law jokes,” with “good 
 stories” of “learned counsel;” “long yarns;” or the equally 
 tiresome muster-roll of “ our regiment ” — colonels dead^ maimed 
 majors retired on pensions, subs lost or “exchanged,” gravi- 
 tating between Boulogne and the “Bankruptcy Court?” All 
 such exclusive topics are signs either of a limited intellect, or 
 the most lamentable ignorance.’ They are signs, too, of exces- 
 sively bad breeding ; for the introduction of a topic on which 
 no one can discourse but the speaker, necessarily chokes out 
 the life of a conversation ; and for the lively talk of the many 
 substitutes a dreary monologue. They imply an almost super- 
 natural egotism ; as if the speaker believed that all the world 
 must perforce be interested in whatever concerns hinu Need- 
 
2d8 cause of our present colloquial inferiority. 
 
 less to say that these remarks do not apply to the case of an 
 acknowledged ^expert/ whose opinion has been invited on the 
 questions which of right fall within his special province. Every 
 ear is on the alert when Ruskin discusses art, or Matthew 
 Arnold poetry, or Professor Tyndall science. But the Ruskins, 
 the Matthew Arnolds, the Tyndalls, are few ; and in their places 
 we are talked down by briefless lawyers who repeat old legal 
 saws, or amateur yachtsmen proud of their experiences in the 
 Solent and the Clyde, or subalterns who retail the ‘ awfully 
 clever things, you know,’ of the wit of the mess-tables. Now, 
 as a rule, society cares nothing for the individual ; and there 
 can be no greater error than for a man to put forward in con- 
 versation his individual tastes, opinions, views, unless he has 
 attained to a position which entitles him to speak as one having 
 authority. And even then what he says should be general in 
 tone and application, with as little allusion as possible to him- 
 self. Nor should he suffer his remarks to assume the form and 
 proportions of an oration, lest his hearers in spite of themselves 
 betray their weariness. A St. Paul may preach, and yet Eutychus 
 fall asleep ! In spite of his reputation as the Aristarchus of his day, 
 Samuel Johnson could irritate his hearers into administering a 
 rebuke to his verbosity. 
 
 The colloquial inferiority of the present generation is attri- 
 buted by Mr. Hannay purely to the action of the press. News- 
 papers, novels, magazines, reviews, he says, gather up the 
 intellectual elements of our life, like so many electric machines, 
 drawing electricity from the atmosphere into themselves. 
 Everything, he adds, is recorded and discussed in print, and 
 subjects have lost their freshness long before friends have 
 assembled for the evening. And he concludes : ‘ Where there 
 
 is talk of a superior character, it appears to affect the epigram- 
 matic form ; and this is an unhealthy sign. If there were no 
 other objection, how rarely can it avoid that appearance of self- 
 consciousness and effort which is fatal to all elegance and ease ! 
 The epigrammatic is a valuable element, but should never pre- 
 dominate ; since good conversation flows from a happy union 
 of all the powers. To approximate to this, a certain amount 
 of painstaking is necessary ; and though artifice is detestable, 
 we must submit that talk may be as legitimately made a subject 
 
 Hannay, ‘Essays from the Quarterly,’ pp. 32, 33. 
 
A WORD OF GOOD ADVICE, 
 
 209 
 
 of care and thought as any other part of a man’s humanity, and 
 that it is ridiculous to send your mind abroad in a state of 
 slovenliness while you bestow on your body the most refined 
 care.’ 
 
 Holding this opinion very strongly, I have dealt with the 
 subject of conversation at considerable length — let me hope, to 
 the interest and advantage of the reader. 
 
 14 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE ETIQUETTE OF WEDDINGS. 
 
 ‘ Marriage is the mother of the world, and preserves kingdoms, and fills 
 cities, and churches, and heaven itself.’ — Bishop Jeremy Taylor. 
 
 Introductory Remarks — Marriages of Convenience — Tennyson’s ‘Locksley 
 Hall’ — Marriages of Affection — A Happy Pair — Advice to Young 
 Men about to Marry {not Punch's) — A Warning against ‘ Love ’ Mar- 
 riages — And against Marrying without Love — Brathwait on ‘ Matching 
 with your Equal’ — Advice to Women on the Choice of a Husband — 
 Sir Richard Steele on Married Life — ‘Proposing’ — Hints to Bashful 
 Young Men — Examples from the Novelists of Different Ways of Pro- 
 posing — From ‘ Lothair ’ — From ‘ Middlemarch ’ — From ‘ Ernest Mal- 
 travers’ — From ‘Henrietta Temple’ — Quotation from Sir Philip 
 Sidney — Engaged — Behaviour of a Betrothed Couple — The Eti- 
 quette of Delicacy — The Wedding-day — Bride and Bridesmaids 
 — Etiquette of Weddings — The Procession in the Church— Spen- 
 ser’s ‘ Epithalamium ’ — After the Service — The Wedding Breakfast- 
 Departure of the Newly-Married — Sir John Suckling’s Ballad of a 
 Wedding — Desirability of a Reform — Old Traditions and Customs 
 still Observed — The Honeymoon — The Bride’s Presents — The Wedding 
 Dress — Description of Dresses actually Worn by Brides and Brides- 
 maids. 
 
 AM not about to set before the reader a history of 
 Marriage or Marriage Ceremonies, though the sub- 
 ject is one of considerable interest in connection 
 with the progress of civilisation. Nor do I intend 
 to give especial prominence to its moral and social 
 aspects, though their importance might easily be illustrated. 
 My business is with the Etiquette of Marriage — a point less 
 interesting and less important, yet not without its value ; for 
 the customs which have become conventionally established in 
 England in connection with it tend to ensure the preservation 
 of order and decorum. The law looks upon marriage as purely 
 
CONVENTIONAL MARRIAGES. 
 
 2II 
 
 a civil contract, and in the early ages of society it was empha- 
 tically a contract of sale ; the daughter was reckoned among 
 the goods and chattels of her father, and disposed of at a fixed 
 price. Usually the bargain was made between the heads of 
 families only, and the future bride and bridegroom were abso- 
 lutely ignored. I should not like to say that this practice is 
 wholly obsolete, is wholly unknown even in the present day ; 
 and the sale of a daughter for rank or money is the groundwork 
 of a very considerable number of plays, poems, and novels. 
 It supplies the ‘motive’ of Tennyson’s ‘ Locksley Hall’ and 
 ‘ Maud,’ and provokes his strongest, bitterest satire : 
 
 ‘ Maud could be gracious too, no doubt, 
 
 To a lord, a captain, a padded shape, 
 
 A bought commission, a waxen face, 
 
 A rabbit mouth that is ever agape — 
 
 Bought ? what is it he cannot buy ?’ 
 
 I am willing to believe, however, that the marriage of those 
 who consult these pages will be the legal and religious con- 
 firmation of a pure and steadfast affection ; that it will be 
 profaned by no sordid considerations. I am willing to believe 
 that they will enter upon it in no light or careless spirit, but 
 with a deep sense of the duties it brings with it, the responsi- 
 bilities it entails. The choice of wife or husband is really the 
 most serious thing that man or woman has to decide upon ; it 
 affects their future usefulness, their future happiness, their social 
 as well as domestic relations. So intimate is the marriage union, 
 that neither party can escape from its influences ; it elevates or it 
 lowers, it inspires or it enfeebles, it makes or it mars. As the 
 wife is, so is the husband ; as the husband, so the wife ; the two 
 may raise each other to a higher standard of thought and feeling, 
 or drag one another down to a lower level than either occupied 
 at first. It is in this wise that Sir Philip Sidney describes ‘ a 
 happy couple,' ‘he joying in her, she joying in herself, but in 
 herself because she enjoyed him ; both increasing their riches 
 by giving to each other, and making one life double, because 
 they made a double life one ; where desire never wanted satis- 
 faction, nor satisfaction ever bred satiety, he ruling because she 
 would obey, or rather, because she would obey, she therein 
 ruling.’ 
 
 A young man, before he contemplates marriage, should con- 
 sider what a^wife ought to be, what he would wish her to be. 
 
 14 — 2 
 
212 
 
 WHAT A WIFE SHOULD BE. 
 
 He must not be influenced by mere personal attractions^ though 
 I grant that these are not without their weight, and certainly 
 not by mercenary reasons. I do not mean to say that a 
 maiden who is all that can be desired in point of good sense, 
 modesty, culture, sweetness of temper, and tenderness, is the 
 worse for the possession of ‘ money and lands / to make such 
 an assertion would be absurd. But ^ money and lands ^ are 
 not to be weighed in the balance against the real endowments 
 of mind and heart. Milton tells us that a good wife is 
 ‘ Heaven’s last, best gift to man but what constitutes a good 
 wife ? I think we may answer — purity of thought and feeling, 
 a generous temper, a disposition ready to forgive, patience, a 
 high sense of duty, a cultivated mind, and a natural grace of 
 manner. I think she should be able to govern her household 
 with gentle resolution, and to take an intelligent interest in her 
 husband’s pursuits. She should have a clear understanding, 
 should be cheerful without levity, and tender without humility. 
 She should have ^ all the firmness that does not exclude deli- 
 cacy,’ and ‘all the softness that does not imply weakness.’ 
 The great Elizabethan statesman, Lord Burleigh, writing to his 
 son, said : ‘ When it shall please God to bring thee to man’s 
 estate, use great providence and circumspection in choosing 
 thy wife, for from thence will spring all thy future good or evil. 
 And it is an action of life like unto a stratagem of war, wherein 
 a man can die but once. If thy estate be good, match near 
 home and at leisure ; if weak, far-off, and quickly. Inquire 
 diligently of her disposition, and how her parents have been 
 inclined in their youth. Let her not be poor, how generous 
 {generosa, of good birth) soever, for a man can buy nothing in 
 the market with gentility. Nor choose a base and unseemly 
 creature altogether for wealth ; for it will cause contempt in 
 others and loathing in thee. Neither make choice of a dwarf 
 or a fool ; for by the one thou shalt beget a race of pigmies ; 
 the other will be thy universal disgrace, and it will irk thee to 
 hear her talk. Thou shalt find, to thy great grief, that there 
 is nothing more fulsome than a she-fool.’ There is a touch of 
 worldliness in this advice, but it is based on a wide knowledge 
 and experience of the world. 
 
 I would counsel young men, as a general rule, not to marry 
 below them. It is perhaps just as well that they should not 
 marry above them. Equality of condition implies sympathy of 
 
MATCH WITH YOUk EQUAL AND NOT WITHOUT LOVE. 213 
 
 taste. Our social distinctions are still so strongly marked that 
 each class has its own traditions, associations, habits, views ; 
 and if the wife belong to a class higher or lower than that of 
 her husband, it will be difficult for them to enter into that close 
 and absolute communion of mind and heart which is essential 
 to the happiness of wedded life, without which there will be 
 no ‘ compatibility of temper.’ There are abundant instances 
 of the ill-success of marriages in which this fundamental prin- 
 ciple has been disregarded. When ‘ cloth of frieze ’ is pieced 
 with ‘ cloth of gold,’ the most careless eye can detect the con- 
 trast. A man who marries his cook will sink to the level of 
 the kitchen ; a woman who marries her groom will live in the 
 atmosphere of the stable.* 
 
 At all events, do not marry without love. A marriage of 
 convenience is detestable ; but it is hardly worse than a mar- 
 riage of reason — a coolly calculated affair, from which the light 
 and life of true affection are wholly wanting. In the course of 
 years there will come trials and anxieties, which only a real 
 and unselfish love will enable you to bear without mental or 
 moral injury ; there will come a strain and stress of the rela- 
 tions between wife and husband which only love will be able 
 to withstand. That absolute conquest of self, that implicit 
 confidence, that complete and generous sacrifice of individual 
 wishes and hopes, that sweet and unconquerable patience, 
 
 * Bratliwait quaintly, but sensibly, says : ‘Follow the Sage’s advice in your 
 choice : Match with your equally if not in fortunes, for so both may prove 
 beggars, at least in descent : so will she the better content herself with your 
 estate, and conform her the better to your meanes. For I have seldome seene 
 any difference greater, arising from marriage, than imparity of birth or 
 descent, when the wife will not strive to twit her husband with her parent- 
 age, and brave him with repetition of her descent. Likewise, as I would not 
 have you to entertaine so maine a businesse without mature advice, so I 
 • would not have you wholly rely upon a friend’s counsell : but as you are to 
 have the greatest oare in the boat, so to make yourselfe your owne carver ; 
 for hee that is enforced to his choice makes a dangerous bargaine. Wherefore 
 ground your choice on Love, so shall you not chuse but like ; making this 
 your conclusion ; 
 
 “To her in Flymen’s bonds I’ll nere be tied, 
 
 Whom Love hath not espous’d and made my bride.” 
 
 I^or what miseries have ensued on enforced Marriages^ there is no Age but 
 may record : where rites enforced made the hands no sooner joyned than 
 their minds divorced, bidding adieu to Content, even at that instant when 
 'those unhappy rites were solemnised.’ — R. Brathwait, ‘The English 
 Gentleman’ (edit. 1641), p. 145. 
 
214 
 
 THE CHOICE OE A HUSBAND. 
 
 which are the glory of wedlock, cannot exist without love. 
 Some persons, especially women, marry in the belief or hope 
 that love will follow marriage : a dangerous delusion. The 
 very conditions under which such a marriage takes place forbid 
 the after-growth of love, which is a plant that cannot flourish in 
 an uncongenial soil. 
 
 As to the choice of a husband, I think it is enough to re- 
 commend a woman to seek out a Christian gentleman. He 
 must be a man whom she can look up to and respect, or her 
 affection will have no solid holdfast to secure it. Hence he 
 must be a man of probity, of honour, of generous temper, of 
 moral courage, of great constancy of purpose. He must be a 
 man who does not decide hastily, but having decided is firm 
 in his resolve. He must be a man of large and liberal views 
 and elevation of thought, in whose companionship his wife’s 
 mind will be constantly broadening and refining. He must be a 
 man of fine manners, who does not throw off his courtesy like 
 a cloak when he crosses the threshold of his home. He must 
 be a man of wide and sound education, so that his intellect 
 may not be narrowed to little issues. He must be a man who 
 in all companies and all situations shall so bear himself as 
 never to provoke in his wife a feeling of shame or dissatis- 
 faction. He must be truthful, so that her confidence in him 
 may be immovable ; liberal, so that she may never have cause 
 to blush at his meanness j but prudent, that she may have no 
 occasion to weep for his extravagance. He must be temperate, 
 or else he will never be master of himself ; and devout, for he 
 who does not fear God lives without the control of conscience 
 upon his actions. To the poor he must be kindly courteous ; 
 to his superiors deferential without servility ; to his equals 
 amiable, patient, even-tempered. 
 
 Mayhap, the reader will say, with the writer in the Spectator : 
 ‘ It requires more virtues to make a good husband or wife, than 
 what go to the finishing any the most shining character what- 
 soever.’'^ 
 
 ^ * ‘The marriage-life, ’says Sir Richard Steele, ‘is always an insipid, a vexa- 
 tious, or a happy condition. The first is, when two people of no genius or taste 
 for themselves meet together, upon such a settlement as has been thought 
 reasonable by parents and conveyancers, from an exact valuation of the 
 land and cash of both parties. In this case the young lady’s person is no 
 more regarded than the house and improvements in purchase of an estate ; 
 but she goes with her fortune rather than her fortune with her. These 
 
AGAINST NASTY ATTACHMENTS. 
 
 215 
 
 In England, as everybody knows, matrimonial advances 
 proceed, or are supposed to proceed, from the gentleman 
 alone. When he has determined on the lady whom he wishes 
 to make his wife, he ‘ proposes ' to her by letter or verbally. 
 It is, of course, understood that he has some previous acquaint- 
 ance with her — that he loves her, or thinks he loves her, or is 
 animated by some sufficient and not unworthy motive. 
 Usually, a proposal is not ventured until there is reasonable 
 hope that it will not be refused. It is better to make it viva 
 voce^ because a letter will always have an air of restraint about 
 it, and, moreover, few are able to express themselves fitly in a 
 letter ; they say too much or too little ; they are exaggerated 
 and artificial ; or cold and reserved. I think, too, that it is 
 due to the lady that she should be addressed personally ; it is 
 a deference which she is entitled to expect. 
 
 It is of considerable importance in the earlier days of atten- 
 tions which are supposed to originate with the gentleman, that 
 a young lady should guard against hasty attachments — against 
 surrendering her affections before they have been asked and 
 even before they are desired. It is not every little civility or 
 polite attention which is to be taken as if it were the expression 
 of a personal and permanent devotion. 
 
 A proud and defensive prudence will in like manner dictate 
 to the gentleman not to hazard a declaration unless he has 
 reasonable grounds for believing it will be agreeable. If, how- 
 ever, from some fault or miscalculation on the part of one or 
 the other, a lady finds herself compelled to reject the proposals 
 which her own conduct may, to a certain extent, and even in- 
 make up the crowd, or vulgar of the rich, and fill up the lumber of the 
 human race, without beneficence towards those below them, or respect to 
 those above them. 
 
 ‘ The vexatious life arises from a conjunction of two people of quick taste 
 and resentment, put together for reasons well known to their friends, in 
 which especial care is taken to avoid (what they think the chief of evils) 
 poverty, and insure to them riches, with every evil besides. These good 
 people live in a constant constraint before company, and too great familiarity 
 alone. When they are within observation, they fret at each other’s carriage 
 and behaviour ; when alone, they revile each other’s person and conduct. 
 In company, they are in purgatory ; when only together, in a hell. 
 
 ‘ The happy marriage is, where two persons meet and voluntarily make 
 choice of each other, without principally regarding or neglecting the cir- 
 cumstances of fortune or beauty. These may still love in spite of adversity 
 or sickness : the former we may, in some measure, defend ourselves from ; 
 the other is the portion of our very make,’ 
 
2i6 
 
 MATRIMONIAL PROPOSALS, 
 
 advertently, have provoked or precipitated, she will do so with 
 the utmost delicacy and the greatest consideration and sym- 
 pathy that are compatible with persisting in her announced 
 determination of refusal. The cause of rejection is the lady’s 
 own secret, which she may impart or withhold at her discretion. 
 It may, in certain circumstances, be convenient to declare it, as 
 it may either tend to a clearer perception on the part of her 
 suitor of the finality of her decision, or may indicate to the 
 ingenuity of masculine affection a method of removing a diffi- 
 culty which in her heart she will be glad to have it proved to 
 her judgment and reason not to be insuperable. Whatever the 
 lady may do with her own secret, she is bound to regard a 
 rejected offer as the secret of the gentlemen; not to be 
 divulged unless to her parents, who have a right to know 
 promptly the more salient points in the history of her affec- 
 tions. 
 
 As to the vivii voce method of proposal, it is possible that I 
 shall be told by bashful lovers that they know not what to say. 
 Nonsense ! when a man is in earnest, earnestness will give him 
 eloquence. And even if there be not the eloquence of speech, 
 there will be the more touching eloquence of broken words or 
 halfformed sentences, which to the ear of a loving maiden will 
 sound like sweetest music. I cannot undertake to prescribe 
 any definite form of words ; each man should say what his 
 feelings at the time suggest. If we turn to the pages of our 
 novelists we shall find, however, a variety of ‘ proposals,’ from 
 which the hesitating and nervous suitor may possibly derive 
 some useful hints ; though I do not recommend him to 
 plagiarise too long from any one of these, lest the lady should 
 be familiar with the original, and detect the piracy ! Lothair, 
 it may be remembered, made his offer to the Lady Corisande, 
 under arches of golden yew, in a somewhat copybook-like set 
 of phrases : ‘ I have committed many mistakes, doubtless many 
 follies, have formed many opinions, and have changed many 
 opinions ; but to one I have been constant, in one I am un- 
 changed, and that is my adoring love for you.’ The Lady 
 Corisande, on hearing this avowal, ‘turned pale, she stopped, 
 then gently taking his arm, she hid her face in his breast.’ 
 Lothair, on his part, ‘ soothed and sustained her agitated frame, 
 and sealed with an embrace her speechless form.’ I don’t pro- 
 fess to understand what a ‘ speechless form ’ is, or how it is 
 
217 
 
 JIOW THEY ARE MADE, 
 
 ^ sealed with an embrace but to the embrace itself, on such 
 an occasion, I offer no objection. 
 
 In ‘ Middlemarch,' Ladislaw and Dorothea avow their mutual 
 love during a thunderstorm : — 
 
 ‘ There came a vivid flash of lightning which lit each of them 
 up for the other. Dorothea darted instantaneously from the 
 window ; Will followed her, seizing her hand with a spasmodic 
 movement ; and so they stood, with their hands clasped, like two 
 children, looking out on the storm, while the thunder gave a 
 tremendous crack and roll above them, and the rain began to 
 pour down. Then they turned their faces towards each other, 
 with the memory of his last words in them, and they did not 
 loose each other’s hands. 
 
 ‘ There is no hope for me,” said Will. ‘‘ Even if you loved 
 me as well as I love you — even if I were everything to you — I 
 shall most likely always be very poor ; on a sober calculation, 
 one can count on nothing but a creeping lot. It is impossible 
 for us ever to belong to each other. It is perhaps base of me 
 to have asked for a word from you. I meant to go away into 
 silence, but I have not been able to do what I meant.” 
 
 ‘ ‘‘ Don’t be sorry,” said Dorothea, in her clear tender tones. 
 “I would rather share all the trouble of our parting.” 
 
 ‘ Her lips trembled, and so did his. It was never known 
 which lips were the first to move towards the other’s lips ; but 
 they kissed tremblingly, and then they moved apart.’ 
 
 Eventually the two lovers understood each other, and the 
 usual embrace follows : — ‘ In an instant Will was close to her, 
 and his arms round her.’ But I wish for my readers a less 
 passionate confession — less storm of feeling and emotion, as 
 well as less of thunder and lightning. 
 
 Let us turn to Bulwer Lytton, an acknowledged authority in 
 the gentle science of love, and see what we can learn from him 
 on this delicate subject. In ‘Ernest Maltravers’ we find the 
 following scene between the hero and Lady Florence Las- 
 celles : — 
 
 ‘ Florence grew deadly pale, and covering her face with her 
 hands, burst into tears. 
 
 ‘ “ Oh, fool that I was !” cried Ernest in the passion of the 
 moment, “ not to know — not to have felt that there were not 
 two Florences in the world ! But if the thought had crossed 
 me, I would not have dared to harbour it.” 
 
^i8 * YOU LOVE ME, THEN P HE CRIED. 
 
 ‘‘‘Go, go/’ sobbed Florence; “leave me, in mercy leave 
 me !” 
 
 ‘ “ Not till you bid me rise,” said Ernest, in emotion scarcely 
 less deep than hers, as he sank on his knee at her feet.’ 
 
 Need I go on? When they left that spot, a soft confession 
 had been made — deep vows interchanged, and Ernest Mal- 
 travers was the accepted suitor of Florence Lascelles. 
 
 Lady Florence Lascelles dies, however, without becoming 
 the wafe of Maltravers; and that truly Bulwerian hero is 
 left to fall in love, at a later period, with Evelyn Cameron. His 
 declaration, in this case, is made with effusive sentiment. After 
 a long and egotistical account of his life and feelings, he ex- 
 claims : 
 
 ‘ “ Evelyn, I have confided to you all — all this wild heart now 
 and evermore you own. My destiny is with you.” 
 
 Evelyn was silent — he took her hand — and her tears fell 
 warm and fast upon it. Alarmed and anxious — as a lover well 
 may be, when his chere amie goes off into a fit of weeping — ‘ he 
 drew her towards him and gazed upon her face.’ 
 
 ‘ “ You fear to wound me,” he said, with pale lips and trem- 
 bling voice. “ Speak on — I can bear all.” 
 
 ‘ “ No, no,” said Evelyn, falteringly ; “ I have no fear, but not 
 to deserve you.” 
 
 ‘ “ You love me, then — you love me !” cried Maltravers wildly, 
 and clasping her to his heart’ 
 
 The moon rose at that instant, and the wintry sward and the 
 dark trees were bathed in the sudden light. The time — the 
 light — so exquisite to all — even in tenderness and in sorrow — 
 how divine in such companionship ! in such overflowing and 
 ineffable sense of bliss. There and then for the first time did 
 Maltravers press upon that modest and blushing cheek the kiss 
 of Love, of Hope — the seal of a union he fondly hoped the 
 grave itself would not dissolve ! 
 
 ‘ Henrietta Temple ’ has always seemed to me, as a love-story, 
 one of the most successful things in our literature. I know of 
 no book which I can more cordially reccommend to a young 
 man in love ; he will find in it a skilful exposition of the 
 entire gamut of the passion. Readers unacquainted with it 
 are invited to meditate upon the following passage, in which 
 the hero, Ferdinand Armine, ‘ proposes ’ to the beautiful 
 Henrietta. 1 should premise that the scene is a terraced gar- 
 
‘ J/OS T BE A VTIFtiL, I LOVE THEE f 21^ 
 
 den ; the time, evening, when the thin white moon begins to 
 gleam, and Hesperus gliti-ers in the fading sky. 
 
 ‘ Ferdinand Armine ^ — we are told — ‘ turned from the beau- 
 tiful world around him to gaze upon a countenance sweeter 
 than the summer air, softer than the gleaming moon, brighter 
 than the evening star. The shadowy light of purple fell 
 upon the still and solemn presence of Henrietta Temple. Irre- 
 sistible motion impelled him ; softly he took her gentle hand ; 
 and bending his head, he murmured to her, ‘ Most beautiful, 
 I love thee.^ 
 
 This strikes us as a bold and promising beginning ! 
 
 Ferdinand follows it up with a semi-lyrical outburst — the 
 language of love ought always to be lyrical ! — for which I have 
 no space. Coming at length to a conclusion, he says : 
 
 ‘Tell me, is it my fault that you are beautiful? Oh ! how 
 beautiful, my wretched and exhausted soul too surely feels ! Is 
 it my fault those eyes are like the dawn, that thy sweet voice 
 thrills through my frame, and that the slightest touch of that 
 light hand falls like a spell on my entranced form ! Ah 1 
 Henrietta, be merciful, be kind f 
 
 He paused for a second, and yet she did not answer ; but 
 her cheek fell upon his shoulder, and the gentle pressure of 
 her hand was more eloquent than language. That slight, sweet 
 signal was to him as the sunrise on the misty earth. Full of 
 hope, and joy, and confidence, he took her in his arms, sealed 
 her cold lips with a burning kiss, and vowed to her his eternal 
 and almighty love (!). 
 
 He bore her to an old stone bench placed on the terrace. 
 Still she was silent; but her hand clasped his, and her head 
 rested on his bosom. The gleaming moon now glittered, the 
 hills and woods were silvered by its beam, and the far meads 
 were bathed with its clear, fair light. Not a single cloud cur- 
 tained the splendour of the stars. What a rapturous soul was 
 Ferdinand Armine’s as he sat that night on the old bench, on 
 Dude Terrace, shrouding from the rising breeze the trembling 
 form of Henrietta Temple ! And yet it was not cold that made 
 her shiver. 
 
 The clock of Venice struck ten. She moved, saying, in a 
 faint voice, ‘We must go home, my Ferdinand !’ 
 
 From these specimens both the cavalier and the lady may 
 
220 
 
 THE BETROTHAL, 
 
 possibly gain a hint or two — the former as to the manner of 
 his proposal, the latter as to the mode of its acceptance. If 
 not satisfied, they can pursue the inquiry for themselves in the 
 veracious chronicles of Mr. Anthony Trollope or Mrs. Oli- 
 phant, William Black or Holme Lee. I do not recommend 
 the sensational novelists, as their heroes and heroines are 
 swayed by wonderful gusts of passion which ordinary people 
 are not likely to experience — or they may wait until the oppor- 
 tunity comes, and trust to Nature. We will suppose the offer 
 made and accepted, the vow spoken, the troth plighted, the 
 uncertainty changed into golden certainty, so that the ‘ happy 
 pair ’ may exclaim in the <iuaintly beautiful words of Sir Philip 
 Sidney : 
 
 ‘ My true love hath my heart, and I have his, 
 
 By just exchange one to the other given : 
 
 I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss ; 
 
 There never was a better bargain driven : 
 
 My true love hath my heart, and I have his. 
 
 ‘ His heart in me keeps him and me in one ; 
 
 My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides : 
 
 He loves my heart, for once it was his own ; 
 
 I cherish his because in me it bides : 
 
 My true love hath my heart, and I have his.’ 
 
 The gentleman hastens to obtain — unless he has already 
 done so — the sanction of his lady-lovers father, and thence- 
 forth he is treated as ‘one of the family.r No restrictions are 
 placed upon the intimacy of the engaged couple, who walk 
 together, dance together, and are freely introduced to the 
 relatives on either side. Custom, however, requires that the 
 gentleman’s family should call first, and that he should make 
 the first present, which, by the way, generally takes the shape 
 of a betrothal ring. This engagement ring will vary with the 
 fortunes and position of the parties, from a diamond to a ring 
 of chased gold, which can afterwards be worn a^ a keeper. It 
 is sometimes set with different gems, the initial letters of which 
 form the Christian name of the gentleman — one interesting 
 instance of which was the engagement ring of the Princess of 
 Wales, comprising a Beryl, an Emerald, a Ruby, a Topaz, a 
 Jacinth, and an Emerald, the initial letters of which, taken in 
 this order, made up the name ‘Bertie,’ by which the Prince of 
 Wales was called in his childhood. The duration of the 
 engagement depends, of course, upon circumstances ; it should 
 
THE CONVERSATION OE LOVERS. 
 
 221 
 
 not be too long, or too short — long enough to enable the 
 young couple to obtain a fuller knowledge of their respective 
 tastes, habits, and idiosyncrasies, and a fuller conviction that 
 marriage will be to the happiness of each. During this stage of 
 probation the gentleman will be on his trial, and his real 
 character will show itself in his intercourse with his betrothed’s 
 family, and in the arrangements which he makes for her future 
 convenience and comfort. As a rule, it is the only satisfactory 
 opportunity which our social condition enables a young maiden 
 to avail herself of for acquiring some degree of familiarity with 
 the man to whom she has promised to devote her heart, her 
 mind, her life. 
 
 During this transition state neither he nor she should indulge 
 in even the shadow of a flirtation. To do so is a breach of 
 manners and of morality, and indicates a dangerous thought- 
 lessness and levity which promise ill for the future happiness of 
 both parties. On the other hand, they should remember that 
 love has its reserves, its sweet, tender privacies, and avoid dis- 
 playing in public an ostentatious affection. They will not pre- 
 tend to be strangers, or assume an air of careless indifference ; 
 but they will not vulgarise their position by a show of passionate 
 and all-absorbing devotion^ which never fails to provoke ridicule. 
 Their friends and relatives, nevertheless, will do well to con- 
 trive for them occasions of private conversation, and to recol- 
 lect that love has much to say which is not intended for 
 stranger ears. The conversation of lovers is like a hiero- 
 glyphic, meaningless to those who have not the clue to it. 
 Only, in contriving these delightful opportunities, you must avoid 
 too open and pronounced a management, and not give every- 
 body to understand that Florizel and Perdita wish to be alone. 
 Florizel and Perdita, on their own part, must exercise a con- 
 stant reticence. Florizel must not seek to gratify a silly vanity 
 by exhibiting his influence over Perdita ; nor Perdita dazzle 
 the eyes of the disengaged maidens of her circle by making 
 Florizel come at her call. 
 
 Both Florizel and Perdita, however, must have their accesses 
 of reason ; their rational intervals, in which settlements must 
 be discussed, and pecuniary prospects examined. Men and 
 women may be deeply in love, but they cannot live on kisses 
 and honey. So, after the wedding-day has been fixed, which 
 is the exclusive privilege of the lady, she has to choose and 
 
222 
 
 n^EPARATION OF THE TROUSSEAU, 
 
 prepare her trousseau, the cost of which will vary according to 
 the means and generosity of the parents. She has also to fix 
 the number of and select her bridesmaids ; they may be four, 
 five, six, eight, according to choice ; or any number, indeed, 
 from two to twelve, according to the number of sisters or 
 intimate friends with which the bride and bridegroom are 
 blessed. Generally speaking they should be dressed all alike ; 
 or, if they be tolerably numerous, they may be equally divided 
 in the matter of costume, one half having, according to com- 
 plexion and other considerations, a uniform toilette different 
 from that adopted by the other. 
 
 In addition, however, to the naming of the day and the pre- 
 paration of the trousseau — to one or both of which subjects I 
 may have occasion shortly to recur — there is a prosaic ante- 
 nuptial proceeding which, considering that marriage is indis- 
 soluble except under conditions of great shame and misery, or 
 both, and can never be invalidated by any antecedent decep- 
 tion as to position, property, or expectations, it is of immense 
 importance to have satisfactorily concluded. I allude to the 
 question of settlements, without which the property of no 
 woman is safe for a moment against the commercial and other 
 vicissitudes of fortune which may overtake her husband, or 
 against the caprices and habits of selfishness which may be 
 developed in his character. Some ladies may be too blind, or 
 too credulous, to foresee or believe in these contingencies ; and 
 the duty of looking after the interests of the intended bride 
 and her probable offspring will devolve upon her friends, pre- 
 ferably as represented by the legal adviser of the family. This 
 gentleman will not only secure a fair control of the fortune oi 
 the lady, but will also insist that the bridegroom-elect, if un- 
 possessed of property, shall guard against the disastrous con- 
 sequences of his sudden or untimely death, by effecting a 
 policy of life-assurance for the benefit of his wife, or rather 
 widow, and her children. 
 
 Thoughtful and observant ladies, who understand on what 
 apparently trivial matters domestic happiness may depend, have 
 insisted that ‘ it is not in the formation of a reserve only that 
 the principle of a separate and independent fund, of which the 
 wife should be the custodian or the possessor, should find ex- 
 pression. The institution known as pin-money, from whatever 
 source it might be provided, should prevail amongst all classes 
 
MARRIAGE SETTLEMENTS. 
 
 223 
 
 of society without distinction. A weekly or other periodical 
 allowance should be made, according to the intervals of income, 
 on which the wife should be able confidently to count, and to 
 draw for her household and personal expenses. Such an 
 arrangement would appeal at once to her instincts of self- 
 respect, honour, and economy ; would spare the temper of the 
 husband from the chafe of constantly irritating applications ; 
 would prudently anticipate his improvidence; and would almost 
 infallibly conduce all round to the family prosperity. 
 
 ‘ This arrangement cannot, of course, be legally insisted 
 upon, but it should be morally. A man should not marry 
 unless he has the means to keep his wife in tolerable comfort, 
 and no really considerate and thoughtful husband would so far 
 subjugate a woman’s natural independence as to put her to the 
 uncomfort of asking for money to supply her proper needs ; 
 therefore, however small the means are, we repeat there should 
 be a sum decided upon handed to her at stated intervals for 
 her own use.’ 
 
 The great ceremony which forms so marked an epoch in 
 every life comes at last. It must take place either after the 
 due publication of banns, or on view of a license from the 
 bishop of the diocese, unless it be a ‘ civil marriage that is, 
 a simple, not to say undignified, procedure before the local 
 registrar of marriages. This method has not yet succeeded 
 in attracting the suffrages of good society ; but in view of its 
 possible adoption it is well to state that it is perfectly legal, 
 fulfilling, as it does, the essential condition that the parties 
 desirous of contracting marriage exchange a virtually public 
 declaration that they take each other for man and wife. The 
 marriage so celebrated takes place before at least two witnesses 
 in the office of the superintendent-registrar of the district, an 
 official, it is proper to remark, whose duty it is to attend as one 
 of the witnesses at any marriage which is solemnised with a 
 religious ceremony in any building — Vvffiether belonging to the 
 Roman Catholic communion, or to any denomination of 
 Protestant Dissenters — which does not belong to the Estab- 
 lished Church. The validity of a marriage is not affected by 
 the form of service, whether liturgical or otherwise, with which 
 it is celebrated; nor, indeed, by the accident that the several 
 baptismal names of the parties interested, or of one of them, 
 have not been set forth with an exhaustive correctness, be it 
 
224 
 
 MARRIAGI^ CEREMONIES. 
 
 in the license, or in the publication of banns, as comprising 
 altogether their legal name and designation. Seeing, however, 
 that any omission of a distinctive name tends to weaken the 
 proof of identity, it is for that, as well as for other reasons, ad- 
 visable to depart as little as possible from the strictest order of 
 regularity. This accuracy should be the care of the bride- 
 groom-elect ; and must be ensured before he is in a position to 
 devolve any duty at all upon a ‘ best man,’ whom only the 
 immediate prospect of the wedding can call into existence. 
 
 The necessity of observing the canonical hours, from eight 
 a.m. to twelve o’clock at noon, attaches to all marriages, 
 wherever, and with what rites or absence of rites soever, they 
 may be celebrated; and it is equally imperative that the 
 parties, or one of them, should have fulfilled the condition of 
 a previous residence. Yet even these requirements are not 
 absolute ; for by a special license, which costs about thirty 
 pounds, and can be obtained only by application to the Arch- 
 bishop of the Province, authority is given for the performance 
 of the marriage ceremony at any time and at any ^ meet and 
 proper place.’ Marriage before the registrar demands an ante- 
 cedent residence of seven clear days in his district; and in 
 cases where the candidates for matrimony live in different dis- 
 tricts notice must be given in each district, after which twenty- 
 one clear days must elapse before the marriage can take place. 
 The method is economical ; the aggregate of the fees amount- 
 ing to something less than half a sovereign. Thus one shilling, 
 which is, strictly speaking, the fee of the registrar, must be 
 paid on giving notice ; and at the expiration of twenty-one days 
 another shilling must be disbursed for the registrar’s certificate. 
 This notice must be given whether the marriage is performed 
 at the register office, or at any Nonconformist place of worship 
 in the district ; for his attendance at which, the registrar charges 
 a fee of five shillings, and a further sum of two shillings and 
 sevenpence for a copy of the marriage certificate. 
 
 It has been truly observed, by a recent writer on the subject, 
 that, ‘ concurrently with the Church revival of recent years, the 
 practice of being married after banns has been restored to 
 fashion, as being, ecclesiastically speaking, more dutiful, because 
 more regular, not calling for so much as that small exercise of 
 the dispensing power of the bishop which even an ordinary 
 license involves. Banns is a Saxon word, and signifies a prq- 
 
MARJ^IAGE LICENSES AND FEES. 
 
 225 
 
 clamation; its radical idea is that of giving publicity to the 
 intended event. The publication takes place on three succes- 
 sive Sundays, during the time of morning service, or the earliest 
 service held thereafter when there are no morning prayers.’ 
 
 Notwithstanding this reaction, the proposition may be assumed 
 still to hold good, that the majority of the marriages of society 
 take place in the church, and by ordinary license ; the follow- 
 ing particulars of which, as set forth in a notice issued at the 
 Bishop of London’s Registry in Doctor’s Commons, can hardly 
 fail in some quarters to be of practical interest. The notice is 
 as follows : 
 
 ‘ MARRIAGE LICENSES. 
 
 ‘ Applications for Marriage Licenses must be made in the Registry by 
 one of the parties to be married ; and no other application, either verbal or 
 in writing, can be received as instructions for a Marriage License. 
 
 ‘ No Agent will be allowed to interfere in any manner whatsoever in ob- 
 taining or procuring a Marriage License, or paying for the same. 
 
 ‘ Affidavits for Marriage Licenses are prepared from the instructions ot 
 one of the parties to be married personally appearing in the Registry, and 
 the License is to be delivered to the party, upon payment of the sum of 
 thirty shillings over and above the amount paid for stamps. 
 
 d. 
 
 ‘ Fees and charges for the Affidavit and License ... i 10 o 
 Stamps ... ... .. ... o 12 6 
 
 £226 
 
 ‘ By Order of the Bishop. 
 
 * Office Hours ^ 10 4 ; Saturdays^ \o to 
 
 ‘ Note. — By the 4th George IV. cap. 76, it is enacted, that in order to 
 avoid fraud and collusion in obtaining Licenses for Marriage, that before any 
 such License be granted, one of the parties shall make an affidavit, on oath^ 
 that there is no legal impediment to the intended marriage ; and also that one 
 of such parties has had his -or her tisual place of abode for the space of fifteen 
 days, immediately preceding the issue of the License^ within the boundary or 
 district assigned to the parish church or the district parish, in the church of 
 which the Marriage is to be solemnised.’ 
 
 Whilst giving an account of what are, relatively speaking, 
 the domestic regulations which govern marriage, it is- proper — 
 if, indeed, recent events did not make it imperative — to urge 
 the necessity for the speedy adoption of an international law 
 of marriage. Until this takes place, we would urge every 
 young English lady who may be tempted to listen to the pro- 
 posals of a Frenchman or other foreigner while resident in 
 
 15 
 
ABOUT THE TROUSSEAU, 
 
 '± 2 % 
 
 England, to ascertain, very carefully and even technically, that 
 her position will be secure in the country of her husband's 
 nativity. Much misery has been, and is still being wrought, 
 by the practical cruelty of foreign laws which have deposed 
 virtuous and honourable women from the only status which as 
 mothers they could tolerate. 
 
 As it is the privilege of the lady to fix the day on which 
 to surrender so much of her prerogative to the will of another, 
 it may be well to remind her of the survival, from times of 
 greater social or canonical limitations, of the prejudice still 
 entertained against the month of May, and the objections 
 against the season of Lent, as periods for the celebration of 
 matrimony. 
 
 The preparation of the trousseau, or outfit, is a gradual and 
 may be almost a leisurely process. The trousseau is generally 
 understood as comprising all articles of dress which are suitable 
 for the social position of the bride ; and it is, inter alia^ the 
 capacity of the paternal purse which will dictate the quantity 
 and quality of under-clothing and other necessary articles to be 
 provided. Dresses, bonnets, and the like, are so amenable 
 to the changes and freaks of fashion that it would be unwise 
 to invest in too large a collection ; and on the whole the 
 number of the various articles included in the trousseau should 
 be regulated by their tendency to succumb to fashion, or to 
 hold their own against it. There is room for the exercise of 
 discrimination between the ‘ too little and too much,' between 
 an unworthy parsimony and such an expenditure as would be 
 inordinate, because it might be useless. 
 
 From the trousseau — of which, it may be said, jewels form 
 no part, unless in cases where the lady has a claim to her 
 share in the jewels of her own family — it is natural to turn to 
 the consideration of the presents which the bride-elect will 
 receive as tangible expressions of the affection and sympathy 
 of her friends. Such presents should be sent to her father's 
 house a few days before that fixed upon for the marriage cere- 
 mony ; and in those which it is the privilege of the bridegroom 
 to provide, including jewels, I may say, in words adapted from 
 an expert and thoughtful pen, that ‘ not less than in the pur- 
 chases made by friends, a nice proportion of outlay to means, 
 fortune, and position should be diligently studied. It is a 
 matter of importance that the entire group of presents should 
 
GIFTS TO THE BRIDE. 
 
 227 
 
 possess in the highest attainable degree the attributes of sym- 
 metry and completeness. There should be no startling or in- 
 congruous splendour in one present which would mock the 
 appointments of the bride in the mass, or which would compel 
 or even tempt her to injudicious outlay in order to provide 
 expensive articles eii suite. The proverbial gift of a white 
 elephant, suggestive of the necessity of imperial furniture and 
 appointments, is understood as a synonym for disastrous ex- 
 travagance. The locality and climate of the country in which 
 the period of the life of the newly-married couple, immediately 
 succeeding the wedding, is to be passed, is also a matter de- 
 serving consideration on the part of open-handed friends who 
 would also be discriminating. 
 
 ‘ Further, in this matter of presents, true kindness will seek 
 to ally itself with ingenuity, and will endeavour in every pos- 
 sible way to attain to the greatest serviceableness in the aggre- 
 gate of presents. The gifts of careless or unimaginative people 
 have a tendency to run into special forms, and to comply only 
 with the negative condition of not being improper ; but the 
 undue repetition of these ready forms of presents tends to a 
 surfeit or plethora of ornament in absurd or grotesque combina- 
 tions with a miuhnum of usefulness. It would be misfortune if 
 the tributes of the friends of a lady on the threshold of house- 
 keeping ran in the direction of fish-knives to the exclusion of 
 biscuit-drums ; or if the bride, like Tarpeia, crushed by the 
 monotonous incidence of martial bracelets, should be over- 
 whelmed with toilet necessaries when her paraphernalia was left 
 entirely without a cruet-stand or a card-tray. 
 
 ‘ Friends of the bride will endeavour, by more or less direct 
 or indirect inquiry, to ascertain upon what particular articles 
 there is likely to be a run,'^ and will be very careful to go out- 
 side of these for the selection. Those friends of the bride, 
 again, who are also friends of each other, and are within con- 
 sulting distance, may reasonably be expected to confer together 
 for mutual advice, so as to arrive at a mutual conclusion as to 
 the form their gifts should severally assume. 
 
 ‘ From the closer friendship will be expected, as is natural, 
 the exercise of the greater thought and trouble in the attempt 
 to secure efficiency in variety and multiformity in complete- 
 ness. 
 
 ‘ It has seemed worth while to lay down these rules of ex- 
 
 15 — 2 
 
228 
 
 WEDDING GUESTS. 
 
 pediency and politeness in the matter of presents, because it is 
 one on which a great amount of misapprehension is not only 
 of possible but of actual occurrence. But another word still 
 remains to be said for the benefit of those friends who, by reason 
 of remoteness of distance, or want of mutual acquaintance with 
 the rest of the social circle of the bride’s family, are obliged 
 to act without concert, and entirely, therefore, on their own 
 responsibility. A judicious correspondence with some confi- 
 dential friend of the bride may possibly result in the discovery 
 of the general character of the presents expected, so far as they 
 have been rumoured or declared. But if they are compelled 
 to proceed in the independence of perfect ignorance of the 
 doings of other people, it will be a kindly act not to grudge a 
 little thought and invention to offer some rarer or more unusual 
 article of use or adornment, in which it is most likely they will 
 not be forestalled. Such consideration will be rewarded in 
 this, that the offer of a unique gift will command a unique 
 remembrance of the giver.’ 
 
 From the wider circle of acquaintance who may gracefully 
 express their kindly interest by their voluntary attendance at 
 church on the occasion of the marriage ceremony, the most 
 valued and intimate friends must be selected for invitation to 
 the wedding-breakfast ; the number of guests being calculated 
 according to the accommodation afforded by the house of the 
 bride’s parents or guardians, in which it will presumably be 
 given. The connections of the bride will naturally be repre- 
 sented in a much greater proportion than those of the bride- 
 groom, whose father and mother, how^ever, and brothers and 
 sisters, with their wives and husbands, if they are married, must 
 be included. The parents of the bridegroom, indeed, should 
 be treated throughout as the chief guests of the bride’s family ; 
 and all his relations should be the objects of special courtesy 
 and attention. If the marriage take place in the country, and 
 if the accommodation be sufficiently ample to enable them to 
 be received at such a time without undue embarrassment, it is 
 desirable to invite the parents of the bridegroom, and also the 
 bridesmaids, to stay at the house of the bride’s father on the 
 night before the wedding. ‘ The invitations to each several 
 guest should expressly define the extent and limit of that invi- 
 tation, where it begins and ends — whether at the house before 
 the ceremony, at the church, at the breakfast, or at the later 
 
EXPENSES OF THE WEDDING CEREMONY, 
 
 229 
 
 festivities which may conclude the day. These and other 
 minute distinctions and directions which it may be convenient 
 to issue may be mentioned in a kind of postscript addressed to 
 each individual, and added to the formal circular invitation 
 which is addressed to all. These forms of invitation are usually 
 purchased at a stationer’s. The officiating clergy, as well as 
 the incumbent of the church in which the marriage takes place, 
 whether he personally officiates or not, should be amongst 
 those who receive invitations to the breakfast.’ 
 
 The parish or district church attended by the bride’s family 
 is most frequently chosen as the scene of the ceremony. If 
 the clergyman who is to officiate be not the incumbent or 
 curate, the incumbent’s permission in wi'iting must be obtained 
 by the bridegroom. Fees are paid to the incumbent, whatever 
 arrangement you may make with the officiating clergyman. 
 
 While the bride goes attended by her bevy of bridesmaids, 
 the bridegroom is accompanied only by his ^ best man,’ who, 
 during the service, stands on his right hand, but a little behind 
 him, and afterwards signs the register in the vestry, and, on 
 behalf of his friend, pays the fees to the clergyman and others. 
 These fees vary from ^^5 to ^^25 for the clergyman, according 
 to the bridegroom’s position, and from to ^5 for the clerk. 
 
 The main expense attendant upon the wedding ceremony 
 and festivities is borne by the bride’s father ; but the bride- 
 groom supplies the wedding-ring, bouquets for the bride and 
 bridesmaids, and presents for the bridesmaids. There is ample 
 precedent and authority, however, for the father of the bride 
 to regard it as his exclusive privilege to present their bouquets 
 to the bridesmaids. This arrangement has the advantage ot 
 distributing the opportunities of paying them respect between 
 the two gentlemen who are most closely honoured by their 
 graceful services. The bridesmaids’ bouquets should consist 
 of white and coloured flowers, the latter of which might be 
 selected and combined to match the trimmings of their dresses. 
 The presents which are eligible to be offered to the bridesmaids 
 by the bridegroom, who in this particular has no rival to his 
 pretensions, may vary, as gold or silver bouquet-holders, rings, 
 or, again, as lockets on which the monogram of the bride and 
 bridegroom is inscribed. The bouquets are sent on the morning 
 of the wedding-day ; the presents, generally, not later than the 
 day before. Sometimes the bridegroom provides the carriage to 
 
230 
 
 AT THE CHURCH 
 
 convey himself and bride from the church to the house where 
 the wedding-breakfast is given, and from thence to the railway 
 station, or the place selected for the honeymoon ; but very 
 often this duty is undertaken by the bride^s father. The 
 bride’s bouquet should be composed of white flowers exclu- 
 sively— gardenias, for instance, azaleas, or camellias, with a 
 little orange-blossom intertwined. 
 
 The bride repairs to the church in her father’s carriage. If 
 she have sisters and they act as bridesmaids, they, with her 
 mother, precede her, and the carriage returns for her and her 
 father ; but if there be no sisters, her father usually precedes 
 her to the church, and receives her at the church-door, her 
 mother accompanying her in the carriage. 
 
 The bride must not be kept waiting at the church. The 
 bridegroom, with his best man and the bridesmaids, should be 
 there to receive her. On her arrival, her father — or the brother, 
 relative, or friend, who may represent him — gives her his right 
 arm, and leads her to the altar, followed by the bridesmaids 
 (walking two and two), and her mother, and the mothers of the 
 bridesmaids.'^ Some authorities lay down that during this little 
 progress^ the bride should take the left arm of her father. But 
 this would sacrifice the advantage of being ready at any 
 moment, without obstacle or interval, to assume the left arm of 
 the bridegroom, about the propriety of which opinions do not 
 differ. The bride stands at the bridegroom’s left hand, and 
 on the left-hand side of the altar, with her ^ father' on her left 
 hand, and her mother and married sisters immediately behind 
 him. The bridesmaids are grouped immediately in the rear of 
 these ‘ leading characters.’ 
 
 At the beginning of the service, the bride draws off her 
 gloves, and gives them, with her bouquet, to the head brides- 
 maid to hold. 
 
 * Says Spenser, in his ^ Epithalamium ’ : 
 
 ‘ With trembling steps, and humble reverence, 
 
 She cometh in before th’ Almighty’s view. 
 
 Of her, ye virgins, learn obedience. 
 
 When so ye come into these holy places, 
 
 To humble your proud faces. 
 
 Bring her up to the high altar, that she may 
 The sacred ceremonies there partake 
 The which do endless matrimony make ; 
 
 And let the roaring organs loudly play 
 The praises of the Lord in lively notes.’ 
 
AFTER THE CEREMONY. 
 
 231 
 
 Invited guests, during the ceremony, take up their positions 
 in the aisle of the church, or in the pews and chairs. They 
 carry no bouquets, except that the gentlemen may wear posies 
 in their button-holes. 
 
 The rite concluded which unites hearts and hands — or, too 
 often, ‘hands, not hearts’ — the bride takes the bridegroom’s 
 left arm, and, preceded by the officiating clergyman, and 
 followed by her head bridesmaids, parents, and the principal 
 guests, repairs to the vestry, where the register is signed by the 
 bridegroom and herself, the bride’s father, two or three of the 
 nearest relatives, and a few of the chief friends and guests, 
 including always the best man and the head bridesmaid. 
 Meanwhile, the bridesmaids distribute the wedding favours both 
 in the vestry and the church. Favours for ladies have a sprig 
 of orange-blossom, with silver leaves and white satin ribbon ; 
 those for the gentlemen, silver oak-leaves and acorns. They 
 are worn on the left side of the coat or bodice. 
 
 A lady entering on a second marriage wears neither bridal 
 veil nor orange blossoms; nor can she have bridesmaids or 
 wedding favours. Her dress must not be white, but it may be 
 of a colour closely approaching it. She will wear hat or bonnet, 
 with veil of lace or tulle. Whether she remove her first 
 wedding-ring, or retain it, is left to her own choice ; usually 
 it is retained, and the second ring is worn over the first. 
 
 After the register has been signed, and the friends and others 
 in the vestry have shaken hands with the bride and offered 
 their congratulations, she takes her husband’s left arm, and, 
 followed by the bridesmaids, they pass down the centre of the 
 church, pausing occasionally to shake hands with any of their 
 friends or relations they may happen to observe. 
 
 Then they enter their carriage and drive away, and are 
 followed immediately by the bride’s mother, in order that 
 she may be at home to receive her guests. Those of the com- 
 pany who have not attended the service, or have had no 
 opportunity of speaking to the newly-married couple, offer 
 their congratulations on being shown into the drawing-room, 
 where all assemble prior to the breakfast. Here, on the tables, 
 are displayed the wedding presents, which vary in number and 
 value, according to the position and popularity of the bride. A 
 small paper label, on which is written the donor’s name, is 
 attached to each present. 
 
232 
 
 THE WEDDING-BREAKFAST. 
 
 It is to be understood that everybody invited to a wedding 
 umst^ or ought to, send a present to the bride ; and presents 
 are frequently made before the invitations are issued. Invita- 
 tions are issued fully a fortnight before the eventful day, and 
 may either be by writing or by engraved cards. 
 
 The guests, on their arrival, deposit hats and sticks in the 
 hall. The ladies — as well as the bridesmaids — do not remove 
 their hats or bonnets, but wear them at the breakfast. 
 
 Before the servants announce that all is ready, the host or 
 hostess informs the gentlemen present what ladies they will 
 take down, and, if necessary, introduces them to their temporary 
 partners. This introduction does not constitute the basis of 
 future acquaintance, unless with the consent of the lady. 
 
 At a wedding-breakfast, the mothers of the bride and bride- 
 groom take precedence of all the other ladies present. The 
 order of procession on these occasions consists of — first, the 
 bride and bridegroom, the bride taking her husband’s left arm ; 
 next, the bride’s father and the bridegroom’s mother, who 
 takes the right arm, as do the other ladies ; third, the bride- 
 groom’s father and the bride’s mother ; fourth, the ‘ best man ’ 
 and the head bridesmaid ; the other bridesmaids with their 
 respective partners ; and the remainder of the guests according 
 to their rank. 
 
 Wedding-breakfasts are an institution of some antiquity. 
 In Sir John Suckling’s famous ‘Ballad upon a Wedding,’ 
 written about 1635, we find that the breakfast occupies a 
 prominent position : 
 
 ‘ Passion o’ me ! how I run on ! 
 
 There’s that that would be thought upon, 
 
 I trow, beside the bride : 
 
 The bus’ness of the kitchen’s great, 
 
 For it is fit that men should eat j 
 Nor was it there denied. 
 
 ‘Just in the nick, the cook knocked thrice, 
 
 And all the waiters in a trice 
 Ilis summons did obey ; 
 
 Each serving-man, with dish in hand, 
 
 Marched boldly up, like one trained band. 
 
 Presented, and away. 
 
 ‘ When all the meat was on the table, 
 
 What man of knife or teeth was able 
 To stay to be entreated ? 
 
A CUSTOM TO BE HONOURED IN THE BREACH. 233 
 
 And this the very reason was, 
 
 Before the parson could say Grace, 
 
 The company was seated. . 
 
 ‘ Now hats fly off, and youths carouse ; 
 
 Healths first go round, and then the house. 
 
 The bride’s came thick and thick ; 
 
 And when ’twas named another’s health. 
 
 Perhaps he made it hers by stealth. 
 
 And who could help it, Dick ?’ 
 
 But, old as is the custom, it is more honoured in the breach 
 than in the observance, and has as little to recommend and 
 justify it as the custom of celebrating the marriage ceremony 
 in the morning. There is something unnatural and unreal in 
 such a repast under such conditions ; it is not less a burden to 
 the guests, condemned to drink wine and listen to bad speeches 
 in the middle of the day, than to the bride and bridegroom, 
 who, after the excitement of so solemn and important a cere- 
 mony, should surely be allowed a little time for quiet reflection 
 and repose. Nor does it seem fitting that the parting of the 
 bride with her parents and sisters should be witnessed by a 
 host of guests assembled for the ostensible purpose of amuse- 
 ment. All those things, moreover, tend to disguise the grave 
 character of the act by which a young girl is taken from her 
 home and its loving shelter, and plunged into a new world of 
 duties and responsibilities ; the act by which she sets a seal 
 upon her past, and opens the book of a mysterious future. 
 
 Of late the wedding-breakfast has come, in many cases, to 
 be omitted, and instead a ball or soiree is given in the evening. 
 The bride and bridegroom are thus enabled to make their 
 adieux in the privacy of the family circle ; and the bride 
 escapes the pain of being criticised by curious eyes and harassed 
 by the exhibition of emotions, which, however sincere, cannot 
 fail to harass and excite her feelings. The pain is difficult to 
 bear with calmness when the marriage is consecrated by love 
 and the union of hands is’also an union of hearts; what must it, 
 be when the alliance has been dictated by worldly considera- 
 tions, and involves, perhaps, the sacrifice of long-cherished 
 hopes and dreams ? 
 
 Bowing to iron custom, we will suppose, however, that the 
 wedding-feast is duly set forth. It may be either a ‘ standing 
 up ^ or a ‘ sitting down ’ breakfast, according to the recom- 
 
234 
 
 SPEECHES AT THE WEDDING’FEAST , 
 
 meiidation of a great and wise authority. In the latter case, 
 the bride and bridegroom sit either at the head or the centre 
 of a long table — the bride at the bridegroom’s left hand ; the 
 bride’s father and the bridegroom’s mother next to the bride; 
 the bride’s mother and the bridegroom’s father next to the 
 bridegroom. In the former case a long buffet is provided, with 
 a few small round tables, as for a ball supper ; the tables being 
 for the accommodation of the bride and bridegroom, their 
 relatives, and the principal guests. The menu of the breakfast 
 — or luncheon (for such it really is) — consists of soups, fish, 
 entrees, chicken, game, mayonnaise, ham, tongue, jellies, 
 creams, and the like — the table being duly ornamented with 
 flowers. Champagne and other wines are served instead of 
 tea and coffee. 
 
 Speeches at a wedding-breakfast are now both few and brief. 
 The principal guest proposes the health of the bride, to which 
 the bridegroom responds, and he in his turn proposes the 
 bridesmaids, for whom the best man answers. Sometimes the 
 health of the parents is drunk, and even that of the officiating 
 clergyman. Previous to the health-giving the bride cuts the 
 cake, which is then removed to a side-table by a servant, and 
 divided into pieces, one for each guest. As soon as the speeches 
 are concluded, the bride withdraws to assume her travelling 
 attire, and the guests adjourn to the drawing-room to await her 
 reappearance. The adieux should be made as quickly as pos- 
 sible, and then the parents follow the ‘ happy couple ’ down 
 into the hall. 
 
 Of individual speeches much might be said; but having 
 regard to the economy of time, I take the following guiding 
 principle from an author to whose taste and judgment I have 
 more than once been indebted : ^ The entire series of speeches 
 should be as complimentary and genial all round as sincerity 
 will allow. Marriage is a connection of families as real, though 
 not so close, as of persons ; and there should be every symptom 
 and expression of perfect content — if these words are weighed, 
 there can be nothing more calmly powerful — in giving and 
 being given, in receiving and being received. The demeanour 
 of every member of the families interested should be such as 
 to give the assurance that there is no reserve in the heartiness 
 and totality of satisfaction and welcome on both sides with 
 which the alliance is regarded. Even if this condition of per- 
 
TRADITIONAL RITES, 
 
 235 
 
 feet content be somewhat forced or simulated, it is a wise as 
 well as a politic assumption, seeing that it is calculated to bring 
 about its own reality. Prudent people may be known by the 
 grace and graciousness with which they accept the inevitable. 
 There should, on the other hand, be the utmost possible re- 
 pression of gush and effusion. It is better to carry an entire 
 audience to a reasonable goal than only a portion of them into 
 a region of sentimental excesses in which the imperfectly sym- 
 pathetic are sure to become critical, if not cynical. The bride- 
 groom should avoid indulgence in self-depreciation ; he will 
 not insist so much on his unworthiness of his good fortune as 
 on his determination to prove himself worthy of it. And if he 
 finds himself speaking in the presence of some of his own 
 friends to whom the bride is a stranger, but under whose ob- 
 servation the rest of her life is to be passed, he will not add to 
 the difficulties incidental to her new sphere and position by 
 extravagantly drawing a super-ideal picture with which she can 
 never expect to conform.’ 
 
 We are a conservative people, and cling to the old traditions 
 most firmly when they have least to recommend them : two 
 white satin slippers, therefore, must be thrown after the bride, 
 one by the best man, the other by the bridesmaid, as a sign 
 that she is dismissed from the ranks of the unmarried ; and 
 handfuls of rice scattered by the matrons, in token that she 
 is thenceforth received into their honoured and honourable 
 body. The bride and bridegroom enter their travelling-carriage 
 and drive away — the bride thus passing out of the world of her 
 maiden youth into the new vague world of married life, depend- 
 ing on the constancy and truthfulness of him to whom she has 
 surrendered all that she has of purest, best, and sweetest : 
 
 ‘ And o’er the hills, and far away 
 Beyond their utmost purple rim, 
 
 Beyond the night, across the day, 
 
 Thro’ all the world she follows him.’ 
 
 It is no longer usual to send cake or cards to distant friends ; 
 and, in fact, the notification in the advertisement of a marriage, 
 ‘ No cards,’ has been abandoned. 
 
 The honeymoon is seldom protracted beyond ten days or a 
 fortnight. On its conclusion, the bride reappears in society, 
 and for three months, the first time she dines at any house 
 she generally takes precedence, as a bride, of all other ladies. 
 
236 
 
 THE WEDDING-DRESS. 
 
 For these dinners she usually wears her wedding-dress, but with- 
 out the orange flowers. 
 
 The wedding presents are sent to the bride's house imme- 
 diately after the marriage. It would be vulgar, however, to 
 use them for purposes of display. 
 
 In these pages I do not wish to devote to the ephemeral 
 observances of society the space which might be better occu- 
 pied with a statement of the necessary principles of etiquette 
 and its more permanent practices. A minute and elaborate 
 exposition of the existing fashions in dress might in a month 
 become antiquated and irrelevant. Yet in a wedding ceremony 
 the details of costume are of so compelling an interest, and play 
 so conspicuous a part, that some reference to them seems not 
 only proper but unavoidable. 
 
 The bridegroom’s attire is quickly disposed of — a dark-blue 
 frock coat, white waistcoat, and light-coloured trousers, with 
 plain light neck-tie and white or pale lavender gloves. 
 
 The bride’s is much more elaborate : in truth, what mascu- 
 line pen can do justice to it ? There is the exquisite wreath 
 that binds the fair young head ; the rich flowing veil of lace, 
 depending to the very feet ; the dress of some delicate material 
 which enchants by its combined simplicity and elegance. It 
 occurs to the present writer that he cannot do better than 
 transcribe from authentic sources the particulars of bridal 
 dresses which have actually been worn. 
 
 1. White satin, covered with lace, and trimmed with wreaths 
 of orange-blossoms ; the veil fastened with a diamond anchor, 
 necklace of pearls. 
 
 The bridesmaids: — Princesse dresses of striped white Pekin, 
 trimmed with Breton lace. The robes laced at the back; 
 paniers at the side, and the bodies cut square and filled in with 
 figured net, the sleeves of the same and transparent, a cuff of 
 lace round the neck. The caps of white lace, with a white 
 flov/er on one side. 
 
 2. The bride : — Ivory satin and broch^ with chenille and 
 pearl fringe ; the wreath composed of real flowers. 
 
 The bridesmaids: — White barege, trimmed with Breton lace, 
 white mob-caps with shamrocks and dog-roses. 
 
 3. The bride : — Pearl-white satin, trimmed with antique 
 Mechlin lace; wreaths of natural orange-blossom around the 
 head and neck, under a tulle veil. 
 
SOME BRIDAL DRESSES DESCRIBED, 
 
 237 
 
 The bridesmaids : — Mousseline de laine and satin, lace mob- 
 caps, silver bracelets (the gift of the bridegroom). 
 
 4. The bride : — White diichesse satin, trimmed with a thick 
 ruche of white tulle round the edge of the long train, with 
 trails of orange-blossom down the front, which was made en 
 Prmcesse,, and fastened with real pearl buttons ; a small spray 
 of orange-blossom in the hair, long white tulle veil. 
 
 The bridesmaids : — White dresses trimmed with embroideries, 
 and pale blue and white hats. 
 
 5. The bride : — White duchesse satin, with brocade train, 
 and wreath of orange-blossoms and tulle veil, fastened with a 
 diamond star. 
 
 The bridesmaids : — Pearl satin, with broche trains, trimmed 
 with pale blue ; capotes to match. 
 
 6. The bride : — Train and bodice of white brocade, trimmed 
 with lace and orange-blossoms, and fastened with diamonds ; 
 the front of the skirt covered with deep flounces of old lace, 
 the wreath and tulle veil secured by magnificent diamond 
 butterflies. 
 
 The bridesmaids : — Shot peacock and gold silk, intertwined 
 with pale peacock, laced at the back; capotes of the same 
 silk and velvet ; an ostrich feather in front. 
 
 7. The bride : — White silk, the train opening with paniers 
 in front, bordered with a flat wreath of orange-blossoms and 
 leaves; on either side of the front breadth tulle and satin 
 plisses and rich lace ; train at the back square, and richly 
 trimmed with lace ; the veil of white tulle, with a wreath of 
 orange-blossoms. 
 
 The bridesmaids Cream washing silk, embroidered in 
 rose-pink, the same shade being introduced into the cap-like 
 bonnets. 
 
 8. The bride : — Pearl-white satin duchesse, with long train, 
 trimmed with crepe lisse and orange-blossoms, with a bunch of 
 natural edelweiss ; round her neck a string of large pearls, 
 and on her head a wreath of orange-blossoms, with a diamond 
 tiara. 
 
 The bridesmaids : — Indian muslin ; each carried a bouquet 
 of white flowers, and wore a jewelled pin, composed of pearls 
 and diamonds, the gift of the bridegroom. 
 
 9. The bride : — Princesse dress of rich duchesse satin, 
 trimmed with old point d'Alengon lace, and wreaths and 
 
238 BRIDES' AND BRIDESMAIDS' DRESSES. 
 
 bunches of orange-blossoms ; tulle veil embroidered with 
 pearls. 
 
 The bridesmaids : — White satin foulard, and navy-blue satin 
 with cream lace ; hats of fine white straw en suite^ with long 
 white ostrich-feathers and jays’ wings. 
 
 10. The bride : — White duchesse satin made a la Frmcesse, 
 with very long train, trimmed with Brussels lace, gown and 
 train relieved by small bouquets of orange-blossom; large 
 Brussels lace veil. 
 
 The bridesmaids : — Petticoats of cream-coloured Cashmere, 
 Pekin bodices trimmed with old lace, and Gainsborough hats 
 with feathers to correspond. 
 
 11. The bride; — Cream-coloured satin, the train trimmed 
 with lace and bouquets of orange-blossoms and stephanotis, 
 the wreaths composed of similar flowers, covered with ample 
 veil of Brussels lace. 
 
 The bridesmaids : — Princesse dresses of cream-coloured 
 Cashmere, trimmed with pale-blue satin; Vaudeville hats lined 
 with blue, and trimmed with cream-coloured ostrich feathers 
 and Breton lace. 
 
CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 AT COURT. 
 
 ‘ Seest thou a man diligent in his business ? 
 
 He shall stand before kings.’ 
 
 Proverbs xxii. 29. 
 
 Presentations at Court — How they are to be Obtained — Rules by which 
 they are Governed — Regulations Observed at Levees and Drawing- 
 rooms — The Levee — Court Dress for Gentlemen — Arrival at St. 
 James’s — Scene in the State Apartments — Admission to the Presence 
 — A Striking Pageant — A Digression upon Beards — A Blaze of Uni- 
 forms — Variety of Costumes — End of the Levee — Description of a 
 Levee — Privileges Enjoyed by Persons who have been Presented — 
 Drawing-rooms — Ceremony Observed on these Occasions — Ladies’ 
 Dress at a Drawing-room — Description of a Drawing-room — Advice 
 to Ladies attending Drawing-rooms — Drawing-rooms at Dublin 
 Castle — A Miniature Court and an Interesting Spectacle — A State 
 Ball at Dublin Castle. 
 
 RESENTATIONS at Court are valued because they 
 place the persons so favoured within the charmed 
 circle of fashionable Society, and confer upon 
 them a definite social position. They are, there- 
 fore, very properly fenced round with certain 
 restrictions, though these are not so rigid as they were in the 
 days of the Georges. Formerly, only persons of undisputed 
 rank and breeding claimed access to the royal presence ; but 
 the privilege is now extended to the clergy, military and naval 
 officers, physicians and barristers, and their wives and daughters, 
 as well as to the families of merchants, bankers, members of 
 the Stock Exchange, and manufacturers of the higher class. 
 Artists and litterateurs of repute are also admitted, but not 
 necessarily or usually any member of their families. 
 
 A lady who desires to be presented applies to a relative or 
 friend who has already undergone invitation. In making th^ 
 
240 
 
 PRESENTATIONS, AND HOW OBTAINED. 
 
 application she asks no slight favour, as the lady presenting is 
 held responsible for the moral and social fitness of the lady 
 presented, and must personally attend the drawing-room at 
 which the presentation is to be made. No tinmai'ried lady can 
 exercise this privilege. Official presentations are undertaken 
 by the various foreign ambassadors, by the wives of her 
 Majesty’s Ministers, and by the wives of other official person- 
 ages in various departments of the State. 
 
 A lady who has once been presented can afterwards attend 
 the drawing-rooms in her own right, unless in the interval she 
 should be married, or married a second time, when she would 
 require to be again presented. 
 
 Four drawing-rooms are held yearly : the first in February, 
 the second in March, and the others in May. Due notice of 
 the date of each is given by the Lord Chamberlain in the 
 London Gazette^ whence it is copied into the daily newspapers. 
 A lady, however, is not expected to attend more than one out 
 of the four. The hour fixed is either two or three. The 
 Queen usually remains in the throne-room about an hour, after 
 which she deputes the Princess of Wales to take her place. 
 The Queen stands all the time ; so does the Princess of Wales ; 
 and so do those members of the Royal Family who may 
 happen to be present. When there is a large number of pre- 
 sentations the ceremony is very fatiguing, and of late years 
 her Majesty has suffered severely from it. 
 
 The regulations to be observed are as follow. They apply to 
 ladies as well as to gentlemen, and to drawing-rooms as well as 
 to levees : — 
 
 ‘ The noblemen and gentlemen, who propose to attend her Majesty’s 
 levees at Buckingham Palace, are requested to bring with them two large 
 cards, with their names clearly writte7i thereon, one to be left with the 
 Queen’s Page in attendance in the corridor, and the other to be delivered 
 to the Lord Chamberlain, who will announce the name to the Queen. 
 
 ‘ Presentations. 
 
 ‘ Any nobleman or gentleman who proposes to be presented to the Queen 
 must leave at the Lord Chamberlain’s office, before twelve o'clock, two clear 
 days before the levee, a card with his name written thereon, and with the 
 name of the nobleman or gentleman by whom he is to be presented. In 
 order to carry out the existing regulation, that no presentation can be made 
 at a levee excepting by a person actually attending that levee, it is also 
 necessary that a letter from the nobleman or gentleman who is to make the 
 presentation, stating it to be his intention to be present, should accompany 
 the presentation card above referred to, which will be submitted to the 
 
ETIQUETTE OF A LEVEE. 
 
 241 
 
 Queen for her Majesty’s approbation. It is her Majesty’s command, that 
 no presentations shall be made at the levee, except in accordance with the 
 above regulations. 
 
 ‘ It is particularly requested, that in every case the name be very distinctly 
 written upon the cards to be delivered to the Lord Chamberlain, in order 
 that there may be no difficulty in announcing them to the Queen. 
 
 * The State Apartments will not be open for the reception of the com- 
 pany coming to Court until half-past one o’clock.’ 
 
 Let us first direct our attention to the levee, which is attended 
 only by gentlemen. There are four held every year at St. 
 James’s Palace, the Prince of Wales representing her Majesty. 
 Gentlemen desirous of being presented apply to their relatives 
 and friends who have already been presented, or they are pre- 
 sented (more commonly) by the heads of the profession or 
 department to which they belong. In the latter case there is 
 generally something of an official as well as a personal character 
 in the presentation. Naval or military gentlemen would look 
 for their sponsors to the Admiralty, the Horse Guards, or the 
 War Office ; or, again, to their more immediate superiors in 
 their several services. Indian and colonial gentlemen would 
 seek the tutelage of the Secretaries of State respectively charged 
 with their quasi-national affairs ; unless, possibly, in the case of 
 colonies which have recently sent accredited agents to reside in 
 this country, by whom visitors from the colonies might claim 
 or elect to be presented. This alternative would be in con- 
 formity with the rule in virtue of which the natives of any 
 foreign country would look to their ambassador or other diplo- 
 matic representative in London as the proper channel of ap- 
 proach to her Majesty. The heads and leading officials of 
 municipalities, and other gentlemen engaged in the domestic 
 administration of the country, rely upon the good offices of the 
 Secretary of State for the Home Department, as their wives do 
 upon those of his wife, or of the lady who, if he be a bachelor or 
 a widower, accepts the responsibility of such a duty and privi- 
 lege. Possibly, as full an illustration of municipal presentations 
 as can readily be afforded is when the Lord Mayor of London 
 and the Sheriffs of London and Middlesex attend at Court, 
 which generally happens at the earliest moment after the as- 
 sumption of their official dignities. Each of these magnates is 
 attended by his chaplain, whom he presents after having been 
 himself presented ; and, in addition, the sheriffs are each at- 
 tended by an under-sheriff, in whose favour they are allowed 
 
242 
 
 COURT DRESS FOR GENTLEMEN. 
 
 to exercise at once their newly acquired right of preientation. 
 They must be presented again and again at every forward stage 
 in their career. Thus, a clergyman who is made an arch- 
 deacon must be a second time presented ; a third time if 
 he obtain a deanery, and a fourth if he be advanced to a 
 bishopric. 
 
 Having obtained a presentation, we must next consider our 
 costume. If we belong to the army, navy, militia, volunteers, 
 or yeomanry, or boast of a deputy-lieutenancy, we wear full- 
 dress uniform. Half-pay officers, however, wear a regulation 
 uniform. If we are at the bar, or hold a benefice in the Church, 
 we wear our official full dress; but it will save some disap- 
 pointment if doctors of divinity and other graduates of univer- 
 sities will remember not to embarrass themselves with the hoods 
 belonging to their academical standing. If, acting upon a 
 natural and even loyal calculation, they should don these ward- 
 robe distinctions by way of placing all their possible of glory at 
 the foot of the throne, they would find themselves deprived of 
 them before they were allowed to reach the royal presence. It 
 seems a pity that this deprivation should be the rule for an 
 element of further variety and picturesqueness in the tout en- 
 seftible is thereby sacrificed ; and fighting men of both services, 
 who suppress nothing but foreign orders, seem to enjoy a pre- 
 ference over the reverend or the learned civilian. There is a 
 suggestion of comfort and convenience in the arrangement, 
 however ; for the academical hood is occasionally bulky, does 
 not always lie flat on the back, and when it does not is in a 
 crowd provocative of entanglement. But if we are civilians, 
 without any rank, inherited or acquired, we attire ourselves in 
 court dress, either of cloth or velvet. When the suit is of 
 cloth, it consists of claret-coloured trousers, with a narrow gold 
 stripe down the side ; dress coat, single-breasted, with broad 
 collar, cuffs, and pocket-flaps ; white waistcoat and white tie, 
 cocked hat and sword. When the dress is of velvet, the coat is 
 emblazoned with bright steel buttons, and instead of trousers, 
 knee-breeches, with silk stockings, shoes, and buckles, are worn. 
 The colour for velvet is black. Gentlemen attending levees 
 wear gloves, but usually remove the right-hand glove before 
 entering the Throne Room, in case the Prince of Whales should 
 be pleased to shake hands with them — an honour reserved, 
 however, for those with whom he is personally acquainted. 
 
IN THE STATE APARTMENTS, 
 
 243 
 
 All preliminaries disposed of, and the eventful day having 
 arrived, we enter the vehicle chartered for the occasion, and 
 proceed to St. James’s Palace. On stepping out, we are received 
 with no particular deference by some of the royal servants, and 
 passing the Gentlemen-at-Arms and Yeomen of the Guard, enter 
 the corridor, where, at a table superintended by certain house- 
 hold officials, we deposit one of the two cards with which, in 
 accordance with the regulations, we have come provided. Our 
 presenter, observe, does not accompany us, though he is required 
 to attend the same levee. We cannot help the reflection that 
 if he would only take us by the hand, push us forward, and 
 genially accost H.R.H. with ‘Here, your Royal Highness, is 
 an excellent friend of mine, a loyal subject of your royal 
 mother !’ ’twould be very nice. 
 
 But this is not to be. Grasping our other card, we ascend 
 the staircase — which is dotted with various officials, all apparently 
 sinking under a weight of serious responsibility — to the State 
 Apartments. But as these are not very spacious, we are kept 
 waiting at each doorway, in order that the gentlemen who have 
 preceded us may pass into the Throne Room without ‘a crush.’ 
 Such delays are very trying, and bring out the idiosyncrasies of 
 individuals in what is sometimes an amusing manner. It is 
 said that a certain provincial mayor, when presented on some 
 public occasion, was grievously annoyed that no refreshments 
 whiled away these disagreeable pauses. ‘ I thought at least,’ he 
 was heard to mutter, ‘ that there would be a cut of beef and a 
 glass of sherry to be had at the sideboard.’ Patient wisdom 
 makes the best of the inevitable ; friends talk to friends, while 
 others refresh their memories with the historical associations 
 of the place, meditate upon the pictures, and contemplate the 
 quaint decorations. 
 
 At last our turn comes, and we enter the main saloon, ad- 
 joining the Throne Room. Here we wait once more; not, 
 however, before a doorway, but in the midst of the bulk of the 
 company who have not passed through, and of the ‘ general 
 circle,’ who do attend not to undergo the process of presenta- 
 tion, but as a mark of loyal respect, and partly perhaps for 
 their own amusement. The room is divided by a transverse 
 barrier, the other side of which leads to a narrow passage, also 
 partitioned lengthwise, and opening on the door of the Throne 
 Room. As the pause at this point is generally a long one, we 
 
 16 — 2 
 
244 AMONG THE ‘GENERAL CIRCLE: 
 
 have time to look about us, and enjoy a very novel and stirring 
 spectacle. 
 
 We notice first the preponderance of uniform, and are struck 
 by the number of peaceable civilians who for the nonce blossom 
 forth into gorgeous military array. This arises in a great 
 measure from the universal dislike to the normal court dress, 
 which is assuredly neither picturesque nor convenient ; so that 
 everybody dons a uniform who has the slightest excuse for 
 doing so. It has been well said that no reason exists why a 
 gentleman must enter the presence of his sovereign in an 
 obsolete and grotesque dress, so entirely different in character 
 from that which he is accustomed to wear, as not to be worn 
 without a sense of discomfort and ridicule. In cases where 
 special arrangements have been made for civilians, we find no 
 adherence to the old type. There is no want of fitness in the 
 Diplomatic, the Consular, and the Civil Service uniforms, or 
 even in the Windsor uniform ; but as everybody cannot be in 
 her Majesty’s service, it seems unfair to attach such a penalty 
 to non-membership as the existing court dress imposes. The 
 substitution of trousers for knee-breeches was a step in the 
 right direction ; but what is needed is the introduction of a 
 kind of non-official uniform in harmony with the custom and 
 taste of the present day. 
 
 Looking around us, we observe many faces made familiar to 
 us by the art of the photographer and the engraver. Yonder 
 is the Prime Minister for the time being, whilst close beside 
 him is his lieutenant, probably the Secretary of State for some 
 leading department of the Administration. Other members of 
 the Cabinet are present, and some of the leaders of her 
 Majesty’s Opposition ; as well as the general fresh with his 
 distinctions from the most recent theatre of war. The Diplo- 
 matic circle is largely attended. We recognise at once the 
 Turkish ambassador. Near him stands the representative of 
 the French Republic, and within a few feet of him is the 
 American minister. Here comes the Lord Chief Justice of 
 England, whose judicial robes belong to a past age; but who 
 would wish them changed ? The wig, it is true, dates only 
 from the end of the seventeenth century, but though it has 
 been the object of frequent satire, we suspect the majority of 
 Englishmen would as soon part with the House of Peers as 
 dispense with its ‘ boundless convexity of frizz.’ The Queen’s 
 
SIGNIFICANCE OF BEARD OR MOUSTACHE. 245 
 
 Counsel, of whom several are present, wear similarly por- 
 tentous head-gear : like the serjeants-at-law, they are shaven as 
 to their upper lips and chins — a curious distinction, nowadays, 
 when almost everybody wears moustache or beard. 
 
 The variety of beards is indeed a subject for profound 
 meditation. Some are long and bushy ; some parted ; some 
 reduced to a mere fringe, as if the wearer were secretly ashamed 
 of his hirsute appendage ; some are trimly rounded, like a 
 cockscomb ; others vanish into a small tuft ; others wave in a 
 couple of fan-like curves. The moustaches are not less 
 various : some are thin and straggling ; others bristling and 
 defiant; some are carefully curved on either side of the mouth; 
 some turn up like the horns of the crescent moon ; a few 
 develope into the long thin twisted ends of the moustache made 
 popular by Louis Napoleon ; some leave the mouth exposed 
 to preserve its expressiveness ; others close over it completely, 
 and make the lower half of the countenance as dull and mean- 
 ingless as a mask. There is much significance in these things ; 
 and a hint as to the marked features of a man’s character may 
 be obtained from his beard or moustache. 
 
 Among the gownsmen we note several Doctors of Divinity, 
 who, with LL.D.s and D.C.L.s, help to tone down the glare 
 of scarlet and blue and even white and gold uniforms so 
 prevalent upon State occasions. Some of these uniforms, 
 however, are very handsome ; as, for example, those of the 
 Life Guards and the Royal Blues ; and some of their wearers 
 are fine stalwart fellows, though others are small, undersized 
 men, whom their gorgeous panoply seems to overweight and 
 deaden. On the principle that he who drives fat oxen should 
 himself be fat, the officers of these regiments, called upon to 
 command squadrons of robust ‘ six-footers,’ ought themselves 
 to be Anaks ; but there is no regulation standard (physically) 
 for officers. The Foot Guards make a good show. Among 
 the Volunteer officers many are ^ well set up,’ with a real 
 soldierly air, and in their neat uniforms do no discredit to our 
 reserve forces. There are a couple of ‘Plungers ’ — the favourite 
 heroes of novelists of the ‘ Guy Livingstone ’ school — and in 
 their gorgeous uniforms they impress the eye wonderfully. Not 
 less effective are their companions, two of the Light Cavalry, 
 an Hussar, and a Lancer, in dress which, if less sumptuous, is 
 possibly more picturesque. The medals on their manly breasts 
 
246 
 
 A GLANCE AT THE COMPANY. 
 
 bear witness to the service they have seen. One rode in the 
 cavalry fight at Balaklava ; the other saw some of the hottest 
 scenes of the Indian Mutiny. 
 
 The word ‘ Indian ’ reminds us of a very conspicuous per- 
 sonage, who shines out among all the rest in a short collarless 
 green tunic, loaded with bullion. He wears red breeches, and 
 boots with gold-embroidered tops reaching half-way up the 
 thigh. In his hand he carries a helmet covered with purple 
 velvet, and blazing like his tunic with gold. He is one of the 
 most distinguished of Indian troopers, a commandant of 
 irregular cavalry, and his ‘Star of India’ insignia attest his 
 claim to the respectful admiration of his countrymen. 
 
 Passing over the officers of the Line and the Militia, whose 
 plain scarlet tunics are put out of countenance by the splendid 
 habiliments of the horsemen, and the effective dark-blue 
 uniforms of the representatives of the Navy, we linger for a 
 moment among the Deputy Lieutenants, who are brave in their 
 cocked-hats and plumes, their epaulettes, their sashes round the 
 waist, and their tail-coats resplendent with gold-lace. The 
 part played by Deputy Lieutenants in the economy of creation 
 seems as undefined and undefinable as that of archdeacons, 
 who, according to a w^ell-known episcopal definition, ‘ perfprm 
 archidiaconal functions.’ It is said that they hold local charges 
 under lord-lieutenants, and are responsible for certain con- 
 tingents of the county militia ; but nobody ever heard of a 
 Deputy Lieutenant doing anything ; nor does he ever appear on 
 the public stage, I think, except at levees, and to move or 
 second an address in the House of Commons. He ranks with 
 a lieutenant-colonel ; but wears no sword, and could not 
 appear mounted in uniform, while any attempt on his part to 
 take a place among the staff of (say) General Lysons, or ‘ the 
 Major-General commanding the district,’ would expose him to 
 inextinguishable ridicule. One thing is certain, however, that 
 a man is not made a Deputy Lieutenant unless he has ‘ a 
 stake in the county 3’ and in this consideration, and in the 
 splendour of his uniform, the great soul of a Deputy Lieutenant 
 must learn to be content. 
 
 But a movement now takes place towards the barrier on the 
 left. It is open, and the brilliant crowd moving through to 
 the right, pour into the narrow passage that leads to the 
 Presence Chamber. An official, taking your reserve card. 
 
IN THE PRESENCE CHAMBER. 
 
 247 
 
 observes that ‘Gentlemen will please to walk in single file^ — 
 an arrangement which prevents pressure, but separates friends ; 
 and we proceed in due order through the door, and then 
 round to the right where stands Royalty, attended by a glitter- 
 ing suite. We are conscious of the presence of a handsome 
 and somewhat portly personage, with a good-humoured coun- 
 tenance, a tawny moustache and beard, but considerable bald- 
 ness on the top of the head. Our name is read aloud from 
 our card ; we make a respectful obeisance ; and are received 
 with a pleasant smile and slight bow. There is no kissing of 
 hands; but when the Prince recognises an acquaintance, he 
 steps forward, shakes hands heartily, and makes some genial 
 remark. As we have not the honour to count Albert Edward 
 on our ‘ list of friends,' we pass on and out of the presence, 
 and prepare to regain our home. 
 
 Levees nowadays are purely formal and ceremonial affairs ; 
 but times have been when they were the scenes of intense 
 political excitement ; and when quidnuncs and the hangers-on 
 of the Court watched eagerly the kind of reception accorded 
 by Royalty to this minister or that, and augured the fall of 
 Cabinets from the frown that gloomed on royal brows, or were 
 cheered by the sunshine of royal smiles to hope for a con- 
 tinued lease of power or place. Think of some of the levees 
 held in the last years of Queen Anne's reign, or of those held 
 by George III. before he was stricken down by mental diseas'", 
 and consider what jealousies and fears, anticipations and prog- 
 nostications, thronged about and around them. Then.^ indeed, 
 a levee was part of the political comedy of the day ; noiv.^ it is 
 but a pageant, and has only a social importance. The old 
 order has changed, and the new has worked wonders at St. 
 James's as elsewhere. 
 
 To this description shall be appended some notes of a 
 levee held during the season of 1880, which enjoyed the 
 distinction of her Majesty's presence. I condense them from 
 a contribution which appeared at the time in the columns of 
 the World. 
 
 Long before two p.m., a great gathering of officers and 
 gentlemen might be seen in front of Buckingham Palace, and 
 amongst it, with kaleidoscopic effect, glittered every uniform 
 worn by mankind, from China to Peru, or Afghanistan to the 
 
248 THE QUEEN^S LEVEE. 
 
 Cape of Good Hope. The following is the order of procedure 
 at a levee : 
 
 At 1.30 o’clock the various Court officials begin to arrive, 
 and take their places. The Yeomen of the Guard, popularly 
 known as Beefeaters {Buffetiers)^ assemble in the entrance-hall 
 of the Palace, and are posted along the staircase and at the 
 several approaches. At one of these, adjoining the entree- 
 room, two men of this corps stood, who would have rejoiced the 
 heart of Frederick the Great, each of them a giant measuring six 
 feet four and a half inches in his stocking-soles. About this 
 time also her Majesty’s Body-guard of the Honourable Corps of 
 Gentlemen-at-Arms muster in the Picture Gallery ; and, after 
 being told off by the adjutant, march to their several posts in 
 the Royal apartments ; two members of this corps have the 
 privilege of standing in the Presence Chamber, opposite the 
 Throne, and this is taken in rotation. 
 
 By three o’clock, all the preliminaries are completed ; and 
 in front and by the side of the Throne, the ladies and gentle- 
 men-in-waiting, together with the other officials of the house- 
 hold and privileged persons, such as her Majesty’s Ministers and 
 the Gold and Silver Sticks, stand in picturesque groups awaiting 
 the Queen’s arrival. At five minutes past the hour the door 
 on the right hand of the Throne is opened ; and her Majesty, 
 attended by her two pages, wearing the prettiest uniform 
 imaginable, and followed by the members of the Royal Family 
 and her personal retinue, enter, and pass to their places just 
 in front of the Throne, and standing on the floor itself \ her 
 Majesty being on the right, the Princess Beatrice next on her 
 left, and after her, on this occasion, the Prince of Wales, the 
 Duke of Connaught, the Duke of Cambridge, the Prince 
 Leiningen, and Prince Edward of Saxe-Weimar. 
 
 The captain of the Queen’s Guard, in full uniform, with his 
 tall bearskin rising above the crowd, then advances, and, after 
 saluting with his hand, presents the guard report for the day. 
 The Field-officer in Brigade waiting is also in attendance. 
 This formality at an end, the levee begins : the Foreign 
 Ambassadors and Ministers are introduced in the order of 
 precedence, the American Minister being easily recognised by 
 his plain evening dress; and then the presentations in the 
 Diplomatic circle are made, and the general circle pass 
 through. Meanwhile the band is playing briskly in the quad- 
 
PRIVILEGES OF THOSE PRESENTED, 249 
 
 rangle, and the strains of merry music flow in through the 
 window, while the human stream flows on past the Throne at 
 the rate of about one hundred every five minutes. Some of 
 England’s best blood and manhood are there represented : 
 
 ‘ Zulu heroes, like Baker Russell, with the bronze of Afric’s 
 sun still on his cheek, looking every inch a soldier ; and 
 Chard of Rorke’s Drift, with the bronze Victoria Cross on one 
 breast, and on the other two decorations for the preservation 
 of life from the Humane Society; Highland chiefs like 
 Lochiel, Mackenzie of Findon, Lord Perth, and Davidson of 
 Tulloch, all in Highland costume, the last-named full of years, 
 and armed to the teeth with pistols, claymore, dirk, and skean 
 dhu. There are black-robed priests and white-robed Indian 
 Rajahs. Anon, in a cluster, like a moving cloud in a summer 
 sky, come the officers of the Rifle Brigade, in their ‘ invisible ’ 
 green uniform ; for the first time in her reign twenty-five of 
 them move past her Majesty, their order being that of their regi- 
 mental seniority ; and at an interval, the officers of the 3rd 
 Buffs, to the number of twenty-five, with their light-coloured 
 facings, and forming in this respect a striking contrast to the 
 sombre riflemen, pass muster in like manner. 
 
 And so the levee proceeds. 
 
 It is worth notice that, on this occasion, it lasted exactly an 
 hour and a half, and in that time no fewer than eighteen 
 hundred persons passed through the Presence Chamber, of 
 whom three hundred and forty-five were presentations. Her 
 Majesty remained an hour and ten minutes — standing all the 
 time, the better to return the obeisances made — after which the 
 Princess Beatrice took her place. 
 
 Persons who have been presented at levees (and drawing- 
 rooms) are not thereby entitled to invitations to the State balls 
 or State concerts, though to these entertainments none are 
 invited who have not attended, in the year in which they are 
 given, a drawing-room or levee. Nor are they invited to 
 attend ‘ a Court,’ which is a reception held by her Majesty, 
 and attended only by persons who have received her Majesty’s 
 commands. But they possess the privilege of inscribing their 
 names once during the season in her Majesty’s visiting-book 
 at Buckingham Palace. This ceremony takes place when 
 her Majesty is residing at the Palace, and the hours fixed for 
 it are generally from three to five in the afternoon. 
 
250 
 
 ORDER OF PROCEDURE.' 
 
 When the Prince of Wales holds a levee, and the Princess of 
 Wales assists the Queen at a drawing-room, persons attending 
 them have also the privilege of writing their names in the 
 visiting-book of the Prince and Princess at Marlborough 
 House. 
 
 Levees are held by the Commander-in-Chief and the First 
 Lord of the Admiralty ; but only for military men in the former 
 case, and for naval men only in the latter. 
 
 Levees and drawing-rooms are also held by the Viceroy of 
 Ireland, at Dublin Castle ; but a presentation at the Vice- 
 regal Court does not entitle to a presentation ‘ at home nor 
 does a presentation at Buckingham Palace or St. James’s 
 entitle to presentation at Dublin Castle. 
 
 As to Drawing-Rooms : — The fair lady, having to display her 
 loyalty to her sovereign, makes her way through groups of 
 attendants to the ante-room or corridor, where one of the lords-in- 
 waiting with his wand spreads out her train, which she has taken 
 the precaution to let down, so that she may walk forward 
 to the Throne Room, and dispose herself gracefully in the 
 Royal presence. 
 
 Her name is announced ; she curtsies before her Majesty so 
 low as almost to kneel, and while curtseying, kisses the royal 
 hand extended to her, underneath which she places her own 
 ungloved right hand. Her Majesty kisses the cheek of a 
 peeress or daughter of a peer. 
 
 When the Princess of Wales represents her Majesty at a 
 drawing-room, a lady on presentation curtsies only, and does 
 not kiss the Princess’s hand. 
 
 After passing her Majesty, the presentee curtsies to any of 
 the Princesses near her, and retires backwards, in what may be 
 called a succession of curtsies, until she reaches the threshold 
 of the doorway, where the official in attendance replaces he: 
 train upon her arm. 
 
 If a lady desire to attend a drawing room, after she has been 
 presented, it is not necessary for her to send any previous inti- 
 mation to the Lord Chamberlain. She simply takes two large 
 cards with her, having her name clearly written upon them, one 
 of which she gives to the proper official in the ante-room, and 
 the other to the official in the apartment where her Majesty 
 receives. These cards may be obtained at the Palace, but it is 
 better to go provided with them. 
 
AT A DR A WiiVGAWOM. 
 
 251 
 
 When attending a drawing-room, you do not kiss her Majesty^s 
 hand as on presentation, but merely curtsey very low to her as you 
 pass. You curtsey also to the leading members of the Royal 
 Family as you pass them, in the order in which they stand. It 
 is as well before you make your debut to practise the art of 
 curtseying and retiring backward, so as to acquit yourself with 
 easy grace and modest confidence in the Royal presence. 
 Tales are told of ladies who have ‘come to grief’ by their 
 awkward displays on this occasion, and of others whose nervous- 
 ness has plunged them into considerable embarrassment. 
 
 Ladies attending a drawing-room are not admitted according 
 to their order of precedency, but according to the order in 
 which they arrive. With this exception : a married lady pre- 
 sented at a drawing-room can make a presentation at the same 
 drawing-room, but the person presented by her must enter the 
 Presence Chamber affer her, though she should arrive first. 
 
 The dress to be worn on these occasions is ‘ evening dress 
 bodices cut low, with short sleeves, and a train which, 
 whatever its shape, or however worn, must not be less than 
 three yards in length. The fashion of low bodied dresses is 
 singularly inappropriate tor elderly ladies, especially by daylight ; 
 and, from a sanitary point of view, very injurious for young 
 ladies on a cold afternoon in the early spring, with, perhaps, 
 a bitter ‘north-easter’ blowing, and the atmosphere charged 
 with mist and rain ; but though it has often provoked severe 
 criticism, it has remained immutable,^ and is understood to be 
 approved by her Majesty. 
 
 If the lady presented be unmarried, the dress must be white, 
 and brides always wear white when presented. Other married 
 ladies, if not too elderly, frequently affect white ; but they are 
 at liberty to wear whatever colours they prefer. I gratefully 
 transcribe a passage from the pen of a lady, and an expert, 
 which may be of value if any of my readers should employ for 
 their costume a dressmaker who is not accustomed to make 
 court-dresses : — ‘ There are three rules which must be observed, 
 whatever may be the fashion. First, that the dress has a low 
 bodice, neither a square nor a V shape is permitted ; second, 
 
 A medical certificate to the effect that the delicate health of a lady 
 requires the protection of a high dress is the only power that can dispense 
 with a low body, as on the strength of such a certificate the Lord Chamber- 
 lain will issue a special permission for its substitution. 
 
253 
 
 COURT DRESS FOR LADIES. 
 
 that it has a train ; and third, that feathers and lappets are 
 imperative. Young ladies must wear white feathers, two or 
 more, as is most becoming to the head and figure. The lappets 
 are composed of two widths of tulle of at least one yard in 
 length. These lappets are neither hemmed nor trimmed ; they 
 are gathered at the top and fastened over the back hair. There 
 is no rule for dressing the hair; it is dressed to suit the head 
 and the fashion. A petticoat of tulle, white gauze, or silk, 
 trimmed with lace and flowers, is first put on. The trimming 
 of this petticoat must be in the front, as the train would other- 
 wise hide it. The train is from two and a half to three yards 
 wide, and from three and a half to four yards in length, fastened 
 in box-pleats or gathered to a band at the waist. Sometimes it 
 is fastened from the shoulders, but this style should only be 
 adopted by a lady with an exceptionally elegant figure. The 
 train may be of rich silk or satin, and is considered to hang 
 better if lined ; it is generally trimmed inside with a quilted 
 ruche of tulle or ribbon, and is frequently trimmed over wad- 
 ding at the bottom to make it fall better. It may be ornamented 
 with embroidery, tulle bouillons, quillings, or lace feather 
 trimming, or with simple flowers ; and may be round, square, 
 or pointed at the bottom. The bodice generally chosen is 
 pointed back and front, and is fastened by lacings at the back. 
 Tulle ruchings, with pearls or not, as preferred, usually finish 
 the top of the bodice ; and flowers may be dotted about, or 
 worn as a bouquet at the front or on the shoulder. The sleeves 
 are now worn very short, and the gloves very long, with a great 
 number of buttons. - 
 
 ‘ Necklaces are generally worn ; pearls are mostly suitable 
 for young ladies. Ruchings of lace or tulle, with pearls or 
 diamonds on a band of velvet in the centre, can be worn close 
 round the throat, or in many cases a simple ruche of tulle, 
 with a flower on one side, is chosen by a young lady. 
 
 ‘ The shoes or boots must match the dress, and are mostly 
 made from a piece of the same material.’ 
 
 The plumes already mentioned are a necessity whether to 
 the married or the unmarried, the plume of the former consist- 
 ing of three white feathers, the plumes of the latter, generally 
 speaking, of two. The plumes of matrons may, however, be 
 of the colour or the combined colours of their dress, although 
 white plumes are considered more elegant and in better taste 
 
A RECENT DR A WING^ROOM, 253 
 
 with coloured dresses. The materials chosen for the last 
 should be of the richest and costliest description. 
 
 Of a recent drawing-room I find a lively account in a leading 
 Society journal (the World). The writer remarks that the weather 
 was not particularly unfavourable ; the only drawback being the 
 brilliant sunshine, which, however welcome to out-of-door toilers, 
 and invalids pining for light, was by no means acceptable to the 
 ladies in the immediate vicinity of the windows of the recep- 
 tion-rooms of the Palace. Light and sunshine are admitted to 
 be ‘ very delightful things as a rule,^ but they are not approved 
 of by a woman doubtful of her complexion and decolettee at 
 midday ; light and sunshine, however, you get with a vengeance 
 in Buckingham Palace. The glare from the long windows is 
 ‘ positively cruel 'I outside blinds would indeed be a boon. It 
 has often been suggested that these grand ^ functions^ should 
 be held in the evening, and unquestionably it would greatly 
 improve them as spectacles. Bare shoulders, and diamonds, 
 and nodding plumes, strike one by daylight with a sense of in- 
 congruity; but by gaslight, or the light of wax tapers, they 
 would seem fitting and right enough, and the effect would be 
 considerably enhanced. 
 
 On the occasion we are now considering there was a larger 
 attendance than usual of royalties : the august line even 
 turned the corner, and the Prince of Wales was almost at the 
 curve. The Queen looked exceedingly well, and returned the 
 homage of the ladies who passed before her with gracious con- 
 descension. The Princess of Wales was as radiant as ever, 
 and displayed her usual perfect taste in dress. The Princess 
 Frederica, the Princess Beatrice, the good-humoured Duchess 
 of Teck, each had her respective admirers in the loyal crowd. 
 
 There was just enough people present, it is said, to make it 
 a full drawing-room, but not so many as to entail crowding or 
 scuffling, except among the morose and ill-behaved. Some 
 there always are who love to push and bustle, though there be 
 not the smallest necessity for the vi et armis conduct. The 
 arrangements were excellent, each room being only about half- 
 filled at a time, and there were more chairs than occupants for 
 them. Several ladies, however, preferred to stand all the time, 
 that they might be to the fore as soon as the barrier was 
 opened. 
 
 In spite of good fires the rooms were rather chilly. A little 
 
A SUPERFLUOUS PUNCTUALITY, 
 
 254 
 
 shawl would be an immense comfort to nude shoulders, but a^ 
 present there is no means of disposing of it before, and 
 recovering it after, passing her Majesty. ‘ The most trying part 
 of all is waiting for the carriage in the hall, where the draught 
 is fearful, though prudent ladies are careful to be well cloaked. 
 There were very few gentlemen in attendance on the ladies of 
 their family, but the corps diplomatique,^ and gentlemen con- 
 nected with the Court, diminished the undue proportion of 
 ladies in the rooms after the Throne Room was passed. Two 
 Chinese in native costume, wearing shoes with thick white soles, 
 such as one sees on hand-screens, were moving about, watching 
 the proceedings with great curiosity and interest.' 
 
 It is noted that ladies expose themselves to a great deal of 
 needless inconvenience by insisting on starting for the Palace 
 at a uselessly early hour. Before half-past twelve carriages 
 may be seen taking up their position. Phis is pronounced to 
 be really unnecessary ; bad for the horses, and trying for the 
 ladies, who lose their bloom and freshness in the weary time 
 of waiting, and are exposed to the merciless stare of the crowd 
 and the embarrassment of listening to uncompromisingly frank 
 remarks. It has been suggested that ladies should be allowed 
 to wait ill the Palace instead of outside of it : but very slight 
 advantage would be gained by this concession, as, if the doors 
 of Buckingham Palace were thrown open at nine a.m., some 
 ladies would probably have been in attendance an hour before. 
 The object, of course, is a loyal one ; ladies wish to be pre- 
 sented, or to make their curtsies, to the Queen herself ; and 
 it is generally known that her Majesty is in the habit of 
 leaving the Throne Room at four o’clock. The writer already 
 quoted remarks that it would seem only fair that ladies who 
 have not been presented before should be allowed to enter the 
 Presence first. It is presumed that those who have already 
 enjoyed the privilege would not object to such an arrange- 
 ment. In any case, the present ^ early departure ' is uncalled 
 for and useless. ‘ If you dress first, lunch at one, get into your 
 carriage at twenty minutes before two ; you are pretty sure to 
 be in ample time, and to have the privilege of seeing her 
 Majesty in person.' It must be considered strange that ladies 
 do not undergo a great deal more preparation for the admittedly 
 arduous ordeal of presentation to the Queen. ‘ The wise 
 virgins, of course, have many private rehearsals; but some 
 
AT DUBLIN CASTLE, 
 
 255 
 
 seem absolutely not to know what is expected of them, and 
 even forget to take off their right glove, which has now and 
 then to be torn off by an official at the last moment. To the 
 most self-possessed woman in the world the moment of appear- 
 ing for the first time in the august Presence must be a nervous 
 one. She should take every precaution to go through the 
 ceremony as creditably as possible.’ Whatever is worth doing 
 at all is worth doing well — even at a drawing-room. 
 
 The drawing-rooms at Dublin are, necessarily, inferior to 
 those which are graced by the Royal Presence ; but they have, 
 nevertheless, their features of interest, and in Irish society 
 exercise a potent attraction. There was a time, if Lever’s 
 novels may be accepted as authorities, when they had their 
 humoristic and even grotesque features, but nowadays dread 
 Decorum reigns paramount, though not to the extent of crush- 
 ing out all that is characteristic. At Dublin Castle, by a vrise 
 regulation, the drawing-room is always held at night. Previous 
 to the long-looked-for occasion. Paterfamilias, with his wife and 
 his dark-eyed Irish girls, arrives from Galway, Connaught, or 
 Ulster, and ‘ puts up ’ at the ^ Shelburne ’ or the ‘ Bilton,’ bent 
 upon a brief but joyous holiday. About the establishment 
 
 of , the famous modiste,, a crowd of carriages hovers all 
 
 day long ; while the interior is a scene of the liveliest bustle 
 and the most desperate industry. Trains and corsages strew 
 the chairs and floors, and the ‘ latest fashions ’ form the theme 
 of long and serious conversations. Ail Dublin shows signs of 
 festivity; every hotel is full; every hair-dresser, native and 
 foreign, is engaged twenty deep. The drawing-room, more- 
 over, is but the initial one of a series of gaieties ; State 
 banquets follow, and State balls, and dinners and evening 
 parties, and all those gatherings of the cream of society which 
 are so delightful to the young, and so wearisome to the old. 
 
 The windows glitter with lights allround the Castle- yard, and 
 in the central area may be discovered a blaze of uniforms ; 
 while the long line of carriages creeps gradually up, and like 
 an Alexandrine, drags its slow length along, to the intense 
 gratification of a curious crowd. The gorgeous current of 
 ‘ feathers, lappets, and diamonds ’ ripples up the grand stair- 
 case, through a double row of soldiers and liveried servants. 
 Swelling on the billows of her gorgeous train, like some stately 
 swan, with her graceful cygnets behind, the matron sails on 
 
256 THE HUMOURS OF A DRAWING-ROOM. 
 
 into the crush-room, where are assembled all the postulants, 
 gaily uniformed, her spouse being probaby a deputy-lieutenant, 
 an honour much coveted because of its silver and scarlet dress. 
 The variety of uniforms at a Dublin Castle show is one of its 
 peculiarities. Even such functionaries as ‘ inspectors of 
 prisons ’ and ^ clerks of the crown ’ ruffle it in their distinctive 
 bravery. The police officers w^ar a neat rifle equipment; 
 militia officers are as thick as blackberries ; the judges muster, 
 and the great officers of state. In the ‘ throne-room,’ which 
 glows with gold and crimson, stands the duke or earl who re- 
 presents royalty, the centre of a galaxy of glittering officers, 
 who pass the card of the presentee from one to the other, and 
 proclaim his correct style and titles. ‘Behind stand a few, 
 privileged with the “private entree/’ — and there being some 
 jealousy as to this distinction, the list is duly regulated — who 
 find real entertainment in watching the nervous agitation of 
 the fair and blushing creatures who file past, and have to 
 undergo a somewhat trying probation. Every novice has, as 
 it were, to pay toll, levied with a strict but good-natured 
 severity, and the ascetical roi faineant must find some com- 
 pensation for the tedium of his duties in the pleasant octroi 
 duties which he unfailingly levies off every fair cheek that 
 passes by him. The charming confusion — the piquant air of 
 indifference, only assumed — the hopeless agony of bewilder- 
 ment, reaching even to utter blindness, as figures, gold, lights, 
 all merge into one dazzling glitter, without form or coherence — 
 the stumbling over trains — the sinking down in reverent abase- 
 ment, so as to wholly miss the attendant salute — all this, con- 
 trasted with the cool and assured bearing of the regimental 
 “ chargers ” who have been practised in the business, makes up 
 a most dramatic spectacle for those looking on. Sometimes the 
 fair debutante^ quite distraught, totters on past everybody and 
 everything, only to be brought back, more dead than alive. 
 Then come the greetings, when everyone crushes and is 
 crushed, and is “ so delighted !” ’ 
 
 Such are the humours of a drawing-room at ‘ the Castle.’ 
 The writer from whom I am quoting adds a description of ‘the 
 ball ’ which follows, en suite. On St. Patrick’s night all the 
 (Dublin) world with his wife and daughters attend in full court 
 dress, and the revels open with ‘ Sir Roger de Coverley,’ danced 
 with Irish vivacity. Then ensues such a ^stiirm wid drqng^ of 
 
A COURT BALL. 
 
 257 
 
 feathers and lappets, old-fashioned flaps and coat-tails, and 
 entangled trains, as almost to bewilder the spectator. Often 
 a thousand people are present on one of these occasions, 
 when — 
 
 ‘ Soft eyes look love to eyes that speak again, 
 
 And all goes merry as a marriage-bell.’ 
 
 The smaller and more select balls, of which about half a 
 dozen are given in the year, are usually remarkable for their 
 exceeding pleasantness, and are none the worse, mayhap, for 
 the fantastic procession that inaugurates them of the host 
 and his household, with two livery servants clearing the wa)^, 
 and the guests forming a kind of living avenue. Low bends 
 each form as the band plays ‘ God save the Queen on presses 
 the pageant, the half-dozen aides-de-camp in their becoming 
 uniform (coats with sky-blue facings, white waistcoats, and gilt 
 buttons), the ‘gentleman-at-large,’ the ‘physician-in-ordinary,’ 
 the surgeon to the household, the state-steward, and, finally, 
 the ‘ ladies of the household,’ married and unmarried. Then 
 the first quadrille is formed, a ‘state’ one being contrived at 
 the top of the room, for the benefit of the lords and lordlings 
 present. On what follows I need not dilate — blithe strains of 
 music, whirling forms, bright eyes, fascinating smiles, soft 
 whispers, lively badinage, exhilarating champagne, ices cool as 
 Arctic snows, unspeakable blisses, and general ecstasy ! 
 
 17 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HINTS ABOUT TITLES. 
 
 ‘ The rank is but the guinea’s stamp, 
 
 The man’s the gowd for a’ that.’ 
 
 Robert Burns, 
 
 How to Address Persons of Title in Conversation — Titles by Virtue of In- 
 heritance and Titles of Courtesy — How to Address Persons of Title 
 by Letter — Forms of Superscription and Signature. 
 
 ANY persons when temporarily brought into contact 
 with ‘ lords and ladies of high degree/ find them- 
 selves perplexed as to the right method of ad- 
 dressing them. They do not desire to exhibit any 
 lack of that deference to superior rank which a 
 sensible man will always show ; they are not less desirous to 
 avoid any form of address characterised by excessive humility. 
 Titles may be as worthless as republicans and moralists declare 
 them to be ; but while they are socially and legally recognised, 
 only a fool or a bore will attempt to ignore them. On the 
 other hand, it is degrading and unmanly to set too high a value 
 upon them, and to grovel in spirit before their wearers. And it 
 is a singular vulgarity to be constantly dragging them into con- 
 versation — rolling them on the tongue, as it were, as if such 
 delicious morsels must not be too quickly got rid of. It is said 
 that an Englishman loves a lord, and assuredly many English- 
 men and Englishwomen seem to love his title, as if it were 
 something of their own, from which they were accustomed to 
 extract perennial enjoyment. They ‘my lord' a man as if 
 the repetition of the magic syllables communicated to them- 
 selves a direct personal qualification, while ^ your Grace ' lifts 
 them up into the seventh heaven of flimkeyism. 
 
 I have met with individuals who laboured under the delusion 
 
FORMS. OF ADDRESS. 
 
 259 
 
 that the Queen is constantly addressed as ‘your Majesty/ but this 
 style is adopted only when the parties addressing her belong to 
 the middle or lower classes — who, it is needless to say, seldom 
 obtain access to her presence. By members of the aristocracy 
 and gentry she is addressed simply as ‘ madam.’ A similar 
 rule applies with respect to the Prince of Wales, who, by the 
 higher divisions of society, is addressed as ‘ Sir,’ and by the 
 lower as ‘ your Royal Highness.’ This is true also in regard 
 to all members of the blood royal. 
 
 A foreign princess is addressed as ‘ Princess ’ by the aristo- 
 cracy and gentry, and as ‘ your Serene Highness ’ by all other 
 classes. A foreign prince is similarly addressed, ‘ Prince,’ and 
 ‘ your Serene Highness.’ An ambassador is addressed accord- 
 ing to his personal rank ; except that the lower classes call him 
 ‘ your Excellency.’ 
 
 An English duke is ‘ Duke ’ to the upper, and ‘ your Grace ’ 
 to the lower half of the world. 
 
 A duchess, ‘ Duchess,’ and ‘your Grace.’ 
 
 A marquess, ‘ Lord B.,’ and ‘ my Lord,’ or ‘ your Lordship.’ 
 
 A marchioness, ‘Lady B.,’ and ‘my Lady,’ or ‘your Lady- 
 ship.’ 
 
 An earl, ‘ Lord B.,’ and ‘ my Lord,’ or ‘your Lordship.’ 
 
 A countess, ‘ Lady B.,’ and ‘my Lady,’ or ‘ your Ladyship.’ 
 
 A viscount, ‘ Lord B.,’ and ‘ my Lord,’ or ‘ your Lordship.’ 
 
 A viscountess, ‘Lady B.,’ and ‘my Lady,’ or ‘your Ladyship.’ 
 
 A baron, ‘Lord B.,’ and ‘ my Lord,’ or ‘ your Lordship.’ 
 
 A baroness, ‘ Lady B.,’ and ‘ my Lady,’ or ‘ your Ladyship.’ 
 
 The daughters of dukes, marquises, and earls, are addressed 
 by their Christian names, with the prefix of ‘ lady,’ and the 
 addition of the family name. Thus, the daughter of the Mar- 
 quis of Pumptown would be Lady Mary Dash, and would be so 
 styled by her acquaintances. Intimate friends would call her 
 simply ‘ Lady Mary.’ The same rule applies, with the necessary 
 change of gender, to the younger sons of peers of the three 
 highest orders — as. Lord George Hamilton, Lord Frederick 
 Cavendish. Their wives would come under the same category — 
 as, for instance. Lady George H., Lady Frederick C. 
 
 We grant to the younger sons of earls, viscounts, and barons, 
 the courtesy title of ‘ honourable,’ and to the daughters of 
 viscounts and barons ; but in conversation the title is never 
 used ; we say, ‘ Mr. Bourke,’ not the ‘ Honourable Mr. Bourke/ 
 
 17 — 2 
 
26 o forms of addressing the royal family. 
 
 Baronets and knights are addressed by their titles and 
 Christian names— as, Sir George (Campbell) ; their wives by 
 their titles and surnames— as, Lady Campbell. 
 
 An archbishop would be addressed colloquially as ‘your 
 Grace ’ by strangers ; as ‘ archbishop ^ by his friends. A bishop 
 as ‘ your Lordship ^ or ‘my Lord ’ in the former case, and as 
 ‘bishop' in the latter.’ A dean as ‘Mr. Dean’ or ‘dean.’ 
 Their wives have no title, and are simply Mrs. Y., Mrs. X., or 
 Mrs. Z. 
 
 Officers of the army and navy are addressed by their rank 
 and name — as. General Wolseley, Major Adair — by strangers 
 and acquaintances ; by their rank ^ alone— as, ‘ general,’ 
 ‘ colonel,’ ‘ major ’ — by their intimate friends. Their wives are 
 Mrs. A., Mrs. B., Mrs. C. 
 
 The Lord Mayor is addressed in conversation (unless he be 
 a baronet or knight) as ‘ Lord Mayor,’ and his wife as ‘ Lady 
 Mayoress.’ 
 
 Peers sign by the name attached to their title — ‘ Sutherland,’ 
 ‘ Devonshire,’ ‘ Glasgow,’ etc. ; and they are thus addressed 
 by their wives, as well as, occasionally, by very intimate 
 friends. 
 
 It may be convenient if we add some illustrations of the 
 correct form of addressing these illustrious personages in 
 writing. 
 
 Letters for her Majesty the Queen are addressed to her 
 private secretary. The enclosure is directed — ‘ To her Majesty 
 the Queen;’ or, if it be an official communication, ‘To the 
 Queen’s most excellent Majesty,’ The letter itself will begin— 
 ‘ Madam,’ or ‘ May it please your Majesty,’ or ‘ Most gracious 
 Sovereign,’ according to its tenour; and will conclude — ‘I 
 have the honour to remain, with the profoundest respect, 
 madam, your Majesty’s most faithful and dutiful servant.’ 
 
 Letters for the Prince and Princess of Wales are sent under 
 cover to their private secretaries, and the enclosure is directed 
 to ‘his’ or ‘her Royal Highness.’ All the Queen’s sons and 
 daughters, brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, are addressed 
 as ‘ your Royal Highness,’ but her Majesty’s nephews and 
 cousins as ‘ your Highness.’ Letters to members of the Royal 
 Family should begin — ‘Sir,’ or ‘Madam;’ and end — ‘I have 
 the honour to remain, sir (or madam), your Royal Highness’s 
 most dutiful and most obedient servant.’ 
 
SUPERSCRIPTIONS OF LETTERS, 261 
 
 A letter to a duke or duchess (not one of the Royal Family) 
 should be superscribed — ‘To his Grace the Duke of B./ or 
 ‘ To her Grace the Duchess of Bd To a duke we begin with — 
 ‘my Lord Duke;’ to a duchess (as to all ladies, of whatever 
 rank), ‘ Madam.’ We conclude — ‘ I have the honour to be, 
 your Grace’s obedient servant,’ or ‘ I have the honour to be, 
 madam, your ladyship’s obedient servant.’ 
 
 To a marquis the superscription is — ‘ To the most honourable 
 the Marquis ’ (or, some say, ‘ To the most noble ’). Begin 
 with, ‘ my Lord Marquis and end, ‘ I have the honour to be, 
 my Lord Marquis, your Lordship’s obedient servant.’ 
 
 To an earl or countess write — ‘ To the Right Hon. the Earl 
 (or Countess) of G.’ To a viscount — ‘ The Right Hon. the 
 Viscount of H.’ To a baron — ‘ The Right Hon. the Lord V.’ 
 Letters to these peers will all begin alike — ‘ my Lord.’ 
 
 The younger sons of earls, and all the sons of viscounts and 
 barons are addressed — ‘ The Hon. George Talbot and the 
 daughters and sons’ wives, ‘The Hon. MissT.,’ or ‘The Hon. 
 Mrs. T.’ Letters to these begin — ‘Sir,’ or ‘ Madam.’ 
 
 A letter to a baronet is addressed — ‘Sir Edward Smith, Bart. 
 one to a knight, ‘Sir William Jones.’ Letters to baronets, 
 knights, or their wives, begin either ‘ dear Sir Edward ’ or ‘ dear 
 Lady Smith;’ or, where this form of address is not warranted 
 by the relative positions of the two parties, ‘ Sir ’ or ‘ Madam.’ 
 
 Judges are addressed as ‘ right honourable ’ or ‘ honourable.’ 
 All members of the Privy Council are entitled to the prefix 
 ‘right honourable.’ Members of the Government are addressed 
 according to their rank and office, thus : ‘ To the Right Hon. 
 W. E. Gladstone, M.P., First Lord of the Treasury;’ or ‘The 
 Right. Hon. Sir W. V. Harcourt, M.P., her Majesty’s Secretary 
 of State for the Home Department ;’ or ‘ The Right Hon. 
 Joseph Chamberlain, M.P., President of the Board of Trade.’ 
 A shorter form would be~‘The Right Hon. Sir W. V. Har- 
 court, M.P., Home Office.’ 
 
 The initials ‘ K.G.’ (Knight of the Garter), ‘ K.T.’ (Knight of 
 the Thistle), ‘K.S.I.’ (Knight of the Star of India), ‘ G.C.B.’ 
 (Knight Grand Cross of the Bath), ‘ K.C.B.’ (Knight Companion 
 of the Bath), and ‘ C.B.’ (Companion of the Bath), are added 
 to the names of persons possessing those titles. 
 
 In addressing ambassadors, begin ‘ my Lord,’ and afterwards 
 use the term ‘your Excellency.’ The same title is used in ad^ 
 
262 HOW TO address CHUDCH DIGNJTARIES OTHERS, 
 
 dressing the Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, and the governors of 
 our larger colonies. The Governor-General of Canada is styled 
 ‘ right honourable.^ 
 
 Petitions to the House of Peers are addressed — ‘ To the 
 Right Honourable the Lords Spiritual and Temporal in Parlia- 
 ment assembled.’ In the body of the address reference is 
 made to ‘ My Lords, may it please your Lordships and the 
 conclusion is, ^ And your Lordships’ petitioners will ever pray.’ 
 
 To the House of Commons we superscribe our petition — ‘ To 
 the Honourable the Commons of the United Kingdom of 
 Great Britain and Ireland.’ We address it — ‘ May it please 
 your honourable House ; and we conclude with — ‘ And your 
 petitioners will ever pray.’ 
 
 Church dignitaries are addressed as follows : — 
 
 ‘ To his Grace the Archbishop of .’. . . ‘ My Lord Arch- 
 
 bishop.’ . . . ‘ I am, my Lord Archbishop, your Grace’s obedient 
 servant.’ 
 
 ‘To the Right Rev. the Lord Bishop of .’ . . . ‘ My 
 
 Lord Bishop.’ . . . ‘ I am, my Lord, your Lordship’s obedient 
 servant.’ 
 
 ‘The Very Rev. the Dean of .’ . . . ‘Very Reverend 
 
 Sir.’ 
 
 ‘ The Venerable Archdeacon .’ . . . ‘Reverend Sir.’ 
 
 Officers of the Army and Navy are addressed as follows : — - 
 
 ‘To Field-Marshal H.R.H. the Duke of Cambridge, K.G., 
 Commander-in-Chief.’ 
 
 ‘ To Lieutenant-General Sir John .’ 
 
 ‘ To Colonel Lord .’ 
 
 ‘ To Sir John Brown, K.C.B., Vice-Admiral and Commander 
 of the Mediterranean Fleet;’ or, ‘To Vice-Admiral John 
 Brown.’ 
 
 ‘To Sir William Robinson, Captain of H.M.S. Iron Duke;' 
 or, ‘ To Captain Sir William Robinson, H.M.S. Iron Duke' 
 
 ‘Major Jones, 55th Regiment.’ ‘Major Smith, Royal 
 Engineers.’ 
 
 ‘Lieutenant Blank, R.N., H.M.S. Deucalion,' 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 A HEALTHY LIFE. 
 
 ‘ Our bodies are our gardens, to which our wills are gardeners. ' 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 ‘ Orandum est, ut sit mens sana in corpore sano.’ 
 
 J UVENAL. 
 
 * Crown’d 
 
 A happy life with a fair death.’ 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 The Cultivation of the Body not less a Duty than Intellectual Cultivation 
 —Young Men and Young Women : Their Faults and Follies — A 
 Homily upon Cleanliness — Its Value is Admitted, but it is not suffi- 
 ciently carried out — Baths and Bathing — Hot, Tepid, and Cold Baths 
 — The Teeth — Tooth Powders and Tooth Washes — The Hair — Brown, 
 Black, and Blonde Hair — The Poets and the Tresses of their Heroines 
 — Spenser, Dryden, Byron, Tennyson — Cleansing and Strengthening 
 the Hair — Remarks upon Hair Dyes and Washes — A Few Approved 
 Recipes — The Breath and the Teeth— The Eyes — On the Preservation 
 of the Sight — White Hands — The Xails — Belinda’s Toilet : A Thing 
 to be Avoided— On the Care of One’s Personal Appearance — The Feet 
 — Exercise: Its Therapeutic Effect — Various Forms of Exercise- - 
 Walking the Best Form of Exercise — Open-air Exercise : How to be 
 Regulated — Other Forms of Exercise Considered — Dancing — Riding 
 — Etiquette of Riding — Hunting — Three Classes of Exercise, and their 
 Various Objects — The Abuse of Exercise Reprehended — It must be 
 Kept within Reasonable Limits — Mental Culture not to be Neglected 
 — Combined Cultivation of Mind and Body makes the True Gentle- 
 man — Character of a Gentleman — The Close of Life — Funerals — 
 Etiquette of Mourning — Friends and their Expressions of Sympathy 
 — Periods of Mourning. _ 
 
 T is everybody’s duty to cultivate the mind : this is 
 a truism, I think, which provokes no dissent. It 
 is everybody’s duty to keep the body healthy : 
 this is a correlative truism which, if it provoke no 
 dissent, does not command an universal accept- 
 ance. At least, if accepted, it is not acted the highest 
 
 truth is valueless until it is reduced to practice. Even among 
 
264 
 
 A LECTURE ON HEALTH. 
 
 the better classes, even among those to whom this book is 
 specially addressed, the neglect of the body is manifest, and 
 not less serious than manifest. ‘ How can that be ?’ exclaims 
 a fair lady : Mo I not devote a couple of hours every day to 
 personal adornment ?’ Madam, the adornment of the person 
 and the health of the body are two different things, wide as 
 the poles asunder. You and your maid are engaged, as you 
 say, two — I think it will be more correct to put it at three — 
 hours daily in the details of the toilette ; in dressing and un- 
 dressing ; in endeavouring to submit yourself to the iron 
 requirements of Fashion. But what has this to do with health ? 
 Do you take regular and moderate exercise ? Do you keep 
 reasonable hours? Do you strike a just balance between 
 recreation and work ? Do you live in a wholesome atmo- 
 sphere ? Do you retire early and rise early ? Can you answer 
 these questions in the affirmative ? Or is it not true that you 
 spend long hours in the vitiated atmosphere of the ball-room, 
 that you retire to bed at a very late hour exhausted with the 
 toil of pleasure, that you do not rise until near midday, that 
 your time is wholly devoted to what you are pleased to call 
 amusement, and that the fresh free air of heaven you breathe 
 only for the brief period of your carriage drive, or, if you ride, 
 of your canter up and down the Lady’s Mile ? Madam, you 
 are not taking care of your health ; on the contrary, you are 
 sowing the seeds of disease, and it is to be feared will gather 
 the harvest in the shape of premature death or prolonged 
 debility. 
 
 At the end of this lecture up starts Harry Hotspur, with a 
 feeling that his withers are un wrung. ‘ You are quite right, 
 sir,’ he exclaims, ‘and what you say to Bella is awfully true ; 
 but look at me. There is no neglect of the body here ! I 
 have my morning tub, and I go in for athletics ; I ride, and I 
 shoot, and I play lawn-tennis — ah, you should see me !’ ‘ All 
 
 this may be true,’ I reply, ‘ but it is not to the purpose. You 
 proceed on no fixed principle. Your athletics are taken up 
 because athletics happen to be fashionable. You ride — yes, a 
 trot in Rotten Row ; you shoot — at Hurlingham ; you play 
 lawn-tennis — at a garden-party ! Meanwhile, you drink too 
 much and smoke too much ; you burn the midnight oil — in 
 the billiard-room ; you lounge about all day and sit up o’ nights ; 
 your life is an endless round of dissipation and indolence, un- 
 
SOCIETY CLEANLINESS, 
 
 265 
 
 inspired by one noble motive or elevated thought or generous 
 purpose. Sir, you too are sowing the wind, and will reap the 
 whirlwind.’ 
 
 In these pages, however, I cannot consider the moral aspect 
 of the question I have started ; just as I am debarred from 
 treating it physiologically. I must be content with such re- 
 marks as naturally connect themselves with my general object. 
 I have to do with the care of the body only as it is a part of 
 the philosophy of etiquette and personal culture. On the 
 necessity of cleanliness it would seem superfluous to enlarge ; 
 yet the reader will doubtless have met, even in aristocratic 
 salons, with persons having a very imperfect notion of what it 
 is and means. Cleanliness is by many regarded as a purely 
 personal matter, as a something which affects only the indivi- 
 dual ; but, in truth, it concerns the individual’s neighbours, and 
 everybody has a right to protest against dirt. Cleanliness, 
 says Addison, renders us agreeable to others ; at all events, it 
 prevents us from offending the7n. And it is in this way that 
 cleanliness is associated with etiquette ; for the raison d'Ui'e of 
 etiquette is to enable us to meet one another in society on 
 pleasant and harmonious terms. ’ Therefore, Addison goes on 
 to speak of cleanliness as ‘ a mark of politeness,’ and it is 
 universally agreed, he says, that no one unadorned vvith this 
 virtue can go into company without giving a manifold offence. 
 
 In good society the value of cleanliness is admitted, and 
 perhaps it would be difficult nowadays to find ladies with such 
 a forgetfulness of it as to merit the sarcasm which Talleyrand 
 (I think) applied to Madame de Stael at the whist-table : ^ Ah, 
 madame, if dirt were trumps, what hands you would have !’ 
 Yet, as I have said, we see its laws transgressed by those who 
 ought certainly to know better. Persons who profess a general 
 observance of them neglect them in details. There are others 
 who study them carefully, and take their morning ablutions 
 with laudable regularity, who, nevertheless, do not scruple to 
 plaster their skin with all kinds of unguents and cosmetics. 
 Now ma,ny of these compounds contain lead or bismuth, and 
 are really dangerous, while others render the skin sallow, coarse, 
 and hard. They choke up the pores, and retard respiration. 
 Serious nervous affections frequently result from the prolonged 
 use of cosmetics ; while absolute cleanliness is impossible 
 during their employment. 
 
256 
 
 ON BA THS AND BA THING, 
 
 The first condition of cleanliness is, of course, the bath. It 
 has been amusingly said that ‘ the vessel which is dignified, like 
 a certain part of a lady’s dress, with a royal Order, is one on 
 which folios might be written. It has given a name to two 
 towns — Bath and Baden — renowned for their toilets, and it is 
 all that is left to three continents of Roman glory. It is a 
 club-room in Germany and the East, and was an arena in 
 Greece and Rome.’ Both to the Orientals and the Romans 
 bathing seems to have been one of the pleasures as well as 
 one of the necessities of life ; and they practised it on an 
 almost colossal scale ; every villa being fitted up with the 
 most elaborate bathing appurtenances. It will be a good day 
 for the national health when in England the bath is recognised 
 as not less an integral part of every house than the kitchen. 
 
 There are three kinds of baths : the hot (ranging from 95° to 
 105°), the tepid (ranging from 85° to 95°), and the cold (ranging 
 from 60° to 70'’). As a daily agent of cleanliness the hot bath 
 is objectionable, and even dangerous, as it exhausts the system 
 and promotes a too rapid circulation. On the other hand, a 
 cold bath is scarcely less dangerous for many persons, especially 
 those of a full temperament, invigorating as it is in certain 
 cases when taken under medical advice.^ The best and safest 
 
 * ‘ The immediate effect of a cold bath is to chill the surface of the body, 
 the temperature of which, as tested by a thermometer, may fall several 
 degrees. At the same time there is produced a pallor of the surface and 
 goose-skin. While the surface is cooled, however, the blood itself undergoes 
 an increase of temperature, due to an increase of the combustion processes 
 going on in the body, of which we get additional evidence in the increase of 
 the rate of the pulse and respiration, and an augmented discharge of car- 
 bonic acid from the lungs. There is a sudden sense of chilliness, and this 
 impression, made upon the nerves of the skin, produces, by its action on 
 the brain and spinal cord, some slight mental excitement and shivering of 
 the limbs. After the bath has been continued some little time the tempera- 
 ture of the blood falls (sometimes as much as three or four degrees), the pulse 
 and respiration get slow, the shivering gives place to lassitude, and the 
 mental excitement to listlessness. On removal from the bath the pheno- 
 menon of “reaction ” sets in. The vessels of the skin enlarge, the chilli- 
 ness gives place to warmth, and the feeling of uneasiness is succeeded by a 
 sense of comfort. This reaction follows most quickly when the bath is of 
 short duration and when its effects are suddenly induced. The shorter the 
 bath the less is the ultimate depression of the temperature of the blood. 
 The shorter the bath the greater is its power of stimulating function ; the 
 longer it is continued the greater is the effect of cooling. The effect of a 
 ivarm bath is to raise slightly the temperature of the surface and the tem- 
 perature of the blood. The pulse and the respiration are both quickened, 
 
ABOUT THE TEETH 
 
 267 
 
 form of bath is the tepid. This it is not necessary to take 
 every day as a complete bath — that is, by way of immersion. 
 All that is required is for the person to sponge the body from 
 head to foot with tepid water, and afterwards rub vigorously 
 with a Turkish towel. In winter the water should be a little 
 warmer than in summer. A hair-glove may be used with ad- 
 vantage instead of towels. 
 
 Douche and shower baths should never be employed except 
 under medical advice ; and I deprecate a too frequent recourse 
 to Turkish baths. For all purposes of cleanliness, liberal 
 sponging, such as I have recommended, is sufficient ; and 
 cleanliness is the great sanatory agent. 
 
 The skin having been duly attended to, and the body well 
 ventilated (so to speak) by exposure to the fresh air, we are 
 called upon to cleanse the teeth. There is no greater orna- 
 ment than a set of white, pearly, regular teeth, and yet none is 
 rarer. Partly this is the consequence of neglecting their ex- 
 ternal treatment ; partly it results from the use of improper 
 diet. Sweets are one of the great enemies to the teeth of the 
 fair sex ; smoking to those of the other. Acids should be 
 avoided, as well as an immoderate use of sugar. Every morning 
 the teeth should be washed with a moderately soft brush and 
 tepid water, again after each meal, and the last thing before re- 
 tiring to bed. The washing should be thorough, and, after 
 each cleansing, the mouth should be well rinsed with fresh cold 
 water. 
 
 I am not an advocate of tooth-powders or tooth-washes ; 
 they are generally injurious. I think it is sufficient to mix 
 with the water one uses a little rose-water occasionally, or a 
 little tincture of myrrh ; but if a powder be employed — and 
 
 and the escape of carbonic acid from the lungs is also increased. The 
 blood-vessels of the skin get dilated, and the surface is reddened in pro- 
 portion to the heat of the water. Warm baths of a moderate temperature 
 can be borne for a longer time than cold baths ; but if the temperature be 
 too high, and the bath too long continued, faintness is liable to occur. On 
 removal from the bath the skin is in a very delicate and susceptible state, 
 and the vessels are liable to “ re-act ” in the direction of extreme contrac- 
 tion, in which case dangerous internal congestion may occur. If, however, 
 the skin be protected, and the patient be placed in a warm room, or in bed, 
 violent perspiration will occur. In the cold bath the muscles are liable to 
 become stiff ; but in the w^arm bath a stiff and fatigued muscle will resume 
 its suppleness. After a hard day’s hunting a warm bath is a well-known 
 and agreeable luxury .* — Baths and Bathings pp. 15, 17. 
 
268 
 
 ABOUT THE HAlk, 
 
 where tartar accumulates it may be a necessity — the following 
 may be recommended : — 
 
 Fine prepared chalk, 3 drachms; Spanish soap, i drachm; 
 Florentine orris-root, i drachm ; carbonate of soda, i drachm. 
 
 Or this : — Precipitated chalk, 1 2 drachms ; sulphate of 
 quinine, 6 grains ; rose-pink, 2 drachms ; carbonate of mag- 
 nesia, I drachm. 
 
 As a wash : — Dissolve 2 ounces of borax in 3 pints of boiling 
 water, and as the solution cools mix with it i tablespoonful of 
 spirits of camphor, and i teaspoonful of tincture of myrrh. 
 Keep in a well-stoppered bottle, and for use mix about 2 table- 
 spoonfuls with a gill of lukewarm water. 
 
 ‘ A good head of hair ’ is no slight ornament to a man ; to 
 the completion of a woman's beauty it is indispensable. What 
 would our poets have done had their mistresses been bald ? 
 Where would be the heroines of our novelists if they wore wigs ? 
 Terrible thought ! How much fine poetry, how many exquisite 
 similes, would the world have lost ! For to celebrate in prose 
 or verse a woman wanting woman’s greatest personal charm 
 would have been, must ever be, an impossibility. No, Beauty 
 does not draw us by a ^ single hair,’ but by the rich and grace- 
 ful flow of abundant tresses, whether these be black as night, 
 brown as the chestnut, or golden as gold. Therefore let every 
 woman pay due attention to ‘that robe which curious Nature 
 'weaves to hang upon the head.’ She may not rejoice in such 
 a profusion as Tennyson’s Godiva, who — 
 
 * Showered the rippled ringlets to her knee, — ’ 
 
 here, by the way, I am reminded of Romola’s hair, ‘ which 
 was of a reddish golden colour, enriched by an unbroken small 
 ripple, such as may be seen in the sunset clouds on grandest 
 autumnal evenings ’ — but if she do not neglect it, she will have 
 enough to frame a comely face, enough for a lover to swear 
 by. As for its colour, that she cannot help, and must not en- 
 deavour to change by the use of any abominable pigments or 
 decoctions. There is a good deal to be said for almost every 
 hue under the sun. Even red has its admirers ; and if it be 
 not a fiery red, like Bardolph’s nose, but with a touch of gold in 
 it, well will it harmonise with a snowy complexion — with one 
 of those fair white skins which show every azure vein, and on 
 the forehead seems, like the hair, to be suffused with a warm 
 
DARK HAIR OR LIGHT? 
 
 269 
 
 golden light. Jane Eyre, you know, had red hair, though 
 hardly such red hair as this. Brown and black, and the dark 
 chestnut shade between, and the light-brown which is bathed in 
 sunshine — each has its heroines and its poets. Spenser endows 
 the false Duessa with ‘ golden locks but then he gives them 
 also to his gentle Lena, as well as to the damozel whom Guyon 
 surprises bathing ; 
 
 ‘ The fair locks y which formerly were bound 
 Up in one knot, she low adown did lose, 
 
 Which flowing low and thick her clothed around, 
 
 And the ivory in golden 7nantle bound.’ 
 
 As a contrast, Dryden’s Iphigenia is decked with ^ raven-glossy 
 hair.’ Another contrast, Byron’s Medora, belongs to the 
 blondes. When her Corsair husband, on his return to their 
 romantic island home, clasped her in his arms-=^ 
 
 * Her \oxigfair hair lay floating o’er his arms, 
 
 In all the wildness of dishevell’d charms.’ 
 
 Strange to say, the poet represents Gulnare, the Harem queen, 
 as of the same order of loveliness : — 
 
 ‘ That form, with eye so dark, and cheek so fair. 
 
 And auburn waves of gemmed and braided hair.’ 
 
 Byron must have been partial to hair ‘ of this colour,’ for his 
 Haidde is adorned with it : — 
 
 ‘ Her hair’s long auburn waves down to her heel 
 Flow’d like an Alpine torrent which the sun 
 Dyes with his morning light, and would conceal 
 Her person, if allowed at large to run. 
 
 And still they seemed resentfully to feel 
 The silken fillet’s curb, and sought to shun 
 Their bonds whene’er some Zephyr caught began 
 To offer his young pinion as her fan.’ 
 
 Tennyson’s Adeline has ^floating flaxen hair.’ Of his 
 Eleanore he simply tells us that she has ‘ tresses unconfined.’ 
 Idalian Aphrodite, beautiful, when CEnone saw her— 
 
 ‘ With rosy slender fingers backward drew 
 From her warni '.stows and bosom her deep hair 
 Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat 
 And shoulders.’ 
 
 Of the Gardener’s Daughter the poet tells us that — 
 
 ‘ A single stream of all her soft brown hair 
 Poured on one side : the shadow of the flowers 
 Stole all the golden gloss I 
 
270 
 
 TO PRESERVE THE HAIR. 
 
 And if we turn to his Arthurian beauties, the stars of that 
 famous court which held its state at many-towered Camelot, we 
 read of Elaine, the lily maid, and of — 
 
 ‘ Her bright hair blown about the serious face 
 and in that exquisite picture of the voyage of the dead, when, 
 in the barge palled all its length in blackest samite, she lies 
 upon her bier, she comes before us : — 
 
 ‘ In her right hand the lily, in her left 
 The letter — all her bright hair streaming down.’ 
 
 Enid, too, the wife of that stalwart Sir Geraint, belongs to the 
 fair-haired band 
 
 ‘ She lay 
 
 With her fair head in the dim yellow light.’ 
 
 But, fair-haired or dark-haired, our lady readers will desire to 
 preserve their crowning beauty ; and it may console them to 
 know that this is best done by frequent washing. The water 
 should be tepid, the soap non-alkaline. After the hair has 
 been thoroughly cleansed, it should be as thoroughly dried, 
 and then w^ell brushed (with a soft brush, not one of those 
 bristle-machines which tear up one’s locks like a rake or harrow) 
 in the sun or before a fire. A little simple pomade or per- 
 fumed oil may be rubbed well into the roots as a final stage of 
 the process ; but let it be a little. What is more unpleasant to 
 the sight or the smell than a mass of curls glistening with 
 grease ? When Milton asks — 
 
 ‘ Were it not better done as others use, 
 
 To sport with Amaryll’s in the shade. 
 
 Or with the tangles of Nesera’s hair ?’ 
 
 assuredly he does not contemplate that the said tangles shall 
 be redolent of hair-oil ! Some hair is naturally so dry that it 
 requires the occasional application of an unguent, but I repeat 
 that the application should be very carefully regulated. As to 
 the washes advertised for changing the colour of the hair, or 
 for bringing hair, by some miraculous spell, on places abso- 
 lutely devoid of it, I would say, Anathetna maratiatha I Either 
 they are composed of materials positively noxious, or of 
 materials totally incapable of producing the promised effect ; 
 in the former case they are ruinous, in the latter useless. 
 When the hair-germs or roots have once perished, no oil, 
 wash, essence, extract, or pomade can restore them. 
 
HAIR-BRUSHES AND BRUSHING. 
 
 271 
 
 There is much good sense in the following remarks : — 
 
 ‘ The constant and persevering use of the brush is a great 
 means of beautifying the hair, rendering it glossy and elastic, 
 and encouraging a disposition to curl. The brush produces 
 further advantages in propelling and calling into action the 
 contents of the numerous vessels and pores which are inter- 
 spersed over the whole surface of the head, and furnish vigour 
 and nourishment to the hair. Five minutes at least, every 
 morning and evening, should be devoted to its use. Two 
 brushes are necessary for the toilette of the hair — a penetrating 
 and a polishing brush ; the penetrating brush, especially for a 
 lady’s use, should be composed of strong elastic hairs cut into 
 irregular lengths, but not so hard or coarse as to be in any 
 danger of irritating the skin ; after being passed once or twice 
 through the hair, to ensure its smoothness and regularity, the 
 brush should be slightly dipped in Eau de Cologne, or sprinkled 
 with a little perfumed hartshorn, as either of these preparations 
 is beneficial in strengthening the hair. The polishing brush 
 should be made of fine, soft hairs, thickly studded. Combs 
 should only be resorted to for the purpose of giving a form to 
 the hair, or assisting in its decoration, as their use is more or 
 less prejudicial to the surface of the skin and the roots of 
 the hair. 
 
 ‘The growth of the hair is best promoted by keeping it 
 scrupulously clean, and by cutting it frequently.’ 
 
 I believe it is also promoted by being largely exposed every 
 day (weather permitting) to the action of the fresh free air out- 
 of-doors, without any covering of hat, bonnet, or cap — of 
 course for a moderate time, and not in excessive sunshine. 
 Gipsies, fisherwomen, and others, whose occupations compel 
 them to be much in the open air, almost invariably possess an 
 abundance of hair, glossy, strong, and wavy. 
 
 To persons who cannot dispense with oil, or pomade, or 
 wash, I may recommend the following preparations : 
 
 1. For ge 7 ieral purposes: — Rowlands ‘incomparable oil. 
 Macassar,’ which still retains its deserved celebrity ; Hopgood’s 
 Nutritive Pomade, a really excellent compound; and the new 
 Pomade Vaseline. 
 
 2. For simulating the growth of the hair : 
 
 a. Castor oil, 2 oz. ; oil of cantharides, 2 drachms 
 rosemary, spirit of, i oz. 
 
272 HA//^ OILS, POMADES, WASHES, AND CURLING FLUIDS. 
 
 b. Distilled vinegar, 2 oz. ; salt of tartar, 2 drachms ; 
 
 spirit of lavender, \ oz. ; spirit of rosemary, i oz. ; 
 spirit of nutmegs, oz. ; essence of oil of almonds, 
 I drachm ; essence of violets, i drachm ; pure 
 spring water, 20 oz. 
 
 c. Olive oil and spirit of rosemary, i oz. each; oil of 
 
 nutmeg, 20 drops. 
 
 d. Eau de Cologne, 2 oz. ; oil of lavender, 10 drops; 
 
 tincture of cantharides, 2 drachms. 
 
 e. Otto of roses, i drachm; oil of rosemary, i drachm; 
 
 olive oil, I quart. 
 
 f. I lb. lard, dissolve in a quart of boiling water ; when 
 
 cold, pour off the water, well dry the lard, and beat 
 it into a soft cream, to which add very gradually, 
 still beating the mixture, i|- oz. of castor oil, and 
 25 drops of essential oil of bergamot (or essence of 
 violets). 
 
 3. Curling Fluids: — 2 lbs. soap and 8 oz. potash; dissolve 
 each in a pint and half of water; mix; let the liquor settle, 
 and, when cold, add 20 drops of essence of amber. 
 
 Take lb. good white soap, grate it finely, and put it with 
 6 oz. potash and 3 pints alcohol into a jar, which place in a 
 hot-water bath ; stir until thoroughly melted, and allow the 
 mixture to settle ; pour off the clear liquor ; scent with essence 
 of violets, and bottle carefully for use. 
 
 I must touch lightly upon an unpleasant subject. Everybody 
 knows how disagreeable a thing is bad breath ; there are some 
 persons whom, for this reason, we avoid as we would avoid 
 malaria. One of the old poets in his enumeration of the 
 charms of his mistress places foremost among them her sweet 
 breath, which had in it a perfume like that of roses and violets. 
 Physiologically it is a matter of no small importance, as it is a 
 sign of good health. Sufferers from bad breath should be care- 
 ful in their diet, and regulate under medical advice the action 
 of the digestive organs. The condition of the teeth should also 
 receive constant attention. After meals, and, in the case of 
 gentlemen, after smoking, or the use of alcoholic liquors, the 
 mouth should be well rinsed with tepid water. A few drops of 
 tincture of myrrh may be added to the water with advantage. 
 When the vitiation of the breath is caused by the teeth, the 
 
TREATMENT OF THE EYES. 
 
 273 
 
 following compound may be recommended : Mix eight ounces 
 of the best honey in two ounces of rose-water over a gentle fire 
 for a few minutes, and then add sufficient Armenian bole and 
 powdered myrrh to make a soft paste or cream. This is 
 applied to the teeth with a brush tw^o or three times a day. 
 
 But, as I have already said, health is the real sweetener of 
 the breath; and palliatives, after all, are of very slight ad- 
 vantage. 
 
 As to the eyes, these should be bathed night and morning 
 in cold water. On no account should they be approached with 
 lotions, or ointments, except under the supervision of an 
 oculist, unless you wish to suffer from impaired eyesight in 
 your prime of life. The sensitiveness of these organs is so ex- 
 cessive that they resent the slightest maltreatment. If the lids 
 are inflamed by cold, or study, the only remedy I dare advise 
 is a little rose-water. It is fortunate, perhaps, that the colour 
 of the eyes is unchangeable, or we should certainly have quack 
 preparations as there are for the hair, with the result of inducing 
 premature blindness. As it is, some persons are foolish — or 
 mad — enough to stimulate their brilliancy by the application of 
 belladonna, to the certain injury of their organisation; and 
 the Eastern custom of darkening the inside of the eyelids and 
 eyelashes with powdered Kohol is not unknown, I am sorry to 
 say, in England. Moore, in his Lalla Rook/i, represents the 
 ladies of the Harem, in the performance of the various opera- 
 tions of their toilette, as mixing : 
 
 ‘ The Kohol’s jetty dye, 
 
 To give that long, dark languish to the eye, 
 
 Which makes the maids, whom kings are proud to cull 
 From fair Circassia’s vales, so beautiful.’ 
 
 And Shaw, in his travels, tells us that none of these ladies 
 take themselves to be completely dressed, till they have tinged 
 the hair and edges of their eyelids with the powder of lead-ore. 
 He adds : ‘ As this operation is performed by dipping first into 
 the powder a small wooden bodkin of the thickness of a quill, 
 and then drawing it afterwards through the eyelids over the 
 ball of the eye, we shall have a lively image of what the 
 Prophet (Jerem. iv. 30) may be supposed to mean by rending 
 the eyes with painting. This practice is no doubt of great 
 antiquity ; for, besides the instance already taken notice of, 
 we findthat where Jezebel is said (2 Kings ix. 30) to have painted 
 
 18 
 
2U V/HITE HANDS AND CLEAN NAILS. 
 
 her face^ the original words are, she adjusted her eyes with the 
 ■ powder of lead-ore i 
 
 The antiquity of an abuse is often, in England, a reason for 
 its continued existence ; but let it not be so with the practice 
 of staining or painting the eyelashes. If you want lustre to 
 your eyes, keep early hours ; take regular exercise ; live 
 moderately \ use cold water plentifully ; and do not read or 
 write by gaslight. 
 
 Early to bed and early to rise . . . 
 
 That is the way to brighten your eyes ! 
 
 After all, the only really useful appliances of the toilette are 
 good soap and cold water ; and the only safe preservatives of 
 a healthy frame and general comeliness are exercise and diet. 
 Further, in our dress, or the arrangement of our hair, or in our 
 various devices for securing an attractive personal appearance, 
 we must never attempt to be other than we are : blondes must 
 not affect to be brunettes, short men and stout must not aspire 
 to imitate the Anaks of mankind, and age must make no pre- 
 tence to the graces and gifts of youth. 
 
 Every lady, and for that matter every gentleman, likes to see 
 a white hand ; but here, again, no preparations are needed if 
 the bodily health be duly cared for, personal cleanliness 
 sedulously observed, and the hands screened from excessive 
 exposure to the sun. But the reader must distinguish between 
 a wholesome whiteness and purity, and that artificial whiteness 
 which absolutely offends by its excess. All that is not natural 
 must be and is offensive. Who would not rather see the 
 healthy skin wearing its natural tint, and laced by its azure 
 veins, than that dull pallor produced by the application of all 
 kinds of chemical compounds ? What lover but would rather 
 clasp his lady-lovers hands when fresh and cool with the tint 
 of health, than after they have been plastered with some 
 empirical cream or soaked in some noxious wash ? To keep 
 the hands soft and healthily white, nothing more is required 
 than sufficient washing in cold or tepid water, with fine soap. 
 If discoloured or tanned by accidental causes, a little almond- 
 paste may be sparingly used, or, better still, a simple mixture 
 of lemon-juice and milk. Anything else or more cannot be too 
 strongly censured. 
 
 . The nails should be kept moderately long, and gently 
 rounded. The skin should not be allowed to encroach at 
 
A LAB rs TOILETTE. 
 
 275 
 
 their base ; and they should be cleansed frequently with a 
 proper brush and soap and water. To refer again to the ladies 
 of the Harem : we learn that 
 
 ‘ Some bring leaves of Plenna, to imbue 
 The fingers’ ends with a bright roseate hue, 
 
 So bright, that in the mirror’s depth they seem 
 Like tips of coral branches in the stream 
 
 but the bright roseate hue of Nature is infinitely to be pre- 
 ferred. Beauty, when unadorned, is adorned the most; is, 
 indeed, only beauty when it dispenses with the meretricious 
 aids of what is not art but imposture. Eyes brightened by 
 belladonna ; cheeks reddened by rouge ; neck and shoulders 
 whitened with pearl-powder ; hands dipped in amandine — the 
 picture is revolting ! A creature thus made up is no true 
 woman, and cannot command our respect, much less our love. 
 We turn, with grave dissatisfaction, from the Belinda of the 
 poet : 
 
 * And now, unveil’d, the toilet stands display’d. 
 
 Each silver vase in mystic order laid. 
 
 First, rob’d in white, the nymph intent adores. 
 
 With head uncover’d, the cosmetic powers. 
 
 A heaving image in the glass appears. 
 
 To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears ; 
 
 Th’ inferior priestess, at her altar’s side. 
 
 Trembling begins the sacred rites of pride. 
 
 Unnumbered treasures ope at once, and here 
 The various offerings of the world appear ; 
 
 From each she nicely culls with anxious toil. 
 
 And decks the goddess with the glittering spoil. 
 
 This casket India’s glowing gems unlocks. 
 
 And all Arabia breathes from yonder box. 
 
 The tortoise here and elephant unite. 
 
 Transformed to combs, the speckled and the white. 
 
 Here piles of pins extend their shining rows, 
 
 Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billet-doux. 
 
 Now awful beauty puts on all its arms ; 
 
 The fair each moment rises in her charms. 
 
 Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace, 
 
 And calls forth all the wonders of her face ; 
 
 Sees by degrees a purer blush arise, 
 
 And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes.’ 
 
 From this painted and repaired Belinda, this thing of puffs 
 and patches and powder, with her made-up blush and artificial 
 ^ lightnings,’ we turn with disgust. Such is not the woman whom 
 
 18 — 2 
 
276 
 
 AB0U7' THE FEET 
 
 we can love as mother or wife ; such is not the woman we could 
 wish our sister to be. 
 
 Not that man or woman must be allowed to elevate into a 
 virtue the neglect of his or her personal appearance. The 
 toilet, in its place and within certain limits, is rightly an object 
 of attention. There is no modesty in a wan complexion \ 
 no moral excellence in a rough brown hand and nails edged 
 with black; no genius in ill-kempt hair. He who does not 
 keep his nails clean is no gentleman. She who assails one with 
 breath scarcely less full-flavoured than that of the dragon in the 
 old story, is no lady. The body in its way is as deserving of 
 ‘ culture ’ as the mind ; and to neglect it is a sign of an igno- 
 rance of its wonderful organisation. Besides, that neglect 
 carries with it certain penalties which are always troublesome 
 and painful, and may possibly be very serious. Neglect of the 
 eyes means impaired sight, perhaps blindness; neglect of the 
 teeth, impaired digestion, the agonies of tooth-ache, perhaps 
 early toothlessness. You cannot be unmindful of the law of 
 cleanliness without inducing disease. 
 
 That a due attention to the body has its reward we see in 
 the case of the feet, which, if properly shod, will not torment 
 their owners with corns or bunions. Tight boots are for this 
 reason to be avoided ; moreover, they spoil the shape of the 
 foot, and impede circulation. You are not required to encase 
 your ‘ pedal extremities ’ in boots or shoes a world too wide ; 
 but they should be large enough to permit of free muscular 
 action. I like to see a small foot — small as those of which 
 we read in Suckling’s ballad — 
 
 ‘ Her feet beneath her petticoat, 
 
 Like little mice stole in and out, — 
 
 but I would rather see a large foot than one unnaturally 
 cribbed, cabined, and confined in a leather prison, so that 
 the toes are huddled up together like luggage in a railway-van, 
 and project like so many promontories. A graceful walk — 
 easy, undulating, vigorous — is an accomplishment which no 
 pretty woman can dispense with ; but this is impossible unless 
 the feet and ankles are allowed the utmost liberty of motion. 
 Compare the elastic step of a Highland maiden across her 
 native heather with that of some of the so-called belles of 
 London Society, whose walk is something between a totter 
 and a run, or is made up of a succession of jerks, which dis- 
 
VALUE OF EXERCISE, 
 
 277 
 
 organise (so to speak) the lines of the whole figure. Which is 
 the more pleasing to the eye ? I would not underrate the 
 value of a finely-formed foot and ankle, but I am sure those 
 coveted charms are not to be acquired by any amount of com- 
 pression and contraction. As a matter of fact, they are natural 
 gifts, and people who have large feet and thick ankles must 
 put up with the inconvenience. By wearing dark-coloured 
 stockings and good shoes they may materially disguise their 
 disadvantages; they cannot get rid of them. On the other 
 hand, the injudicious treatment of the feet in early life often 
 leads to deformity ; for vigorous walking exercise is absolutely 
 necessary to preserve the fine arch of the instep and the 
 curving outline of the ankle. Let me note^ in passing from 
 this subject, that a small foot is not necessarily a pretty foot; 
 smallness, indeed, may become a deformity — no one would 
 call the small feet of the Chinese women beautiful ; and what 
 is rather to be sought for is harmony of proportions. Study the 
 feet of the Venus of Milo, and you will arrive at a correct idea 
 of what constitutes beauty in this part of the human frame. 
 
 By an easy transition I pass from the foot to the great subject 
 of exercise, the benefits of which, to those whose social con- 
 dition obviates the necessity of continuous physical exertion 
 as a means of gaining a livelihood, cannot be over-estimated. 
 A certain amount of bodily fatigue must be undergone if our 
 natural strength is to be maintained, and our muscles and 
 organs are to be preserved in healthy vigour. In this way 
 the circulation is equalised, and the blood more effectually dis- 
 tributed through every part. Cold feet or hands, or a feeling of 
 chill, warn us that the circulation is languid and impeded. 
 During exercise the muscles press on the veins, and, by 
 quickening the vessels into activity, promote the regular move- 
 ment of the currents. The valves of the heart are relieved of 
 unnecessary or injurious labour, and assisted in their work of 
 sending onward the stream of life. When exercise is neglected, 
 the blood collects too much about this central region, and we 
 become sensible of an oppression, a difficulty of breathing, 
 cardiac uneasiness, lowness of spirits, and a general heaviness 
 and anxiety. We often find persons complaining that they are 
 too weak and too breathless to take exercise. Allow me to 
 assure you, my dear reader, that you are labouring under a 
 
278 
 
 IN PRAISE OF WALKING. 
 
 delusion; your weakness, your quick and short respiration, 
 arise from 7va7if of exercise ! The heart groans under its 
 burden, and yet you do nothing to help it, to impel the blood 
 forward to the extremities. The lungs are similarly oppressed, 
 but you refuse to relieve them from their trouble. Be certain 
 that the less exercise you take, the less will you be fitted for, 
 and yet the more you will need it. Your muscles will grow 
 flaccid, your nerves disordered, your blood thick and slow. 
 You are committing suicide, and deserve to suffer all the 
 penalties attaching to such perversity. 
 
 Of all forms of exercise, walking is the best, because it acts 
 on the whole body, and acts evenly. It relieves brain and 
 heart and lungs, strengthens both the muscular and the 
 nervous system, freshens the mind, invigorates the spirits. It 
 is the best of doctors, for its sanitary influence is moral as well 
 as physical. The man who walks, lives. He can use his eyes 
 freely, and store his memory with facts, images, and associa- 
 tions. He is his own master — can stop when and where he 
 pleases — is monarch of all he surveys ; the flowers are his, and 
 the blue skies above him, and the music of the birds, and the 
 freshness of the breeze. ‘ Walk,’ says Charles Dickens, and no 
 one knew better the value of the advice he gave — ^ walk and be 
 happy, walk and be healthy.’ ‘ The best of all ways to lengthen 
 our days,’ is not, as Mr. Thomas Moore has it, ‘ to steal a few 
 hours from night, my love,^ but, with leave be it spoken, to 
 walk steadily and with a purpose. The present writer knows 
 of certain ancients, far gone in years, who have staved off in- 
 firmities and dissolution by earnest walking — hale fellows close 
 upon eighty and ninety, but brisk as boys. As sings the 
 Queen Anne poet, more sensibly than melodiously : — 
 
 ‘ Toil and be strong ; by toil the flaccid nerves 
 Grow Ann, and gain a more compacted tone ; 
 
 The greener juices are by toil subdued, 
 
 Mellowed and subtilized ; the vapid old 
 Expelled, and all the rancour of the blood.’ 
 
 Everybody should be in the open air at least two hours daily, 
 and if in ordinary health should walk at least four to six miles 
 daily — not a dull, rigid, constitutional walk, but a brisk, joyous, ex- 
 hilarating walk, and, if possible, a walk with an object. It might 
 be considered vulgar to perspire ; but certainly you should adopt 
 a degree of speed sufficient to bring a moisture on the skin and 
 
EXERCISE FOR MIDDLE-AGED MEN AND LADIES, 279 
 
 a glow to the cheek. Be it understood that ‘ shopping ’ — I 
 speak to the ladies — is not walking; nor — I speak to the 
 gentlemen — is ^sauntering’; I mean that listless pacing up and 
 down the park, a certain fashionable strut, which our ^ gilded 
 youth ’ so greatly affect. You must use activity enough to send 
 the blood faster through the veins and to quicken the action 
 of the liver. But you must stop short of actual fatigue. 
 Exercise should be so regulated as to strengthen and stimu- 
 late ; it becomes injurious when it worries or depresses. 
 
 So far, I have been addressing the younger members of 
 society. As to adults, or rather men advanced in years, I will 
 quote what Dr. Ralfe says : The plea offered by most men of 
 middle age for not taking regular and systematic exercise is the 
 want of time and opportunity. We believe this plea to be 
 utterly groundless. A brisk walk of three quarters of an hour 
 before the business of the day, and half an hour at the end of 
 the day, with a good stroll on Sunday afternoons some distance 
 out of town, would be sufficient in most cases ; while this brief 
 curtailment of business hours might be met by an earlier hour 
 of rising and retiring to rest. The men who most frequently 
 urge this plea of want of time, seem to find no difficulty in 
 spending an hour or two before dinner at their club, in whist, 
 in billiards, or in the smoking-room ; and when taxed with 
 this, and urged to employ this part of the day in a ‘ consti- 
 tutional^ round the park, plead the sense of fatigue and 
 weariness induced by the labours of the day, forgetting that 
 this sense of v/eariness is only subjective, and speedily dis- 
 appears after a few minutes of brisk exercise. 
 
 There are open to ladies other forms of exercise besides 
 walking, and these are not to be neglected, though I decline 
 to look upon any of them as a satisfactory substitute for it. 
 Some of them may be accepted as supplementary, such, for 
 instance, as rowing and swimming — both being pastimes in 
 which ladies can now indulge freely without fear of provoking 
 censure or gaining notoriety. Croquet is not so fashionable as 
 it was ; but lawn tennis has taken its place, and is, perhaps, 
 more beneficial. Dancing must not be omitted; though, as 
 pursued in London ball-rooms, it does not exercise an exactly 
 sanitary influence. The good done by the play of muscle and 
 limb is probably more than neutralised by excitement and 
 the respiration for some hours of an unwholesome atmosphere. 
 
28 o a la [/da t/om of dancing. 
 
 There can be no doubt, however, that it promotes a graceful 
 carriage and an ease and litheness of motion, converting many 
 a lubberly youth into a polished and elegant cavalier, and many 
 an awkward lass into a refined young maiden, whose bearing 
 and movements please by their facility and self-possession. 
 Says Jean Paul Richter, in his Levana; ‘Women, it is well 
 known, cannot run, but only dance ; and every woman would 
 more easily reach by dancing than by running a post-house, 
 to which, instead of a straight poplar alley, a lordly row of 
 trees, planted in the English fashion, conducted. The 
 gymnastics of running, walking on stilts, climbing, and the 
 like, steels and hardens individual powers and muscles ; whereas 
 dancing, like a corporeal poetry, embellishes, exercises, and 
 equalises all the muscles. Further, the harmony connected 
 with it imparts to the mind and affections that metrical order 
 which reveals the highest, and regulates the beat of the pulse, 
 the step, and even the thoughts. Music is the metre of this 
 poetic movement, and is an invisible dance, just as dancing is 
 a silent music. Finally, it must also be ranked among the 
 advantages of this eye-and-heel pleasure, that the young with the 
 young, by no harder canon than the musical, light as sound, 
 may be joined in a rose-bud feast without thorns or strife.’ 
 
 This, the poetical aspect of dancing, as distinguished from 
 the physiological, finds expression also in a poem by Schiller, 
 from which I quote the introductory lines : 
 
 ‘ See how like lightest waves at play, the airy dancers fleet ; 
 
 And scarcely feels the floor the wings of those harmonious feet. 
 
 Oh, are they flying shadows from their native forms set free ? 
 
 Or phantoms in the fairy ring that summer moonbeams see ? 
 
 As, by the gentle zephyr blown, some light mist flees in air ; 
 
 As skiffs that skim adown the tide, when silver waves are fair. 
 
 So sports the docile footstep to the heave of that sweet measure, 
 
 As music wafts the form aloft at its melodious j^leasure. ’ 
 
 Riding is also one of the amusements which women share 
 with men ; in which, if they do not carry off the palm, they 
 contend for it upon equal terms. Whether for man or woman, 
 it is a noble exercise, and its therapeutic effects must be frankly 
 recognized. Dr. C. Smith has carefully studied the increase 
 in the quantity of air inspired that takes place in a variety of 
 movements. Taking the recumbent position to represent 
 unity — I, then, in standing, the quantity of air inspired rises 
 to 1*33 ; in walking at the rate of one mile an hour, 1-9; at 
 
RELATIVE ADVANTAGES OF RIDING. 
 
 281 
 
 four miles an hour, 5. Riding and trotting raises it to 4*05, 
 and swimming to 4 ’33. Along with this increased respiratory 
 action will be an increase in the number of respirations ; that 
 is, in the number of alternate acts of expansion and contraction 
 of the chest. In a healthy adult these average from fourteen 
 to eighteen a minute, but with exercise they are greatly in- 
 creased, so that they often, in riding at racing speed, ex- 
 ceed forty a minute. But the more quickly the movements 
 of respiration take place, the smaller is the proportionate 
 quantity of carbonic acid contained in each volume of the 
 expired air. Thus, if we take six respirations a minute, the 
 quantity of carbonic acid is about 5*5 per cent. ; with twelve 
 respirations, it is 4*2; with twenty-four, 3*3; with forty-eight, 
 2*9. Although the proportionate amount of carbonic acid 
 exhaled out is thus decreased, yet the absoliLte quantity exhaled 
 into the air in a given time is increased, owing to the larger 
 quantity of air breathed in the time. 
 
 On the whole, then, riding is a less healthy exercise than 
 walking ; but when not pursued to an excess it is invigorating 
 and exhilarating, while its action upon the liver is well-known 
 to be highly beneficial. Young ladies, condemned to a town 
 life for several months in the year, and forced by the artificial 
 conditions of society to breathe a comparatively impure atmo- 
 sphere for several hours daily, will find a daily ride an admirable 
 therapeutic agent — especially if instead of cantering round 
 Rotten Row, they would hark away to Putney Heath and 
 Wimbledon, and enjoy a brisk run over the breezy commons. 
 
 Riding cannot be taught by book, and I have neither the 
 time nor the pretension to act as a teacher. But there is a 
 kind of etiquette connected with it, which in these pages 
 obviously must not be ignored. Whether in town or country, 
 horseman or horsewoman must dress suitably ; the former in a 
 plain cut-away coat, with tight close-fitting trousers, and neat 
 boots ; the latter in trim habit, with full but not too long skirt, 
 hat and feather, white collar, and gauntlet gloves. The round 
 ‘ stove-pipe ^ hat is now seldom worn ; in its place is donned 
 a felt or straw hat : but on this point, and on the details of the 
 skirt and habit, the reader should consult a tailor of good 
 repute. The fashion of this world changes ; and that which 
 is the mode in Rotten Row to-day, to-morrow may excite in- 
 extinguishable laughter as a fossilised survival. 
 
282 
 
 ETIQUETTE OF RIDING AND HUNTING. 
 
 In the quiet green lanes of rural England, a young lady may 
 ride out unaccompanied ; but in town she must be attended by 
 a gentleman (not too young) and her groom. But a gentleman 
 rarely requires a groom, unless he is going to escort a bevy of 
 fair horsewomen. 
 
 A lady will need assistance in mounting. ^ There never 
 was so lame a legend,’ says a vivacious writer, ‘as that of a 
 certain lady of Coventry, whom Tennyson and Thomas the 
 Inquisitive have rendered celebrated. Of course it is very 
 pretty, and we who honour women as we should (though we 
 burnt la Piicelle P Orleans), and have had a range of noble 
 ones from Boadicea to Florence Nightingale, can well believe 
 that Godiva was as modest as she was merciful ; but have we 
 ever asked — who assisted her ? Perhaps you will tell me that 
 till a very recent period, no stable-yard was without a flight of 
 three stone-steps standing by themselves, and that women 
 always mounted from them. I know it, and have seen hun- 
 dreds of them in the western counties, but before I admit your 
 argument, you must show me that these steps existed in the 
 days of the fair equestrian who wore no garb but modesty ; 
 you must prove that these people are wrong who describe the 
 ladies of the olden time as mounting from the shoulder of a 
 serving-man or gallant.’ 
 
 Ladies of the present day, however, are contented with the 
 hand of their cavaliers. The fair horsewoman, having gathered 
 up her skirt in her left hand, stands close to her steed, with 
 her face towards his head, and her right hand on the pommel 
 of the saddle. She intimates by a little gesture that you are 
 at liberty to aid her ; whereupon you put yourself at the horse’s 
 shoulder, with your face towards the lady, and gently kneeling, 
 extend your right hand at a suitable distance from the ground. 
 Into its palm slides the lady’s dainty left foot, and imme- 
 diately, as she lifts herself up, you raise the foot gradually and 
 carefully, and she seats herself in her saddle. That is ‘ how it 
 is done ’ ; but I advise you not to trust to verbal description : 
 watch the action of some experienced cavalier, and watch it 
 carefully, lest when first you ‘ assist a fair equestrian,’ you cover 
 yourself with shame and bring her to grief. 
 
 Hunting is an ‘ amusement ’ still popular in England ; some 
 of our legislators seem to think that without it England would 
 not be worth living in ; but I confess that for myself I never 
 
VARIOUS FORMS OF EXFRCISE. 
 
 283 
 
 could see the ^fun of it/ To gallop headlong over fence and 
 ditch after the merry brown hare or a frightened fox seems to 
 me scarcely the kind of ‘ sport ’ for the sons of the men of 
 Agincourt and the Armada. Deer-stalking is many degrees 
 higher in' merit \ yachting has sense and purpose in it, when 
 not confined to racing for silver cups ; cricket requires in- 
 finitely more skill and endurance. However, hunting has its 
 devotees and its defenders — witness Mr. Anthony Trollope, 
 who on this subject crossed swords with Mr. Charles Reade; 
 and in English literature it figures largely — witness the novels 
 of Fielding, Lever, Trollope, Charlie Clarke, Whyte Melville, 
 and the songs of Egerton Warburton. I cannot deal with it 
 here ; the field is too wide ; and only an expert could do it 
 justice. But I may hint that the hunting-field, like the cricket- 
 ground, is a place in which the gentleman stands strongly 
 contrasted with the snob. The gentleman does not ride like a 
 jockey or a tailor; does not ruthlessly cannon against ladies; 
 does not relieve his feelings at the expense of the ears of his 
 companions ; does not indulge in Munchausenisms about the 
 day’s doings — or rather his day’s doings — over the walnuts and 
 the wine. 
 
 But I am digressing. The great theme which I ought to 
 keep before me is exercise, and I have now indicated some of 
 its principal forms — walking, dancing, riding, swimming, hunt- 
 ing. It is easy to extend the list. Let us, for example, arrange 
 the forms in three distinct classes, basing the division upon 
 definite physiological considerations : 
 
 1. Exercises which employ almost equally all the muscles of the 
 body : Boxing, climbing, fencing, swimming. 
 
 2. Exercises which give considerable employment to the upper 
 as well as the lower extremity : Cricket, football, golf (a capital 
 pastime for ladies — it may be called walking, with sport in it), 
 fives, rackets, rowing, shooting, tennis. 
 
 3. Exercises chiefly performed by the lower limbs and trunks 
 the muscles of the upper extremity being auxiliary : Leaping, 
 riding, running, walking. 
 
 I have already said that, all things considered, walking must 
 be adjudged the healthiest and pleasantest form of regular 
 exercise ; but as it is clear that no natural variety of exercise 
 does in itself call equally into play the muscles of the whole 
 
284 
 
 A NINETEENTH CENTURY BAYARD. 
 
 body, the reader must his or her exercises — in a word, 
 must do what a hon viva7it will never do with his wines, that is, 
 mix them. 
 
 Connected with each of these varieties is what I may 
 term an unwritten law of etiquette, which it would not be 
 easy to define here, even if I had the space, and, in truth, 
 it will best be learnt from observation of the usages of good 
 society. At the bottom of it lies that fundamental principle 
 which, as I have so often urged, underlies all courtesy, all the 
 traditions of politeness, all the requirements of manners, the 
 principle of disregard of self. Your first thought must be 
 for your neighbour; your last for yourself. Of your neigh- 
 bour you must never take advantage ; you must never impose 
 upon him a duty which you yourself have evaded ; you must 
 never betray him into a false position ; you must never aim at 
 him your ridicule. And especially must this primary principle 
 find application in your conversation and communication with 
 the ladies, so that you may be known of all as a nineteenth 
 century Bayard, sans pem^ et sans repi'oche. Place their con- 
 venience, their comfort, their ease, their satisfaction, before all 
 other objects; these attained, all objects will seem to have 
 been attained; to such an extent is etiquette the ways and 
 means by which modern chivalry protects, defends, assists, and 
 honours the ^fair sex.’ 
 
 In speaking, as I have hitherto done, of exercise and recrea- 
 tion, it must not be thought that I am insensible of the 
 advantage or the duty of culture. All work and no play is 
 said to make Jack a dull boy; but all play and no work will 
 make him incurably duller. Both Jack and Jill must so regu- 
 late their time as to allow room for study as well as pastime, 
 for the cultivation of the mind as well as for the ease of the 
 body. This may be recommended even from the low stand- 
 point of the stickler for etiquette; inasmuch as it is certain 
 that good manners come more easily to individuals softened 
 and refined by intellectual pursuits. The prejudice which 
 exists against good or fashionable society, and the ridicule 
 showered upon it, are due to the fact that its leaders too often 
 are distinguished by their ignorance of all those higher questions 
 and subjects which engage the attention of thoughtful minds. 
 Hence the vapid character of their conversation; hence the 
 importance they ascribe to trifles, It is difficult not to condemn, 
 
LIFE WASTED UPON SMALL OBJECTS, 285 
 
 and yet it were wiser to pity, those unfortunate persons who 
 prefer the investigation of a menu to the study of Shakespeare, 
 and inspect the coloured extravagances of a book of fashion 
 with more pleasure than the finest works of the greatest masters. 
 There are others who acquire a certain degree of familiarity 
 with the piano or palette ; who can sing Italian bravuras, and 
 paint impossible landscapes; who style themselves and are 
 styled by their friends ‘accomplished,’ and yet they have no know- 
 ledge of the literature of their own country ! There are men 
 who ride well to hounds and can make a good bag on the 
 moors, or who shine with brilliancy in the dance, and are 
 assiduous in their patronage of the drama, who are virtually 
 without an idea on any of those great questions which concern 
 the present well-being and future happiness of humanity. 
 They waste their lives upon small objects. Of no such person 
 would I speak as a ‘ lady,’ or a ‘ gentleman,’ whatever his or her 
 social position, or material advantages. 
 
 ‘What fact more conspicuous in modern history,’ says 
 Emerson, ‘than the creation of the gentleman? Chivalry is 
 that, and loyalty is that, and in English literature, half the 
 drama, and all the novels, from Sir Philip Sidney to Sir Walter 
 Scott, paint this figure. The word gentleman^ which, like the 
 word Christian^ must hereafter characterise the present and the 
 few preceding centuries, by the importance attached to it, is a 
 homage to personal and incommunicable properties. Frivol- 
 ous and fantastic additions have got associated with the name, 
 but the steady interest of mankind in it must be attributed to 
 the valuable properties which it designates. An element which 
 unites all the most forcible persons of every country ; makes 
 them intelligible and agreeable to each other, and is somewhat 
 so precise, that it is at once felt if an individual lack the 
 masonic sign, cannot be any casual product, but must be an 
 average result of the character and faculties universally found 
 in man. It seems a certain permanent average ; as the atmo- 
 sphere is a permanent composition, while so many gases are 
 combined only to be decompounded. Co7nme il faut,, is the 
 Frenchman’s description of good society, as we must be. It is 
 a spontaneous fruit of talents and feelings of precisely the class 
 who have most vigour, who take the lead in the world of this 
 hour, and though far from pure, far from constituting the 
 gladdest and highest tone of human feeling, is as good as the 
 
286 
 
 WBAT MAIZES THE GENTLEMANS 
 
 whole society permits it to be. It is made of the spirit more 
 than of the talent of men, and is a compound result into which 
 every great force enters as an ingredient, namely, virtue, wit, 
 beauty, wealth, and power/ 
 
 Without cultivated intelligence, you may become a milliner's 
 or a tailor’s block, or lay-figure, but really a gentleman you 
 cannot be. The leaders of fashion, such as Lady Holland, 
 Lady Palmerston, the Countess Waldegrave, have always been 
 women of considerable capacity, matured by study, experi- 
 ence, and reflection. Devote, therefore, a portion of your 
 time to the continual education of your taste and judgment; 
 let there be an hour for close and careful reading, as well as 
 hours for the pursuit of the so-called accomplishments, though 
 music and drawing, rightly studied, develop into something 
 much more than accomplishments — into intellectual forces. 
 The lady, or the gentleman, is separated from ‘ the common 
 herd ’ (I do not use the term offensively) by the keenness of 
 her or his perceptions, and this keenness is wrought and pre^ 
 served by careful mental and moral culture. If there be any 
 delusion of which it is specially needful to disabuse the mind, 
 it is that old and obstinate delusion that adventitious condi- 
 tions, such as rank and wealth, and social prestige, make the 
 gentleman. It is in himself that he is thus and thus. It is in 
 his own mind, his own heart, that the charm, the magic, really 
 lies. Education begins him ; good company helps to make 
 him ; but it is reflection and reading that complete him. Only 
 of such a one may we use the words of the old dramatist : 
 
 ^ He is a noble gentleman ; withal 
 Happy in ’s endeavours : the general voice 
 Sounds him for courtesy, behaviour, language. 
 
 And every fair demeanour an example : 
 
 Titles of honour add not to his worth. 
 
 Who is himself an honour to his title.’ 
 
 But even this is not all. Refined taste, matured faculties, a 
 happy judgment, the power of saying the right thing at the 
 right time, a knowledge of literature, an insight into the prin- 
 ciples of art, some familiarity with the processes of science — 
 all these may co-exist along with fine manners and grace of bear- 
 ing; and yet the result shall not be a perfect ‘ lady,' or perfect 
 ‘ gentleman.’ These are words which must not be carelessly 
 applied. Who shall say that the highest standard of character 
 
THE QUESTION ANSWERED. 
 
 2B7 
 
 has been reached, so long as the moral faculties are ‘ below par^ ? 
 We want the educated mind ; we want the polished address ; 
 we want the conversational charm ; but we also want a deep 
 true sense of honour, of truthfulness, of sincerity. We want 
 something of that acknowledgment of the higher, purer nature 
 which led Dekker, the old dramatist, to speak of our Lord as 
 ‘ the truest gentleman that ever breathed.’ We want an indig- 
 nant scorn of a mean action ; an intense sympathy — trans- 
 lating itself into action — with meekness and poverty. I feel 
 nothing but contempt for the etiquette which rises superior to 
 moral considerations. I can regard only with disgust the sup- 
 posititious gentleman who is a gentleman only on the surface, 
 and seeks to impose upon us with electroplated gentility. 
 Man or woman, if thou wouldst claim the noble title — highest, 
 
 I take it, of all earthly distinctions — of lady or gentleman, first 
 must 
 
 ‘ Thy actions to thy words accord ; thy words 
 To thy large heart give utterance due ; thy heart 
 Contain of good, wise, just, the perfect shape.’ 
 
 Be generous, be a gentleman ; that is, be equitable, refined, 
 genial ; just in the interpretation of motives ; prompt to 
 forbear and forgive ; patient, humane, tender, courteous. If 
 thou dost seek to realise the loftiest excellences of the Chris- 
 tian character, and humbly strivest to imitate the Master’s 
 charity, patience, endurance, and self-sacrifice, then shall it 
 be said of thee as Tennyson has said of his friend, Arthur 
 Hallam : — 
 
 ‘ He seemed the thing he was, and joined 
 Each office of the social hour 
 To noble manners, as the flower 
 And native growth of noble mind ; 
 
 * And thus he bore without abuse 
 
 The grand old name of gentleman ! ’ 
 
 After day comes night ; after sunshine, cloud ; and he who 
 wears the wedding-garb to-day may be called upon to assume 
 the mourner’s raiment to-morrow. In these pages, however, I 
 will not touch, ever so lightly, on the sadness and sorrow of the 
 death-chamber ; f/tere let Feeling have its way, and bid Eti- 
 quette wait without. But after the last offices of respect and 
 affection have been paid to the dead, the mourners mingle 
 again in Society, and Society will then claim its due. The iron 
 
288 
 
 ETIQUEJTE OF MOURNING. 
 
 law of custom seizes them in its grasp, and they find them- 
 selves bound and fettered by certain recognised convention- 
 alities. ‘ The question,' says an authority, ‘ as to how soon 
 persons in mourning should or should not re-enter Society is 
 in some measure an open one. Although, as regards very near 
 relatives, the regulation period of seclusion is rigidly adhered 
 to, yet, in the case of more distant relatives, this rule is greatly 
 modified and governed by individual feeling, although any 
 marked breach of the etiquette usually observed by persons in 
 mourning would naturally provoke unfavourable comment.' 
 
 Court mourning is regulated by the Lord Chamberlain, whose 
 orders are duly notified in the London Gazette. It is imperative 
 only on persons connected with the Court, State officials, and 
 persons attending drawing-rooms, levees. State balls. State 
 concerts, and the like. General mourning is ordered on the 
 death of any member of the Royal Family, but there is no 
 means of enforcing it upon the public. 
 
 Persons who have sustained a bereavement leave their cards 
 on their friends and acquaintances as soon as they feel able to 
 re-enter Society. When cards of inquiry have been left (with 
 the words ‘ to inquire ' written on the right-hand corner of the 
 visiting-card), it is usual to return them by cards with ‘ Thanks 
 for kind inquiries ' written upon them ; if no such cards of in- 
 quiry have been left, the usual visiting-cards will suffice. The 
 usual period of seclusion for a widow is twelve months, but she 
 continues to wear mourning for another year. Widowers also 
 wear mourning for two years, but business and other causes 
 compel them to return to society after a very brief privacy. 
 
 Individual affection governs, to some extent, the mourning of 
 children for parents, or parents for children ; it is also very 
 frequently affected by irresistible circumstances ; so that, while 
 the period may be extended to eighteen months, it may also be 
 shortened to twelve or even six months. A parent or child 
 who has suffered bereavement would not reappear in society 
 in less than three months. 
 
 For a grandfather or grandmother we seclude ourselves for 
 about two months, and wear mourning for nine months. 
 Brothers and sisters retire for two months, and wear the ‘ garb 
 of woe ' for six months. For an aunt or uncle, society would 
 be forborne for two or three weeks, and mourning worn for 
 three months. No seclusion is expected after the deaths of a 
 
MOURNING CUSTOMS. 
 
 289 
 
 nephew (or niece), a first cousin, and a second cousin; but 
 mourning is de rigiieur in good society for three months in the 
 first case, six weeks in the second, and three weeks in the 
 third. 
 
 During the last third of the period above mentioned, half- 
 mourning will be worn. Thus, a widow will wear full mourning 
 for sixteen months, and half mourning for eight months. 
 
 When the head of a family is taken away, it is customary to 
 put the servants in mourning ; and this is also done, in many 
 cases, on the death of a son or daughter. 
 
 Funeral-cards are not now sent on the death of a relative. 
 Friends and relatives very frequently leave or send wreaths of 
 immortelles or of white flowers to a house of mourning a day 
 or two before that appointed for the funeral. 
 
 Many old funeral or mourning customs have recently dropped 
 into abeyance ; and as all tended to deepen and confine the 
 gloom of an event which, from a Christian point of view, should 
 not be regarded with other than feelings of hope, love, and 
 peace, we may expect they will not be revived. There is still 
 much to be done in the way of funeral reform ; the passage 
 of the body to its last resting-place is still invested with too 
 much pomp of melancholy and ostentation of grief. But of 
 late years it cannot be denied that a wiser and more truly de- 
 vout spirit has prevailed, and the hearse and its nodding 
 plumes, the hired mourners, and all the ghastly ‘ pageantry of 
 death,’ are rapidly giving place to more cheerful appurten- 
 ances. 
 
 19 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 TWO CENTURIES OF MAXIMS UPON MANNERS. 
 
 ‘ Manners (mores) or merit makytli man.’ 
 
 William of Wykeham. 
 
 . Introductions — Letters of Introduction — Introductions to Ladies — Intro- 
 ductions at Dinners and at Morning Calls — Bowing and Hand- 
 shaking — Good Manners a Rare Gift — Their Popularity — Morning 
 Calls — Whom to Congratulate — Exclusiveness of Married Life — Cards 
 not to be Sent by Post — Precedence — Punctuality — Etiquette of 
 Dinners — Adaptability — Use of Knives, Forks, and Spoons — Covers 
 — Moderation in Wine — Grace — Proper Distribution of Wines — 
 Limitations of Smoking — Dressing Well — Hats, Boots, and Gloves— 
 Harmony of Colours — Listening to Music — Singing — Forgetfulness of 
 Self — Douglas Jerrold on Etiquette — Gentility a Mental Quality — 
 Stillingfleet on Politeness — How to Dance — Peace in the Ballroom — 
 Favourite Dances — Conduct in Intervals of Dancing — Invitations to 
 Balls — Reception of Guests — Royal Guests — Duty of Dancing — 
 Supper — Gratuities — State Balls — Ethics of Good Manners — Stiffness 
 — Compliments — Proportion in Expenditure and in Gifts— Wit — 
 Good Temper —Ostentation — Attention to Fiancees and to Brides — 
 Cockades — Driving with Ladies — Friendships — Slang — Silence is 
 Golden — Calls — Correspondence — Monograms and Crests — Chape- 
 rones and their Duties — Dispensing with Ceremony — Reality — 
 P'avours — Conviction of Mistakes — Equality of Guests — Colonel 
 Hanger — Gossip — Secrets — Intrusion of Infirmities — Conversation — 
 Speaking of One’s Self and of Others — Discretion and Agreeableness of 
 Speech — Selection of Topics and Treatment — Self-respect — Servility- 
 Science of ‘ Bowing ’ — Rules of the Road — Entering a Room — Arro- 
 gance — Self-consciousness. 
 
 iN addition to, and by way'of, summing-up and con- 
 densing, the system of good manners which I have 
 endeavoured to expound in the foregoing chapters, 
 I add the following ‘ aphoristic utterances,’ cast in 
 a form which will assist the memory : 
 
 I. Never make introductions unless you have good reason 
 to believe that both parties are agreeable. 
 
LETTERS OF INTRODUCTION, 
 
 291 
 
 2. If you meet an acquaintance while you are walking with 
 a friend, do not introduce them. 
 
 3. If you pass an acquaintance with a lady on his arm, do not 
 nod : take off your hat, so that your salute may seem to embrace 
 both your friend and the lady. 
 
 4. Always present the person of lower rank to the person 
 of higher ; a gentleman to a lady ; the young to the old. 
 
 5. An adherence to etiquette is a mark of respect ; if a man 
 be worth knowing, he is surely worth the trouble of approach- 
 ing properly. It will likewise relieve you from the awkwardness 
 of being acquainted with people of whom you might at times 
 be ashamed, or be obliged under any circumstances to ^ cut/ 
 
 6. Don’t ‘ cut’ anybody ; that is, take care not to know any- 
 body whom you will be obliged to ^ cut.’ 
 
 7. A rudeness is worse than a crime; it is a blunder, because 
 it is so easy to be polite. 
 
 8. The last injury which a man forgives is a wrong to his 
 amour prop 7 ‘e, 
 
 9. Never give letters of introduction unless you are prepared 
 to be responsible for the persons to whom they are given. Why 
 should you thrust upon the society of a friend those whom you 
 would not admit to your own ? Or why ask his good services 
 for individuals whom you do not know to deserve them ? 
 
 10. The holder of a letter of introduction should not take 
 it in person, but should send it with his card of address. 
 The receiver, if he be a gentleman, will call upon you without 
 delay. At all events, you are bound to give him an option ; 
 whereas, by taking your letter in person, you force yourself 
 upon him whether he will or not. 
 
 11. This, however, does not apply to a letter of business, 
 which you will take in person, and take at once. No business 
 is well done that is done through any other agency than your 
 own. 
 
 12. Remember that liter a scripta manet^ and write your 
 letter of introduction accordingly. 
 
 13. Never seal a letter of introduction. The bearer ought 
 to know on what terms he is to approacli a stranger. 
 
 14. ‘Letters which are warmly sealed,’ says Jean Paul 
 Richter, ‘are often coldly opened.’ When writing, remember 
 the character of the person you are addressing, and don’t 
 waste your sweetness upon desert air. 
 
 19 — 2 
 
292 INTRODUCTIONS AND HANDSHAKING, 
 
 15. Be specially careful in making introductions to ladies. 
 It is an insult to the whole sex if you present to a lady any 
 person of doubtful reputation. 
 
 16. When you are introduced to a lady, wait for her to offer 
 her hand. If she do not do so, content yourself with a bow. 
 
 17. At dinner-parties general introductions are unnecessary ; 
 though it is to be assumed that you would not seat at the same 
 table persons whom you would not wish to know each other. 
 In sending your guests down to dinner, you must of course 
 introduce the lady to her destined partner, if they happen to 
 be unacquainted. 
 
 18. In this case you do not ask the lady’s permission. 
 
 19. At morning calls, if the callers arrive at the same time, 
 the hostess will introduce them to each other, unless she has 
 good grounds for believing that the introduction would be dis- 
 agreeable or unsuitable. 
 
 20. At ‘ five o’clock teas,’ and similar receptions, the hostess 
 must introduce her principal guests to each other, but in doing 
 so she must exercise a due discretion, and assort her guests 
 with all possible discrimination. 
 
 21. In bowing to a lady in the street, lift your hat right off 
 your head. Don’t allow her to suppose that you wear a wig, 
 and are afraid to disarrange it. 
 
 22. Hand-shaking is not admissible in a ball room. 
 
 23. A young lady may give her hand to a stranger, but will 
 not shake his, 
 
 24. Observation which, with extensive view, surveys man- 
 kind from China to Peru, shows that in the country gentlemen 
 do not offer their arm to ladies ; but in large towns this should 
 be done as a measure of protection, and a token of respect. 
 
 25. In railway travelling, do not address a lady who is un- 
 known to you unless she invite it. You may offer her your 
 newspaper, with a silent bow. An ‘ unprotected ’ lady ought 
 to call forth a gentleman’s finest chivalry. 
 
 26. If you have made some slight acquaintance with a lady 
 in a railway carriage, you must not presume upon that to bow 
 or speak to her at any accidental rencontre,, unless she make 
 the first advances. 
 
 27. ‘What a rare gift,’ says Bulwer Lytton, ‘is that of 
 manners ! how difficult to define — how much more difficult to 
 impart ! Better for a man to pursue them than wealth, beauty. 
 
CALLS AND VISLTS. 
 
 293 
 
 or even talent, if it fall short of genius — they will more than 
 supply all. He who enjoys their advantages in the highest 
 degree — viz., he who can please, penetrate, persuade, as the 
 object may require, possesses the subtlest secret of the diplo- 
 matist and the statesman, and wants nothing but bent and 
 opportunity to become great ^ 
 
 28. A man maay not become ‘great’ by attention to all 
 maxims upon manners, but he will become ‘ popular,’ which is 
 better. 
 
 29. ‘ There is no policy like politeness ; and a good manner 
 is the best thing in the world, either to get one a good name 
 or to supply the want of it.’ 
 
 30. In making calls, do your best to lighten the infliction to 
 your hostess. Do not stay long ; and do not enter upon a 
 subject of conversation which may terrify her with the appre- 
 hension that you intend to remain until you have exhausted it. 
 
 31. Carry your hat and cane (but not your umbrella, espe- 
 cially if it be rain-soaked and dirty) into the drawing-room, as 
 a visible and outward sign of your intention to leave quickly. 
 
 32. In calling on a newly-married couple, do not congratu- 
 late Nie lady upon her marriage, but the bridegroom. He, of 
 course, is fortunate in having found anyone to accept him ; her 
 good luck may be more problematical. 
 
 33. A visit to a newly-married couple is not a visit of con- 
 dolence. Be brisk in your manner, therefore ; wear a smile on 
 your lip ; and if there be a feeling of pity at your heart, do 
 your utmost to prevent its outward manifestation ! 
 
 34. If you are an acquaintance of the husband, and not of 
 the wife, you will not call, unless he has, by sending his own 
 and his wife’s card, or by letter, intimated his wish that your 
 friendship should continue. When a man marries, it is under- 
 stood that he bids adieu at the church-door to the companions 
 of his bachelorhood. 
 
 35. A married man is bound to consult his wife’s tastes, and 
 his visiting-list will probably require considerable purging 
 before it can be acceptable to her. 
 
 36. It has been well said that a newly-married couple may 
 wish to limit the circle of their friends, from laudable motives 
 of economy. ‘ When a man first “ sets up ” in the world, the 
 burthen of an extensive and indiscriminate acquaintance may 
 be felt in various ways. Many have had cause to regret the 
 
294 
 
 CUSTOMS HONOURED IN THE BREACH 
 
 weakness of mind which allowed them to plunge into a vortex 
 of gaiety and expense they could ill afford, from which they 
 have found it difficult to extricate themselves, and the efforts of 
 which have proved a serious evil to them in after life.’ 
 
 37. A married lady when she makes a call will leave her 
 husband’s card. 
 
 38. Persons sometimes send cards by their servants to return 
 visits ; but this should not be done, except when it is to 
 acknowledge ‘ kind inquiries.’ You pay yourself a poor com- 
 pliment if you think a piece of pasteboard a sufficient re- 
 presentative ! 
 
 39. Homage aiix dames ! In passing from the drawing-room 
 to the dining-room remember that it is the lady who takes 
 precedence, not the gentleman. 
 
 40. It is said that ‘too many cooks spoil — the dinner;’ 
 but the guest who comes last and keeps it waiting, is the 
 real spoiler. 
 
 4T. No well-bred host will praise his own wines; nor will 
 any wise man, for excessive laudation breeds suspicion. Good 
 wine needs no bush. 
 
 42. There may be people who take fish or soup twice — ^just 
 as there may be, or are, agnostics, and persons who believe in 
 the regeneration of Turkey — but I have never met with 
 them. The reason why you should not apply twice for fish 
 or soup at a large party is, because by so doing you delay 
 the appearance of the second course, to the great incon- 
 venience of your fellow-guests, and to the chagrin of your 
 hostess. 
 
 43. Floral decorations are essential, but a dinner-table 
 should not be converted into a parterre. You ask your guests 
 to partake of your hospitatity, not to smell or look at your 
 flowers. A walk through Covent Garden is pleasant, but does 
 not satisfy the appetite. 
 
 44. Do not ask a lady to take wine until she has finished her 
 fish or soup. 
 
 45. There are some customs more honoured in the breach 
 than the observance, and this is one : I can find no reason why 
 persons at one end of the table should idiotically nod to 
 others at the other end, and go through the pantomime of 
 sipping wine from their wine-glasses. 
 
 46. But in remote regions, where this custom lingers, 
 
AT THE DINNER-TABLE, 
 
 295 
 
 politeness dictates that you should comply with it. And in 
 complying, take the same wine as that selected by the person 
 with whom you drink. 
 
 47. He who advised us to do at Rome as the Romans did 
 was a true gentleman. 
 
 48. A great authority on etiquette is responsible for the 
 following directions ; for my own part I cannot conceive in 
 what society they can be necessary : An unpolished person, 
 if admitted into good society, will have intelligence enough to 
 adopt its habits and customs, and will learn more in a day 
 from observation than in a month from the study of manuals 
 of society. 
 
 49. ^ Never use your knife to convey your food to your 
 mouth under any circumstances.’ This appears to be a not 
 uncommon practice in the United States; and a story is told 
 of a negro waiter who, observing it in a guest of unlimited 
 appetite, hastily interposed with the agonised exclamation : 
 ‘ Sah, sail ! don’t cut dat hole any wider, or there’ll be nuffin left 
 for anybody else !’ 
 
 50. ‘If at dinner you are requested to help anyone to sauce, 
 do not pour it over the meat or vegetables, but on one side. 
 If you should have to carve and help a joint, do not load a 
 person’s plate — it is vulgar ; also, in serving soup, one ladleful 
 to each plate is sufficient.’ 
 
 51. ‘ Fish should always be helped with a silver fish-slice, 
 and your own portion of it divided by the fork aided by a 
 piece of bread.’ 
 
 52. ‘Eat peas with a dessert-spoon ; and curry also.’ 
 
 53. ‘As a general rule, in helping anyone at table, never use 
 a knife where you can use a spoon.’ 
 
 54. ‘ Do not pick your teeth much at table, as however 
 satisfactory a practice to yourself, to witness it is not at all 
 pleasant.’ I should rather say, don’t pick your teeth at all ! 
 
 55. Menu cards are not necessary at small dinner-parties, 
 and would offend by their pretentiousness. 
 
 56. Light your dinner-table with wax candles; the heat and 
 flare of gas are fatal to the right enjoyment of a good dinner. 
 Don’t use coloured shades for your lamps or candelabra, or 
 the reflections on the faces of your guests will be as un- 
 pleasant as those cast by the coloured bottles in a druggist’s 
 window. 
 
29^ 
 
 ON TAKING WINE. 
 
 57. A dinner-table is said to be laid for so many ^covers. 
 A ‘ cover ^ comprises : 
 
 Two large knives. Three large forks. 
 
 Silver knife and fork for fish. Wine-glass for sherry. 
 
 Table spoon for soup. Wine-glass for hock. 
 
 Wine-glass for champagne. 
 
 In the centre, between the knives and forks, is placed the 
 dinner-bread wrapped up in a serviette. The dessert-spoons 
 and small forks are placed before the guest on an empty plate 
 before the sweets are passed round ; and extra knives and 
 forks are supplied as they are required. 
 
 Salad is always served on a salad plate. 
 
 58. Avoid onions ; or, after partaking of them, shut yourself 
 up in the solitude of your chamber until you are purified. A 
 story is told of a man who, having indulged in this nutritive 
 but strongly-scented vegetable, entered an inn some time after- 
 wards with the remark that for the last two hours he had had 
 the wind in his teeth. ‘ Had you !’ exclaimed the individual 
 whom he addressed, ‘ then, by Jove, sir, the wind had the worst 
 of it !’ 
 
 59. Be scrupulously abstemious in the matter of wine. To 
 enter the drawing-room ‘ flushed ^ is a grave offence. A glass 
 at dinner and a glass during dessert should suffice. What says 
 George Herbert? 
 
 ‘ Drink not the third glass, which thou canst not tame 
 When once it is within thee, but before 
 May’st rule it as thou list ; and pour the shame. 
 
 Which it would pour on thee, upon the floor. 
 
 It is most just to throw that on the ground 
 
 Which would throw me there, if I keep the round. . . . 
 
 ‘ If reason move not, gallants, quit the room ; 
 
 (All in a shipwreck shift their several way) ; 
 
 Let not a common ruin thee entomb ; 
 
 Be not a beast in courtesy, but stay. 
 
 Stay at the third cup, or forego the place : 
 
 Wine, above all things, does God’s stamp deface.’ 
 
 It is curious, if true, that the ungracious custom of gentlemen 
 sitting at table to drink, after dinner had come to an end, was 
 introduced by the Scottish Queen, St. Margaret, whose memory 
 is still honoured north of the Tweed. Surprised and pained to 
 see the Scottish thegns rising from table before Twyst, her 
 chaplain, could say grace, she offered a cup of rare wine to every- 
 
DINNER AND SMOKING, 
 
 297 
 
 body who should remain. Thus the fashion of ‘ hard drinking ’ 
 arose in the excellent practice of ^ thanksgiving.’ 
 
 60. On no account let dinner be begun until grace has been 
 said, and said reverently. It is a graceless custom to sit down 
 to a meal without any expression of gratitude to Him from 
 whom all blessings flow. 
 
 61. If liqueurs be included in your bill of fare, let them be 
 handed round to your guests on a small silver salver in succes- 
 sion to the ices. 
 
 62. Champagne is drunk only during dinner; with dessert 
 provide claret and sherry. This is in contradiction to Lord 
 Brougham’s utterance, that ^if he knew anything, it was that 
 claret should be drunk after game.’ 
 
 63. Nothing, it is said, indicates a well-bred man more than 
 a proper mode of eating his dinner. A man may pass muster 
 by dressing well, and may sustain himself tolerably in conver- 
 sation ; but if he be not properly ait fait, dinner will betray 
 him. 
 
 64. So, too, the qualities of a hostess are tested by the 
 manner in which her guests are entertained at dinner. Many 
 can give a ball, or an evening party, who fail miserably when 
 they attempt a dinner. To succeed, nerve is necessary, and 
 order, and intelligence, and tact. 
 
 65. We want a modern royal anti-smoker to issu^ another 
 ^ Counterblast against Tobacco.’ Whether smoking is good or 
 bad, wholesome or injurious, I need not here inquire ; but the 
 excess of smoking is, at all events, as noxious to the smoker as it 
 is disagreeable to his neighbours. If you must have your pipe 
 or yoflr weed, retire to some apartment kept exclusively as a 
 smoking-room. Do not smoke in a lady’s presence ; not even 
 if her good-nature prompt her to yield assent. You have no 
 right to impregnate her garments with pot-house odour. 
 
 66. Give up to ‘ cads ’ and ‘ snobs ’ the practice of smoking 
 in the streets or in a theatre. 
 
 67. Of course I know that Raleigh smoked, and that Tenny- 
 son smokes, and that Carlyle is a tenacious smoker. Of course 
 I remember what Bulwer Lytton, another persistent smoker, 
 says in his ‘ What Will He Do With It ?’ — here is the passage 
 — ‘ He who doth not smoke hath either known no great griefs, 
 or refused himself the softest consolation, next to that which 
 comes from heaven. ‘‘ What, softer than woman ?” whispers 
 
298 
 
 MAXIAIS UPON DRESS, 
 
 the young reader. Yes, woman teases as well as consoles. 
 Woman makes half the sorrows which she boasts the privilege 
 to soothe. Woman consoles us, it is true, while we are young 
 and handsome ! when we are old and ugly, woman snubs and 
 scolds us. On the whole, then, woman in this scale, the 
 weed in that — Jupiter, hang out thy balance, and weigh them 
 both ; and if thou give the preference to woman, all I can say 
 is, the next time Juno ruffles thee, O Jupiter, try the weed!’ 
 But, in spite of all this, I say, eschew (not chew!) the weed; 
 or, at all events, if you try it, let it not be in any lady’s 
 company. 
 
 68. Let your dress become you, not you become your dress. 
 
 69. Dress so that anybody shall feel you are well-dressed, 
 without being able to explain why, 
 
 70. To dress wholly out of ‘ the fashion ’ is eccentricity ; to 
 dress in it, servility. Adapt the fashion to yourself, and re- 
 member that dress is not meant to be a disguise. 
 
 71. Do not make an ostentation of your dress. Says Gold- 
 smith : ‘ The person whose clothes are extremely fine, I am 
 too apt to consider as not being possessed of any superiority of 
 fortune, but resembling those barbarians who are found to 
 wear all the gold they have in the world in a bob at the nose.’ 
 
 72. There are three articles of dress which pre-eminently 
 show the gentleman — hat, boots, gloves. 
 
 73. Do not cover yourself with trinkets and precious stones. 
 
 74. A lady should wish to be noticed for herself, not for her 
 dress. There is a strange custom in newspapers nowadays — 
 they describe minutely the dress of the principal ladies at a 
 wedding or a flower-show, a garden-party, or a royal drawing- 
 room. Is the dress, then, more than the woman ? 
 
 75. Let your linen be as spotless as your morals. There is 
 something wrong at bottom in the man who does not object to 
 wear a dirty shirt. 
 
 76. Ladies should remember that the art of dressing well 
 lies in the happy combination and harmony of colours. 
 
 77. When people are singing, do them the courtesy of 
 listening, or pretending to listen. If you do not like music 
 yourself, remember that others may. Besides, when a person 
 is endeavouring to entertain you, the least you can do is to 
 show your gratitude for the intention. 
 
 78. If you are asked to sing, it is good taste to comply ; but 
 
GENTILITY IS IN THE MIND. 
 
 299 
 
 take care that you choose something within the range of your 
 powers. Amateurs too often forget the fable of the frog that 
 aped the ox. 
 
 79. Good manners is the art of making easy the persons 
 with whom we are brought into contact. 
 
 80. There is a deep truth in La Rochefoucauld’s saying, that 
 nothing so much prevents us from being natural as the desire 
 of appearing so. 
 
 81. Self-consciousness is the essence of vulgarity. True 
 politeness is always so busy in thinking of others that it has no 
 time to think of itself. 
 
 82. Douglas Jerrold throws a good deal of ridicule upon the 
 smaller observances of etiquette. ‘ It is not etiquette,’ he says, 
 
 ‘ to go to the opera with the smallest sprig upon the waistcoat 
 or the cravat ; to take soup twice ; to salute a lady first ; to 
 ride in an omnibus [this is a vulgar fallacy ; it is open to any 
 lady or gentleman to ride in an omnibus, or to travel third- 
 class, or go down the river in a penny steam-boat] ; to go to a 
 party before ten or eleven o’clock, or to a ball before mid- 
 night ... to refrain a day from shaving [beard and moustache 
 are now la mode \ ; to have an appetite ; to offer anything to 
 drink to a person of high rank ; to appear surprised when the 
 ladies leave the table at dessert-time ; to dress in black in the 
 morning, or in colours in the evening,’ and so on. All this is 
 pure fallacy; and by a similar method of misconstruction 
 morality itself might be made to look absurd. Etiquette 
 may have its follies, like everything else, but it is absolutely 
 essential, nevertheless, to the orderliness and decorum of 
 society. It is a kind of social police. In fact, where persons 
 congregate together, it springs naturally, because without it 
 their relations would soon become intolerable. At bottom, it 
 exists as the protection of the weak against the strong. 
 
 83. Gentility, says A/wyoc, is neither in title, manner, nor 
 fashion, but in the mind. A high sense of honour — a determi- 
 nation never to take a mean advantage of another— an adher- 
 ence to truth — delicacy and politeness towards those with 
 whom you may have dealings — are the essential and distin- 
 guishing characteristics of a gentleman. 
 
 84. The nature of things, as Lord Chesterfield remarks, is 
 always and everywhere the same, but their modes vary more 
 or less in every country. These modes constitute etiquette ; 
 
300 
 
 MAX/MS UPON DANCING, 
 
 and good-breeding consists in easily conforming to them, or in 
 assuming them at proper times and in proper places. 
 
 85. I grant you that Stillingfleet was nowhere as a poet ; 
 but in his smooth decasyllables he embodied much sound sense 
 when he penned the following couplets : 
 
 ‘ Study with care politeness, that must teach 
 The modish form of gesture and of speech : 
 
 In vain formality, with matron mien, 
 
 And pertness, ape her with familiar grin. 
 
 They against nature for applauses strain. 
 
 Distort themselves, and give all others pain. 
 
 She moves with easy, though with measured pace. 
 
 And shows no part of study, but the grace ; 
 
 Yet e’en by this, man is but half refined. 
 
 Unless philosophy subdues the mind.’ 
 
 86. A word about dancing. Bear yourself with moderation 
 in the liveliest ‘measure.’ Some couples go through the waltz 
 as if they were ‘ dancing dervishes,’ and indulge in an abandon 
 which, to say the least of it, is indecorous. 
 
 87. Lead your partner through a quadrille ; do not haul 
 her. A lady's waist should be sacred, and there can be no 
 excuse for clasping it as if you wanted to steady yourself 
 by it. 
 
 88. Dance quietly. Do not go through your steps as if you 
 were a dancing-master ; nor move your limbs wildly, as if 
 you were executing an Indian war-dance. 
 
 89. I am not sure that a man in a dress-coat and black 
 trousers, going through quadrille or cotillion, can be considered 
 either a noble or a beautiful sight ; but I am sure that it is 
 better he should dance as if he knew something about it, than 
 like a country clown, who mistakes muscular activity for grace. 
 
 90. ‘ Above all,’ says a sage, ‘ do not be prone to quarrel in 
 a ball-room ; it disturbs the harmony of the company, and 
 should be avoided, if possible. Recollect that a thousand little 
 derelictions from strict propriety may occur through the ignor- 
 ance or stupidity of the aggressor, and not from any intention 
 to annoy ; remember, also, that really well-bred women will not 
 thank you for making them conspicuous by over-officiousness 
 in their defence, unless, indeed, there be any serious or glaring 
 violation of decorum. In small matters, ladies are both able 
 and willing to take care of themselves, and would prefer being 
 allowed to overwhelm the unlucky offenders in their own way.’ 
 
ABOUT BALLS, 
 
 301 
 
 91. Society now patronises no other dances than the fol- 
 lowing : — Quadrille, Lancers, valse, polka (or galop), and 
 cotillion. The latter is sometimes made the medium for 
 giving costly presents j but the custom is objectionable, and 
 essentially vulgar. 
 
 92. It is not the custom now to have a ‘ master of the 
 ceremonies ^ at public balls, and the stewards do not make in- 
 troductions. Introductions are made, therefore, only through 
 the agency of * mutual friends.’ 
 
 93. Young ladies usually return to their chaperons after each 
 dance, as also after partaking of refreshments or of supper ; and 
 they must on no account at any time remain long away from 
 them. 
 
 94. A lady may go round the ball-room once on her cavalieLs 
 arm ; but it is not ‘ good form ’ to promenade up and down. 
 
 95. Nor should a couple stand arm-in-arm during the pauses 
 in a quadrille figure, or in a valse. 
 
 96. Society wisely discourages all conspicuous manifestations 
 of personal feeling. Lovers are not expected to ‘ make love ’ 
 in public, nor married couples to afford extravagant evidence 
 of conjugal tenderness. And the sincerity of the affection may 
 reasonably be doubted which parades itself in public. When 
 our hearts are deeply moved, we do not take the world into our 
 confidence. 
 
 97. We do not use the word ‘ ball’ on an invitation-card, on 
 however large a scale may be the entertainment. The same 
 form of invitation is employed whether a great ball or a small 
 party is contemplated; but in the latter case the significant 
 words ‘ small ’ and ‘ early ’ are written or printed on the card. 
 
 98. Invitations to a ball are issued in the name of the hostess 
 only, unless the host be a widower or a bachelor. If the host 
 be a widower with an adult daughter, or a bachelor with a 
 grown-up sister taking charge of his establishment, the invita- 
 tion will be issued in their joint names. 
 
 99. It is customary for a ball to be opened either by the 
 hostess herself or by one of her daughters. That is, the lady 
 in question, with the gentleman of highest rank in the room, 
 dances in the first quadrille at the top of the room. 
 
 100. At a town ball the hostess receives her guests at the 
 head of the staircase ; at a country ball, at the door of the ball- 
 room. She shakes hands with her guests in the order of their 
 
302 
 
 I/O IV TO RECEIVE ROYALTY. 
 
 arrival. The ladies of a party advance towards the hostess, 
 followed by the gentlemen of their party. A lady and gentleman 
 do not ascend the staircase or enter the ball-room arm-in-arm. 
 The lady, in entering, takes the pas. 
 
 10 1. When royalty is expected, dancing does not begin until 
 its arrival. If the guest be a prince, the ball is opened by his 
 dancing with his hostess, her husband or son acting as vis-a-vis. 
 If the guest be a princess, she dances with her host, and the 
 hostess acts as vis-a-vis. 
 
 102. If a prince wish to dance with a lady present whom he 
 does not know, his equerry informs her of the prince’s inten- 
 tion, and leads her to the prince, introducing her as Miss A. or 
 Mrs. B. The prince bows and offers his arm ; the lady curtseys 
 and takes it. She does not address him until he has addressed 
 her. The same etiquette is observed in the case of a princess, 
 whom a stranger must no more presume to seek as his partner 
 than he would venture to ask the Queen to join him in a 
 Scotch reel ! 
 
 103. If ever royalty honour you with its company, you must 
 receive it at the street-door. The host offers his arm to a 
 princess, and the hostess follows, radiant, leaning on the con- 
 secrated arm of a prince. The royal guests, on entering, shake 
 hands with the host and hostess, who simultaneously and re- 
 spectively bow and curtsey. The same order of procedure 
 takes place when they depart. 
 
 104. At a ball you will, of course, ask the daughter of the 
 house to dance ; and, as a gentleman, if you see any young 
 lady persistently left partnerless, you will relieve her of the 
 reproach. 
 
 105. You go to a ball to dance, and not to stand against the 
 wall, or by the door, with the smirk of priggishness on your 
 foolish face, as if the whole thing were a i^aw, and everybody in 
 the room unworthy of your august notice, except contemptu- 
 ously. If Heaven would only ^gie you to see yourself as 
 others see you,’ rest assured you would adopt no such idiotic 
 conduct. 
 
 106. People in the country adhere much more punctiliously 
 to the rules of etiquette than do people in town. For instance, 
 when the host or hostess is informed by the butler in a solemn 
 whisper that supper is served, the host offers his arm to the 
 'lady of highest rank present, while the hostess undergoes ex- 
 
SOUJ^CES OF ILL‘MANNERS. 
 
 303 
 
 cessive mental torture in endeavouring to send in her principal 
 guests in strict obedience to the law of precedence. In town, 
 the host leads the way with the lady of highest rank, and to the 
 guests generally it is enough to say, with that benevolent 
 hostess, Lady Macbeth — 
 
 ‘ Stand not upon the order of your going, 
 
 But go at once.'* 
 
 107. A gentleman conducting a lady in to supper will, of 
 course, escort her back to the ball-room ; and this he will do, 
 though in the supper-room she meet with friends, and plunge 
 into that busy conversation upon nothings usual in such cir- 
 cumstances. The grace of patience well becomes a man ! The 
 lady will observe the same rule, and return to the ball-room 
 with her protecting cavalier — unless she be engaged for ^the 
 next dance,’ and her partner come in search of her. 
 
 108. Gratuities are not given to servants on the occasion of 
 a ball. Your entertainers will not thank you for supposing or 
 implying that their domestics are not sufficiently paid. 
 
 109. At State balls ladies wear full evening dress, without 
 flowers, lappets, or court-trains. Gentlemen wear full Court- 
 dress, and encase their shapely limbs in breeches and silk 
 stockings. They remove their swords when intending to dance. 
 
 iTo. No official or formal reception is given to guests 
 attending a State ball ; nor are they announced when they 
 enter the ball-room. 
 
 111. Whether at dinners, balls, suppers, or ‘at homes,’ 
 remember Dean Swift’s maxim : ‘ Whoever makes the fewest 
 persons uneasy is the best bred in the company.’ 
 
 1 1 2. I quote again from the Dean of St. Patrick’s : ‘As the 
 best law is founded upon reason, so are the best manners. And 
 as some lawyers have introduced unreasonable things into com- 
 mon law, so likewise many teachers have introduced absurd 
 things into common good manners.’ 
 
 113. ‘ One principal point of this art is, to suit our behaviour 
 to the three several degrees of men : our superiors, our equals, 
 and those below us.’ 
 
 1 14. ‘ Pride, ill-nature, and want of sense, are the three great 
 sources of ill-manners : without some one of these defects, no 
 man will behave himself ill for want of experience, or of what, 
 in the language^of fools, is called knowing the world.’ 
 
304 FLA TTERY AND COMPLIMENTS. 
 
 1 15. ‘There is a pedantry in manners, as in all arts and 
 sciences, and sometimes in trade.^ 
 
 ti 6. Some persons show such a stiffness and formality in 
 their manners as to impress you with the idea that every action 
 is studied from a manual of etiquette. But there can be no 
 really fine manners where there is no naturalness. 
 
 117. Good manners may exist without good breeding; but 
 good breeding cannot exist without good manners. 
 
 ti8. a want of punctuality is a serious impertinence. It 
 assumes that time is of more value than any other person’s, 
 
 1 1 9. There is no flattery so exquisite as ‘the flattery of 
 listening.’ It may be doubted whether the greatest mind is 
 ever proof against it. Socrates may have loved Plato best of 
 all his disciples because he listened best. 
 
 120. Be careful how you pay a compliment. Unhappy you, 
 if it should be mistaken for an insult ! 
 
 12 1. Never compliment a wife at her husband’s expense. 
 
 122. ‘A man’s manners,’ says Sir Henry Taylor, ‘ have much 
 real and intrinsic significancy, in so far forth as they are the 
 result of his individual nature and taste, and not merely learnt 
 or adopted from the society which he frequents. There is a 
 conventional manner which tells nothing, and may conceal 
 much ; but there is also a natural manner by which a man may 
 be known.’ 
 
 123. The art of living easily is to live within your means. 
 
 124. In making gifts let them be in proportion to your 
 means. A rich man does not thank a poor man for making 
 him a present which he knows the giver cannot afford. 
 
 125. A gift should never be such as to load the person who 
 receives it with a sense of obligation. 
 
 126. It has been well said that we should take only from 
 those to whom, in the converse" of circumstances, we would 
 gladly give. 
 
 127. The etiquette of Gifts is of real importance. They 
 often offend when designed to please. 
 
 128. It is said that the surest way of losing a friend is by 
 lending him money. So, too, if you want to get rid of a person, 
 the best plan is to lead him into an argument, and confute him 
 in it. He will never forgive you ! 
 
 129. Be careful how you exercise your wit. If curses, like 
 chickens, come home to roost, so do epigrams. 
 
MAXIMS UPON WIT. 305 
 
 130. Do not applaud the wit which is levelled at your friend ; 
 it may next be directed against yourself. 
 
 1 3 1. It is always easy to say a rude thing, but never wise. 
 
 132. A sarcasm is like a boomerang : when it leaves your 
 tongue, you never know where it may alight. 
 
 133. What saith Chaucer ? 
 
 ‘ For when a man hath overgreat a wit, 
 
 Full oft him happetli to misusen it.’ 
 
 134. Sydney Smith is, I think, the only instance of a wit 
 who was also a man of fine manners ; but then, Sydney Smith's 
 wit was always good-tempered. 
 
 135. I do not think a wit can be a polite man. He will 
 rather wound your feelings than spoil his repartee. 
 
 136. Let it be said of you as it was said of Macaulay, that 
 he remembered everything ^except an injury.’ 
 
 137. I cannot too often repeat that the essence of all good 
 manners is a wise consideration for the feelings — even the pre- 
 judices — of others. 
 
 138. Avoid ostentation and extravagance in your entertain- 
 ments. Says Sir Henry Taylor : ‘ Of all excess in luxury, that 
 of the table is the most offensive to the taste of those who 
 would wish to see the higher classes distinguished by refine- 
 ment at least, if not by simplicity of life. 
 
 139. A hint anent ^ Five o’Clock Teas — The tea-tray should 
 only make its appearance at the now famous hour of five p.m., 
 and the hostess then fills for each guest the cup that cheers, 
 etc. Visitors who call shortly before the hour are invited to 
 stay ; if they come from a distance, the usual hour may be 
 anticipated a little. 
 
 139. After an engagement has been concluded, it is custom- 
 ary for the gentleman’s relatives to call upon those of the 
 fiancee^ and invite them to their houses, before the relatives of 
 the latter make any sign. 
 
 140. Gentlemen do not take off their hats to one another \ 
 this is a courtesy reserved for the ladies. Gentlemen generally 
 recognise each other with a nod. 
 
 141. A bride enters the church on her father’s right arm ; 
 she leaves it leaning on her husband’s left 
 
 142. When there are more ladies than gentlemen at a dinner- 
 party, the hostess should go down alone, and leave the gentle- 
 mian of highest rank to take down the lady of second rank ; in 
 
 20 
 
3c6 
 
 GRACE IN WALKING. 
 
 this case, the gentleman will place himself at table on the right 
 of the hostess. 
 
 143. There is an etiquette in servants’ cockades. The only 
 persons whose servants are entitled to this unmeaning distinc- 
 tion are ambassadors, officers of the Crown, members of the 
 Royal households, lords-lieutenant, and officers of the army 
 and navy. 
 
 144. You must never send a visiting card by post. 
 
 145. When you meet a friend in the street, it must depend 
 on your degree of intimacy whether you walk with him or not ; 
 but with a lady you must not walk, unless she directly or in- 
 directly invite you. 
 
 146. If you are driving out with ladies, you will take the 
 back seat of the carriage \ and wffien the carriage stops, you 
 must promptly descend, and offer your hand to assist them in 
 getting out. 
 
 147. Let your walk m life be distinguished by unassuming 
 grace. Look from your window, and observe the gait of the 
 passers-by ; you will see at once ‘ what to avoid ’ — the tread 
 of the grenadier, the clumsy shuffle, the dancing master’s trip, 
 the heel-and-toe movement, the pretentious slide. But it is 
 easier to know what to avoid than what to imitate. Perhaps 
 imitation is not advisable ; and the chief thing to remember is, 
 that you should walk as if your body had a soul in it. Virgil 
 tells us of Juno that you saw the goddess in her gait; and 
 ‘ grace in her steps ’ is one of the characteristics of Milton’s 
 ‘ Eve.’ And yet to see some w^omen walk across a drawing- 
 room ! 
 
 148. A married woman must bear in mind that she has in 
 charge not only her own name but her husband’s; and her 
 bearing, motions, address, should be that of the wife. 
 
 149. Do not rush into a friendship wuth everybody you meet, 
 Friendships so quickly made are quickly broken. 
 
 150. A married lady should treat a stranger with reserve, and 
 an acquaintance with reticence. 
 
 151. If you pass a friend with a lady whom you do not know, 
 you must lift your hat to him, and not nod. 
 
 152. There is a grisly fairy story of a beautiful young woman 
 from whose mouth, when she opened it, dropped frogs and 
 toads. I am always reminded of it when I hear a young lady 
 talking slang. 
 
HINTS TO CORRESTONDENTS. 307 
 
 153. A man who talks slang in a lady’s hearing stands in 
 need of the Roman Catholic ‘discipline.’ 
 
 154. A ‘slow ’ girl may be disagreeable, but a ‘fast’ girl is 
 detestable. Men do not laugh with her, but at her ; and in 
 forfeiting their respect she does not win their confidence. 
 
 155. I do not know which is the more unpleasing : the loud 
 laugh or the impudent stare. These are ?iot ‘ the looks and • 
 tones that dart,’ as Mr. Moore says, ‘an instant sunshine 
 through the heart; as if the soul that minute caught some 
 treasure it through life had sought;’ there is no soul in them — 
 and no brain ! 
 
 156. A young lady should remember that silence is golden, 
 and not speak too often, or too long, or too glibly. Let what 
 you say be to the purpose, and let it be so said that if we 
 forget the speech we may recollect the manner of it. ‘ Learn 
 to hold thy tongue,’ says quaint Thomas Fuller; ‘five words 
 cost Zacharias forty weeks’ silence.’ 
 
 157. Men in conversation should avoid retailing the old and 
 senseless jokes against women. A gentleman will respect the sex 
 to which belongs his wife, his mother, his sister. These jokes, 
 moreover, have lost their point, because they are no longer true. 
 
 158. In making ‘ calls,’ remember that cards are never ‘sent 
 in,’ and that a servant who knows his duty will not hand them 
 to his mistress. Give your name distinctly to the servant, and 
 he will announce you. On your departure, leave your husband’s 
 card in the hall for the gentleman of the house. 
 
 159. Do not leave a letter unanswered, and lose no time in 
 answering. Bis dat, qui cito dat ; that is, by replying quickly, 
 
 } ou double the value of your reply. 
 
 160. Do not add to your letters the epigraph, ‘In haste.’ 
 Your correspondent has a right to expect that you will answer 
 at leisure, and with proper consideration. 
 
 t6i. Cross your fs in writing, but do not cross your letters. 
 
 162. Elaborate monograms and gorgeous crests are very 
 vulgar. 
 
 163. Ladies cannot appear at balls, or public receptions, or 
 garden-parties, or the like, except under the escort of a chaperone 
 — I mean, of course, when they have no mother or elder sister 
 to escort them.^' 
 
 As I have referred to chaperones, it will be advisable to say a word or 
 two upon their duties, which a writer in the Qiieen justly describes as, ^-yery 
 
 20 — 2: 
 
3o8 
 
 DUTIES OF A CHAPERONE. 
 
 164. With intimate friends, says kyuiyog, you may dispense 
 with ceremony as much as may be deemed desirable by all 
 
 important.’ Upon the way in which a chaperone fulfils those duties will 
 depend the estimation in which her charge is held in society, and even hep 
 future happiness may be compromised. Some persons apparently think 
 that a chaperone is needed only in a ball-room or large assembly ; but 
 though she is there indispensable, she is scarcely less necessary elsewhere. 
 She precedes her young ladies up the stairs and into the reception-room ; 
 introduces them to the hostess, if they are not already acquainted with her ; 
 and selects a position whence she can conveniently and securely overlook 
 their movements. It is a great advantage to girls, we are told, to have a 
 stationary chaperone, as they then know where to find her in the interval 
 between the dances. If partners are introduced to them whom she does 
 not know, they must introduce them to her ; and if they omit to do so, 
 she must remind them of the omission. She will of course endeavour, 
 quietly and without fuss, to learn something about their partners ; so that 
 she may know whether to allow, or prevent, any further intimacy. An un- 
 desirable acquaintance is best ‘ nipped in the bud if suffered to reach a 
 certain stage, it may be difficult or even impossible to check it. A chaperone 
 should, if possible, arrange to go to tea or supper while her charges are 
 dancing ; otherwise she must leave them in the care of some suitable per- 
 son. Young ladies should intimate to their chaperone when they are going 
 to tea or supper ; and if the crowd renders it difficult for them to approach 
 her, as is often the case in London, they can give her some little signal, 
 such as a nod, which she will understand. A good chaperone interests her- 
 self in finding partners for her young ladies, if they have not many ac- 
 quaintances ; and unless they are well-known and popular she would remain 
 in the ball-room, rather than ensconce herself in ever so comfortable a 
 corner, whence they would not be so bkely to get partners. 
 
 In London, a wise chaperone will not allow her young friends to sjay 
 late, excepting occasionally at the houses of extremely close acquaintances ; 
 ‘ two o’clock is a very reasonable hour,’ and the girls should always depart 
 cheerfully at the first summons. There is nothing gained by putting off 
 the inevitable hour ; and, moreover, it is not good style to linger among 
 the latest, or, as it is called, to ‘sweep the room.’ In the country, where 
 dances are of rarer occurrence, more liberty is permissible. 
 
 At a reception the chaperone promenades the room, speaking to her 
 friends, and the young ladies must keep within her orbit, like satellites 
 within the system of a planet : 
 
 With radiant brow and matron mien. 
 
 She walks among the crowd, serene. 
 
 And in her train move blushing girls, 
 
 With flashing eyes and glossy curls, — 
 
 And many a youth heaves wistful sigh 
 As each fair form sweeps peerless by ! 
 
 If at a concert they cannot obtain seats at her side, they must keep as 
 near her as possible, and they must be made to understand that their 
 chaperone knows her duty, and will do it. She will not be less cautious 
 in supervising their choice of girl-friends than of male acquaintances ; for 
 
D£:VIA TJOyS FROM ESTABL/SHFD CUS 70 M. 309 
 
 parties ; but with strangers, or persons with whom you are only 
 imperfectly acquainted, every deviation from established custom 
 is a slight^ as it tends to show how little their society is appreci- 
 ated ; and will (if they possess a grain of spirit) be resented 
 accordingly. 
 
 165. In another man’s house do not take upon yourself to 
 play the host, not even at the host’s request. 
 
 166. If in company with two ladies — to neith*er of whom are 
 you engaged — do not devote yourself to the one more than to 
 the other. The ^spretae injuria formae’ wakes feelings which 
 are not easily appeased. 
 
 167. If you pay a lady a compliment, let it drop from your 
 lips as if it were the accidental and unconscious expression of a 
 profound truth. 
 
 168. Never profess to be that which you are not. Every- 
 
 a ‘fast’ girl, given to slang and chaff, and prone to familiarities with 
 men which, however innocent, are indecorous and painful, carries about 
 and around her an infectious atmosphere. 
 
 At a garden-party the chaperone may allow a little more freedom of 
 movement ; her charges may play lawn-tennis, or saunter about the grounds 
 with their friends, but before leaving her side they should inform her of their 
 intentions, and obtain her approval. When staying in a country house, 
 etiquette requires that the young ladies should appear in the drawing-room 
 before dinner with their chaperone, going to her room to accompany her 
 downstairs. In short, the chaperone must keep a strict, though guarded, 
 and not too obvious a watch over the doings of her charges, and mention to 
 them firmly and without delay anything in their conduct which elicits her 
 disapproval. 
 
 ‘ When going to a ball in the country, a chaperone prefers having her 
 young people in the carriage with her ; but sometimes this cannot be 
 managed, and then she exerts herself to see that there is some chaperone 
 in the carriage with them. There are several places where no chaperone 
 will allow her girls to go without either herself or some substitute. Until 
 they have been out two or three years, and have gained experience of the 
 ways and proprieties of society, she will not allow" them to visit in country 
 houses without her, nor consider a brother a sufficient chaperone at a ball. 
 She may perhaps allow" them, tw"0 together, to w"alk unattended in Bel- 
 gravia ; but this permission will not extend to the Park, where young ladies 
 cannot w"alk unchaperoned. It is growing permissible now — that is to say, 
 it is often done — for young ladies to ride attended only by a groom ; but 
 it is not good style, and an escort, either male or female, should be pro- 
 vided. It is allow"able for young ladies to drive about alone in the after- 
 noon to leave cards, or to call on relatives or exceedingly intimate friends, 
 but not for them to go to tea-parties by themselves. With the chaperone, 
 of course, rests the decision as to wdiat parties are to be attended, or wdiat 
 acquaintances made.’ In a word, she acts as the guide, philosopher, and 
 friend of the young ladies who are put under her charge. 
 
310 
 
 TIVO KINDS OF GOSSIP. 
 
 body laughs when the plumes are borrowed ; but if they are 
 imaginary, the laugh may change into a frown. 
 
 169. There is a fine art in offering favours. You may give a 
 person eternal offence while thinking you are doing him a 
 kindness. 
 
 170. Do not press a favour where you see it will be unwel- 
 come. 
 
 171. Be careful how you convince your friend that he has 
 made a mistake. Few persons are generous enough to forgive 
 those who prove them to have been in the wrong. 
 
 172. A never sees B fall into an error, without feeling con- 
 vinced that it would have been impossible for himself to have 
 done so. But A’s assumption of superior wisdom will hardly 
 be acceptable to B. 
 
 173. It is not only the best policy — I am not now speaking 
 as a moralist — but the highest politeness to speak the truth 
 always. Every person feels flattered by the reflection that you 
 think him too clever to be cajoled. 
 
 174. Treat all the guests whom you meet at your friend’s 
 table as, for the time, your equals. 
 
 175. Do not claim the acquaintance of a man of rank on the 
 ground that you once met him at a house to which you had 
 been invited. 
 
 176. Colonel Hanger recommended economists to provide 
 their servants each with a pair of large spectacles, so that a 
 lark might seem as large as a fowl, and a twopenny loaf as 
 big as a quartern. Some people put on these magnifying 
 glasses when they look at themselves or their possessions; but 
 they forget that others don’t wear them, and that to them the 
 loaf will not appear any bigger than it really is. This forget- 
 fulness is unfortunate when they begin to talk in a style suitable 
 to the spectacles ! 
 
 177. There are two kinds of gossip, the good-humoured and 
 the scandalous ; the gossip that touches lightly on faults and 
 foibles, and amusing incidents, and curious contrasts ; the 
 gossip that peers into the privacy of domestic life, and either 
 invents or misrepresents. The latter no gentleman will indulge 
 in or listen to ; the former is the salt of ordinary conversation. 
 We cannot help taking an interest in our fello\vs ; and there is 
 no reason why we should not, so long as that interest is not 
 malignant. 
 
ABOUT CONVERSATION. 
 
 311 
 
 178. If your friend have a secret, he will be sure to fret until 
 he can confide it to you. It takes three persons to hold a 
 secret. 
 
 179. Remember that the most disagreeable talk is that which 
 turns upon a man’s or woman’s maladies. A gentleman will 
 never admit that his constitution is anything but sound— in 
 conversation. 
 
 180. Of all bores the greatest is he who carries his pills, 
 powders, and plaisters into the society of his friends ; who bids 
 the world listen when he sneezes ; and thinks his rheumatism a 
 matter of national concern. 
 
 t8i. Now, a man afflicted with rheumatism maybe a martyr 
 in his own eyes, but he will never be a hero in the eyes of 
 others. 
 
 182. Shun the wretch who goes about asking riddles and 
 making puns. 
 
 183. Conversation is the pasture-ground of the many ; there- 
 fore it should keep to the levels. There are very few who can 
 ascend the heights, and none ought to sink into the depths. 
 
 184. Mr. Vincent Crummies, having a real pump, wanted a 
 play written up to it. You will find that persons in conversation 
 very often try to bring in f/ieir pump — an anecdote, perhaps, as 
 old as Horace Walpole, or a joke borrowed from Mr. Joseph 
 Miller. 
 
 185. Conversation should be a series of pauses linked together 
 by a few suitable words; many people, however, in their anxiety 
 to bring out their words forget their pauses. 
 
 186. ‘The honourablest part of talk is to give the occasion ; 
 and again to moderate and pass to something else, for then a 
 man leads the dance.’ 
 
 187. ‘Generally, men ought to find the difference between 
 saltness and bitterness.’ 
 
 188. ‘Speech of a man’s self ought to be seldom, and well 
 chosen.’ 
 
 189. ‘Speech of touch towards others should be sparingly 
 used; for discourse ought to be as a field, without coming 
 home to any man.’ 
 
 190. ‘Discretion of speech is more than eloquence; and to 
 speak agreeably to him with whom we deal, is more than to 
 speak in good words, or in good order.’ 
 
 1 9 1. Let your talk be always adapted carefully to Time and 
 
312 
 
 ART OF ENTERING A ROOM, 
 
 Place. Don’t prate about homoeopathy to a doctor, or about 
 the blessings of celibacy to a young lady engaged to be married. 
 
 192. The touchstone of good manners is the way in which a 
 man behaves to his superiors or inferiors. 
 
 193. Servility towards one’s superiors is as incompatible with 
 good manners as arrogance towards an inferior. 
 
 194. A gentleman will respect the feelings even of a servant, 
 who has fedings, and does not include them in his wages. 
 
 195. There is a science in bowing, though not exactly of the 
 kind described by Sir Pertinax Macsycophant. Some men 
 incline their heads so stiffly as to impress a spectator with the 
 idea that their necks are enclosed in iron cravats ; others bend 
 them with a humility that suggests an almost Oriental prostra- 
 tion. In bowing to a slight acquaintance there should be 
 more reserve than in bowing to a friend; but ‘ stiffness' should 
 always be avoided. The hat should be lifted off the head, 
 which, at the same time, should be inclined easily and grace- 
 fully. 
 
 196. In walking, keep to the right, but always give a lady 
 the wall. When I see a boor force a lady to the edge of the 
 pavement, I always feel inclined to push him into the gutter ! 
 
 197. There is a great art in entering a room. Some persons 
 stride in with a shamefaced air, as if they thought they had no 
 business across the threshold ; others swagger in defiantly, with 
 head erect and chest expanded, like a professional athlete 
 making his appearance before his ‘patrons;’ others, again, 
 steal in noiselessly, as if deprecating the slightest attention, 
 and priding themselves on their humility. Oh, there is a fine 
 field for the study of character in the ways and fashions of guests 
 as they pass into the presence of the hostess ! 
 
 198. Enter a room as if you felt yourself entitled to a wel- 
 come, but wished to take no undue advantage of it. 
 
 199. I have seen persons behave in a drawing-room as if 
 they were the only guests, and the remainder of the company 
 had been assembled to admire — at a distance — their intimacy 
 with the hostess. 
 
 200. Good temper is the essence of good manners. 
 
 201. Finally, in the words of Hazlitt, there can be no surer 
 proof of low origin, or of an innate meanness of disposition, 
 than to be always talking and thinking of bein^ genteel. 
 
CHAPTER XIL 
 
 THE HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 * He will command his children and his household.’ 
 
 ' She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread 
 of idleness.’ 
 
 ‘Who then is a faithful and wise servant, ,whom his lord hath made ruler 
 over his household ?’ 
 
 The Happiness of a Household Dependent on the Relations between 
 Master and Servant — The present Race of Servants Defended — Ser- 
 vants are what their Mastei's make them — Servants in the Olden Time 
 no better than their Successors — Duties of an Employer — Good and 
 Bad Masters — Necessity of Courtesy in Dealing with Servants — 
 The Importance of Setting a Good Example — Remarks on Em- 
 ployers and Employed from a General Point of View — Functions 
 of Different Servants Glanced at — Each Servant should have his or 
 her Distinct Work — Sir Arthur Helps on the Art of Living with In- 
 feriors — Method Essential to a well-ordered Household — Punctuality — 
 Anecdote of Beau Brummell — A Homily on Economy — A Protest 
 against ‘ Keeping up Appearances ’ — Social Ambition : Its Good and 
 Bad .Side — Failures in Life, and their Causes — Need of a better Under- 
 standing between Classes — Why this better Understanding does not 
 Exist — Superior and Inferior — Our Influence on One Another — Want 
 of Courtesy on the Part of the ‘Higher Orders’ — Want of Self- 
 respect on the Part of the ‘ Lower ’ — Emerson’s Fable, and its Appli- 
 cation — Influence of a Well-ordered Household on Society — Value of 
 Etiquette as an Agent of Social Reform. 
 
 order, tranquillity, and happiness of every 
 ^ii household must necessarily depend to a great 
 extent upon the relations which exist between the 
 master and his servants, the employer and the em- 
 ployed. I do not refer, of course, to those palatial 
 establishments in which the master rarely comes into contact 
 with his ‘ domestics / in which the steward or the housekeeper 
 has the entire supervision of the ^ servants’ hall;’ though even 
 
34 
 
 MASTERS AND SERVANTS. 
 
 in these the influence of the head of the house is felt more or 
 less directly in the lowest strata : but to ordinary families, in 
 which the master and the mistress exercise an immediate per- 
 sonal control over their dependents. It is fashionable just 
 now to complain of the follies and vices, the inefficiency and 
 dishonesty, of servants, and to contrast them with that sup- 
 posed superior race who ‘waited’ upon our forefathers and 
 foremothers ; and the complaint is echoed and kept up by the 
 comic journals, which it supplies with material for endless 
 quips and quiddities. That a certain amount of change has 
 taken place cannot, I think, be doubted ; as a rule servants 
 are better educated than they were, and improved education 
 has widened their views and stimiulated their ambition, so that 
 they are less disposed than of old to remain contented with 
 their positions, and are more desirous of pushing their way in 
 the world. This is simply sayirig that they are not insensible 
 to the effects of a movement which has taken place in all 
 classes. That, as a whole, they are less honest, less faithful, 
 less skilful, I do not believe. There are good servants and 
 bad servants now, as there always have been and always 
 will be. You have only to cast a glance over the chronicles 
 of past generations — the diaries and letters and memoirs which 
 enrich our literature — to see that our grandfathers and great- 
 grandfathers made the same complaint that we make. In 
 Shakespeare’s time we read of 
 
 ‘ Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, 
 
 That, doting on his own obsequious bondage. 
 
 Wears out ]ns teeth, much like his master’s ass, 
 
 For nought but provender 
 
 But we read also of others : 
 
 ‘ Who, trimm’d in forms and visages of duty, 
 
 Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves ; 
 
 And, throwing but shows of serviee on their lords. 
 
 Do well thrive by them, and, when they have lined their coats. 
 Do themselves homage.’ 
 
 If the plays of our dramatists, from Congreve to Sheridan, 
 may be accepted as faithful presentments of manners, we must 
 conclude that servants were formerly distinguished by a license 
 of language and an insubordination of conduct which nowa- 
 days no master would tolerate. Who, for instance, would 
 endure the humours of a ‘ Tag ’ or a ‘ Miss Pert,’ or put up 
 
RECIPROCAL DUTIES. 315 
 
 with the impudent himiliarities of the valets and maids who 
 figure in our old comedies ? 
 
 1 suspect that, in the present as in the past, servants are 
 much what their masters make them. A good master will 
 make a good servant; his confidence will be repaid by 
 honesty, his kindness by respect. The employer who pursues 
 his or her employe with a constant suspicion cannot be aston- 
 ished, or should not be astonished, if he or she be requited by 
 an air of dissatisfaction and indifference. To command the best 
 service you m.ust be worthy of it. I do not advise you to place 
 unwonted trust in a person of v/hom you know nothing ; you 
 would not act with such an extravagance of generosity towards 
 your equal, and why should you do so towards your inferior? 
 But when once you have tested and proved a servants con- 
 scientiousness, you should thenceforth treat him with the trust 
 he deserves. So, too, when you are convinced of his truthful- 
 ness, you must show an absolute reliance on his word, and not 
 wrong him by an ill-concealed implication that at some time 
 or other his conscience will fail him, and he will deceive you. 
 Many employers behave as if the laws of good manners did 
 not apply to their dealings with servants, and after addressing 
 them in violent and unguarded language, affect the greatest 
 surprise that they should exhibit any feelings of annoyance or 
 indignation. Apparently they consider that servants should 
 not be allowed any feelings ; that the receipt of wages ought, 
 ipse facto.^ to convert them into machines, incapable of senti- 
 ment or emotion, pain or weariness. It is from employers of 
 this class that the complaints of the degeneracy of the present 
 race of servants proceed. My own belief is that there are 
 more good servants than there are good masters ; or, to put it 
 in another form, that servants as a body show more of 
 honesty, industry, and faithfulness than masters, as a body, 
 show of gracious consideration and wise sympathy. 
 
 The truth is, that many masters and mistresses, while keenly 
 conscious that servants have duties, and rigorously severe in 
 exacting a scrupulous performance of them, choose to forget 
 that certain duties are also incumbent upon them. It is not 
 only the payment of wages and the issue of commands that 
 appertain to the master of a household ; but prudence equality of 
 temper, and a fair and generous regard for their interests. 
 That Christian maxim, which I have before quoted, as em- 
 
3i6 
 
 INFLUENCE OF EXAMPLE. 
 
 bodying the philosophy of fine manners, is also applicable here: 
 he must do unto his servants as he would have them do unto 
 him. If he expect them to serve him justly, he must be just ; 
 if he expect conscientious service, he must give them consci- 
 entious rule. I have said that servants are much what their 
 master makes them : I will go further, and say, they are much 
 what their master is ; and as you may know a man by the com- 
 pany he keeps, so you may know him by his servants. A 
 master’s example is never wholly inoperative; and, therefore, I 
 fully endorse the remark of a modern essayist, that one way in 
 which the characters of servants in high-life might be improved, 
 would be for their masters to shew themselves a little more scru- 
 pulous than some of the more fashionable amongst them are wont 
 to be in matters of truth and honesty. ‘The adherence to honesty,’ 
 says Taylor, ‘ on the part of the masters might be exemplary ; 
 whereas their actual measure of honesty would perhaps be in- 
 dicated with sufficient indulgence if they were described (in the 
 qualified language which Hamlet applies to himself) to be “in- 
 different honest.” And there is a currency of untruth in daily 
 use amongst fashionable people for purposes of convenience, 
 which proceeds to a much bolder extent than the form of well- 
 understood falsehood by which the middle classes also, not 
 perhaps without some occasional violation of their more tender 
 consciences, excuse themselves from receiving “ a guest.” ’ We 
 need not affect astonishment at untruthfulness in a servant, if 
 he perceive that w^e ourselves are sufficiently lax in our obser- 
 vance of accuracy of statement. A disorderly and slatternly 
 mistress must expect to find her servants disorderly and slat- 
 ternly also. The influence of example can hardly be exag- 
 gerated : it is communicated from one person to another, and 
 descends from the highest to the lowest. We shall best ensure 
 a high standard of duty among our dependents by setting up a 
 high standard for ourselves. 
 
 These are truisms, you say? Granted; but the philosophy 
 of daily life is made up of truisms, and it is only by acting 
 upon them that we can secure a measure of peace and pro- 
 sperity for ourselves and others. The worst of it is, that, 
 truisms as they are, they are too generally overlooked. In 
 fact, the whole subject of the conduct of employers towards 
 their servants is one which requires, and would repay, a com- 
 plete re-examination. Owing to its very familiarity, it seldom 
 
BEHAVIOUR TO INFERIORS. 
 
 317 
 
 commands an intelligent and careful investigation. Some 
 masters err by treating their servants with too unrestrained a 
 freedom, by permitting them an indecorous license of speech and 
 laxity of behaviour. But familiarity breeds contempt, and 
 few of us can pretend to be heroes in the eyes of our valets. 
 On the other hand, it is not less a fault to cultivate an arrogant 
 demeanour. Chesterfield wisely observes : ‘ I am more upon 
 my guard as to my behaviour to my servants, and to others who 
 are called my inferiors, than I am towards my equals, for fear 
 of being suspected of that mean and ungenerous sentiment of 
 desiring to make others feel that difference which fortune has, 
 perhaps too undeservedly, made between us.' It is difficult, 
 perhaps, to strike the exact mean betweeen superciliousness 
 and excessive familiarity, but we must make every effort to 
 arrive at it. There is nothing more keenly appreciated by 
 servants than that evenness of temper which respects itself at 
 the same time that it respects others.* 
 
 Sir Arthur Helps has some wise observations on the art of living with 
 inferiors. A house, he says, may he ever so well arranged for domestic and 
 social comfort, the principal inmates of it well-disposed and accomplished 
 people, their circumstances of life felicitous ; yet if there is a want of that 
 harmony which should extend throughout every house, embracing all the 
 members of the household, there is an under-current of vexation sufficient 
 to infect and deaden all the above-named advantages. To obviate this 
 is one of the great difficulties of modern life, a difficulty not only great in 
 itself, but largely aggravated by mismanagement for many generations. In 
 dealing with servants, we have to deal with some of the worst educated 
 people in the country — not only ill-instructed for the peculiar functions they 
 have to undertake, but ill-educated both in mind and soul, and having all 
 the insubordination of extreme ignorance. This, — adds Sir Arthur, writing 
 upwards of thirty years ago, — this will improve, however ; and perhaps one 
 of the greatest rewards the rich will enjoy for having of late years en- 
 couraged and facilitated education amongst the poor, will arise from their 
 being furnished with a wiser, more amiable, and more governable set of 
 dependents. Some pessimists, by the way, arrive at an entirely opposite 
 conclusion ; but, for my part, I side with Sir Arthur Helps. The duties of 
 masters, he continues, are often most inadequately fulfilled, so that a man 
 who wishes to act rightly in this respect often finds that he has to work upon 
 bad material which has already been badly treated. Still, with all these 
 disadvantages, it is surprising how much may be done with servants by 
 firmness, kindness, geniality, and just familiarity. Under the head of kind- 
 ness ought particularly to be included full employ meut. The master who 
 keeps one servant more than he has absolutely need for is not only a mis- 
 chief to society, but is unkind to that servant and to all his fellow-servants ; 
 for what is more cruel to a vacant mind than to leave it half employed ? 
 Finally, a master should exercise not only passive but active kindness 
 
3^8 
 
 METHOD IN A HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 I do not conceive it to be a part of my duty to define here 
 the exact duties of the different ranks of servants. They will 
 vary in different households, but only in a small degree : the 
 general duties of the cook, the butler, the footman, the lady’s- 
 maid, the housemaid, and so on, being thoroughly well under- 
 stood, and regulated by an etiquette as rigid as any which 
 obtains in the professions. The chief duty of the head of the 
 family is to see that they are never confused ; to see that each 
 servant keeps strictly to her separate and proper sphere of 
 work. Only by rigid order and absolute method can the 
 management of a household be successfully conducted; and 
 the larger the household the more necessary becomes this order 
 and method. The employer is not to do the work, but to see 
 that it is done ; that each person gets his proper share, and 
 executes that share in the best possible manner and at the 
 exact time. 
 
 ‘ Each duty done at its appointed time, 
 
 Each duty done in its appointed place.’ 
 
 Any overlapping of functions (so to speak), any interference 
 with each other’s work (from whatever motive), inevitably breeds 
 confusion, and leads to waste of effort as well as waste of temper. 
 Division of labour means economy of time ; and method is 
 the golden key which unlocks every difficulty. ‘ Let all things 
 be done decently and in order,’ writes St. Paul ; and the injunc- 
 tion is best obeyed by insisting that there shall be a place for 
 everybody and everybody shall keep that place. 
 
 The next condition which a master should enforce is the 
 observance of punctuality. I would endeavour to shun those 
 houses where the servants lose an hour at the beginning of the 
 day, and spend the rest of the day in futile attempts to make 
 up the loss ! But the master and mistress must set an example. 
 
 towards his servants ; interesting himself in their relationships, partaking 
 their hopes and fears, providing wholesome amusements for them (all work 
 and no play will spoil any servant), and looking upon them, indeed, as his 
 children once or twice removed. Unquestionably, in thus discharging his 
 duty, he will be sure to meet with instances of ingratitude and intractability, 
 with partial defeats as well as only partial successes ; but, at all events, he will 
 enjoy the satisfaction of knowing that he has done his best to produce that 
 harmony in his household which, viewed merely with regard to a peaceful and 
 pleasant life, must be looked upon as one of the most desirable attainments 
 in the art of living. — See Sir Arthur Helps’s Friends in Conncil^ 1st Series, 
 vol. i., pp. 286 — 288. 
 
A LESSON ON PUNCTUALITY, 
 
 319 
 
 Want of punctuality on their part will induce want of punctu- 
 ality on the part of their servants, to the serious discomfort of 
 the family and of their guests. For in an unpunctual house- 
 hold, where a ‘few minutes’ are esteemed of no value, the engage- 
 ments made by ‘ the heads ’ are always laxly kept, and a 
 general disorganisation follows. If a visitor call, the hostess 
 is not ready. If the carriage be ordered, it is always kept 
 waiting. If dinner be announced for eight o’clock, it makes its 
 appearance thirty minutes later. Such a state of things is fatal 
 to everybody’s comfort. It is said that, amongst other follies, 
 Beau Brummell had that of choosing to be always too late for 
 dinner. Wherever he was invited, he liked to be waited fon 
 He considered it a proof of his fashion and consequence ; and 
 the higher the rank of his entertainer, the later was the arrival 
 of this impudent parvenu. The Marquis of Abercorn had on 
 several occasions submitted silently to this trial of his patience, 
 but at length he resolved to bear it no longer. Accordingly, 
 one day, when he had invited Brummell to dine, he desired to 
 have the dinner on the table punctually at the appointed time. 
 The servants obeyed, and Brummell and the cheese arrived 
 together. The wondering Beau was desired by the master of 
 the house to sit down. He vouchsafed no apology for what 
 had happened, but coolly said, ‘ I hope, Mr. Brummell, cheese 
 is not disagreeable to you.’ The story runs, that Brummell 
 was never again late at that house. The reproof thus severely 
 administered could not have been given in a house where punc- 
 tuality was not observed ; but though it be rude for a guest to 
 be late, it is unpardonable in the host. If Brummells could be 
 forgiven, society would not exonerate their entertainers. 
 
 In an age of luxury like the present, to preach economy is 
 by no means popular, and when hundreds of pounds are spent 
 on the decoration of a dinner-table, may appear supererogatory. 
 Yet it is the merest platitude to say that in well-ordered house- 
 holds it will always be kept steadily in view. This does not 
 imply any undue stinting, any meanness, or parsimony, but 
 simply requires that the expenditure shall not exceed — shall, 
 if possible, be kept within — the income. In many houses will 
 be found an excessive outlay in some department, while others 
 are forced down to a point incompatible with efficiency ; but 
 this is not economy. If a man take out of one pocket a sum 
 equal to or larger than he puts into another, he will have 
 
320 
 
 KEEPING UP APPEARANCES. 
 
 no surplus at the year’s end. I have observed that in the best- 
 appointed households — in households where all things are done 
 in excellent taste and on an ample scale — a wise economy 
 prevails. Nothing is wasted ; there is no profusion, but there 
 is no cheeseparing. As Louis XII. said that he had rather see 
 his courtiers laugh at his avarice than his people weep at his ex- 
 travagance, so a wise housekeeper will be willing that his friends 
 shall respect his prudence rather than smile covertly at his 
 ostentation. 
 
 The great enemy to economy is the mania for keeping up 
 appearances which prevails in English society. Jones’s house 
 must be as large as Brown’s ; he must retain as many servants ; 
 he must give as many dinners ; though his income is smaller. 
 He and Brown visit in the same circles, and therefore it is gall 
 and wormwood to him that Brown should outvie him in any 
 particular. He cannot tolerate the idea that Robinson shall 
 think him inferior to Brown in the appurtenances and appli- 
 ances of his social position. Now, the probability is, that 
 Robinson knows full well the difference in the income of his 
 two friends, and secretly condemns Jones for adopting a scale 
 of expenditure which must eventually involve him in serious 
 embarrassments. Moreover, we may be sure that he does not 
 base his intimacy with either Jones or Brown on the number 
 of servants he possesses, and the ‘ style ’ of his entertainments. 
 
 ‘ Keeping up appearances ’ is, therefore, unprofitable in every 
 way; it almost always fails to impose upon society, whose 
 microscopic eye generally detects the effort and sees through 
 the pretence. By some mysterious instinct, we seem to divine 
 when a man is ‘ keeping up appearances,’ when he is leading a 
 sham life and flaunting before the world in feathers not paid 
 for. And all the time the unhappy man is, as he thinks, 
 deceiving us, we are laughing, or are grieved, or indignant, 
 according to our temper, at the parade and the show which 
 costs so much and yields so little. 
 
 I would not be hard upon the ambitious. Their failing has, 
 so to speak, its good side, for an ambitious man must put forth 
 energy and a resolute will and a tenacious purpose to work out 
 his ambition. If it be the sin by which angels fell, ambition is 
 the virtue by which men rise. But then its object should be no 
 ignoble one : nothing so contemptible as that which animates 
 the poor creatures who struggle to ‘keep up appearances.’ 
 
SOCIAL AMBITION, 
 
 321 
 
 What an ambition ! To live in a mansion, the maintenance of 
 which drains dry our purses ; to keep a staff of servants, whose 
 wages we can with difficulty pay ; to surround ourselves with 
 plate and furniture at an outlay we are unable to afford ; and to 
 provide costly entertainments for men and women who resent 
 or pity or ridicule the ostentation — all because we are fain to be 
 counted the social equal of persons who have as little interest 
 in us as we have in them — is this a worthy or an honourable 
 ambition ? That lives should be wrecked or wasted for such 
 futile ends as might draw tears from an Heraclitus, is one of the 
 worst evils of our present social system. A writer in ‘ Guesses 
 at Truth ’ asserts that half the failures in life arise from pulling 
 in one’s horse as he is leaping ; I am sure that the other half are 
 caused by spurring one’s horse to a leap beyond his strength, 
 and all that one may seem to ride as well or to mount as good 
 a horse as one’s neighbour. The wretchedness of a house- 
 hold in which this perpetual struggle is maintained belongs to 
 the almost interminable category of things more easily imagined 
 than described. The miserable sufferer, whose energies are so 
 fruitlessly consumed, has probably the consciousness of failure 
 upon him ; knows that he will either break down under the 
 burden he has assumed, or that he will gain nothing by carrying 
 it. He is engaged in a race to which there is no goal, in a 
 contest which cannot terminate with victory. 
 
 This subject naturally connects itself with another : the 
 impatience now manifested by every class to attain a higher 
 social position. I have already remarked that ambition, from 
 one point of view, is entitled to favourable consideration ; that 
 it acts as a mental stimulus, and induces us to exercise our 
 faculties vigorously. Therefore, I am not prepared to utter a 
 wholesale condemnation of this tendency to strive for the world’s 
 prizes. Whether these prizes are worth the struggle — are worth 
 the heartburns, the anxieties, the sacrifices, they call forth— is 
 another thing ; and the answer will vary according to our 
 temperaments and our views of life. There does not seem 
 much to be gained by the mere elevation of a retail tradesman 
 to the rank of a wholesale trader \ and, perhaps, the manufac- 
 turer who elbows his way in among ‘ the gentry ’ finds after all 
 that le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle — that he is neither the better 
 nor the happier for living in a larger house, or driving a pair 
 of bays instead of trusting to his own legs ! Too often the 
 
 21 
 
322 FEVERISH EFFORT TO RISE IN THE WORLD. 
 
 higher social position is gained at a terrible cost ; not only at 
 the cost of physical vigour and intellectual vivacity, but at the 
 cost of freshness of heart and purity of soul and rectitude of 
 conscience. The man, to reach the shore which in the distance 
 shines with so delusive a glow, has to work through mud and 
 mire, to plunge into deep waters, to crawl over rugged rocks ; 
 and when he gains the strand at last, exhausted and weary, he 
 too often discovers that it is a waste of sand, a wilderness forlorn 
 and gloomy. Contemplating the spectacle which such an one 
 presents, Jeremy Taylor is moved to speak of ambition as full 
 of distractions and teeming with stratagems. It is an infinite 
 labour, he exclaims, to make a man’s self miserable, and the 
 utmost acquisition is so goodly a purchase that he makes his 
 days full of sorrow to enjoy the troubles of a brief reign. ‘ There- 
 fore,’ he says, ^ there is no greater unreasonableness in the world 
 than in the designs of ambition ; for it makes the present cer- 
 tainly miserable, unsatisfied, or troublesome, and discontented, 
 for the uncertain acquisition of an honour which nothing can 
 secure ; and besides a thousand possibilities of miscarrying, it 
 relies upon no greater certainty than our life \ and when we are 
 dead, all the world sees who was the fool.’ 
 
 The worst of it is, that the ambitious do not always consider 
 what are the chances of their ambition proving successful. 
 They do not wait to see whether the ladder by which they seek 
 to climb is planted upon firm ground ; and before they are half- 
 way up, it slips, and precipitates them headlong. Sometimes 
 the ladder itself is no trusty fabric, and yields to the steps of the 
 unlucky climber. Every day presents us with melancholy 
 instances of men who attempt a work for which they are not 
 fitted, or which they have not the means to carry out, and 
 whose labours necessarily result in melancholy failure. ‘ Know 
 thyself,’ said the Greek sage; and doubtless he meant that 
 we should know the measure of our faculties, the range of our 
 powers, in order that we might undertake nothing we could not 
 accomplish. Before we enter upon a labour that must con- 
 sume the best part of our lives, it is essential then that we 
 should consider how far we are adapted to prosecute it to a 
 successful end, lest we should simply prepare for ourselves an 
 old age of unavailing regret. 
 
 What is wanted in our present social condition is not so 
 much this feverish effort to rise from one class into another, as 
 
PRE TENSIONS OF PAR VENUS. 323 
 
 a better feeling, a more cordial understanding, between classes. 
 It was supposed that this better feeling, this more cordial 
 understanding, would be arrived at as education advanced, and 
 as the increasing prosperity of the nation improved the position 
 of the lower orders ; but, on the contrary, the gulf between the 
 ‘ upper ^ and the ‘ lower,’ between the ‘ privileged ’ and the ‘ un- 
 privileged,’ has deepened and widened, and, I believe, there 
 exists at present a stronger antagonism than has ever before 
 been known. How this antagonism may be neutralised, or 
 dissipated, it scarcely falls within my province to inquire ; but 
 I may point out that something may be done by a stricter 
 adherence on the part of the privileged to the principles on 
 which every code of good manners is based. The upper classes 
 have been largely reinforced by men who have raised them- 
 selves and their families to opulence ; and these men have been 
 found wanting in those habits of delicate consideration and 
 genuine sympathy which had become traditional among the 
 English gentry. They have treated, they still treat, the classes 
 beneath them with supercilious arrogance, trampling on their 
 feelings and neglecting their susceptibilities. It would be idle 
 to deny that this is the real cause of much of the irritation 
 with which the working classes now regard the doings and say- 
 ings of their superiors. A rudely arrogant speech often rankles 
 in the mind long after an unjust action has been forgotten. A 
 wound to a man’s vanity leaves a permanent scar. I am per- 
 suaded that a good effect would be produced if ^superiors’ 
 would more generally behave to their ‘ inferiors ’ with courtesy, 
 addressing them as if they acknowledged their right to breathe 
 God’s air and dwell in God’s sunshine ; a right which some 
 wealthy parvenus.^ by the insolence of their speech and conduct, 
 seem almost to question. I believe that good manners never 
 fail to exercise a pacific influence, and that they would do as 
 much towards bridging over the difference between classes as 
 the nostrum of any political reformer or moral philosopher. 
 A polite — that is a polished — man puts his neighbour at his 
 ease, and by so doing confirms his self-respect ; and no one 
 can be ungrateful towards the man who renders him so inestim- 
 able a service. For what greater obligation can be conferred 
 upon us than to raise us in our own esteem, and restore that 
 confidence in ourselves, that sense of our dignity, which, 
 perhaps, a series of misfortunes or a long course of contumely 
 
 21 — 2 
 
324 
 
 EMERSON'S APOLOGUE. 
 
 has broken down ? It is in this way that the truth may be 
 proved of the essayist’s saying : ‘ Fine manners show themselves 
 formidable to the uncultivated man.’ But the uncultivated 
 man may, in his turn, submit to a test of his own good 
 manners ; and convince the observer that he is qualified for a 
 higher position by not being ashamed of the one he occupies. 
 He will preserve his independence, by reflecting that the work 
 he does is in its way a nobler and more useful work than that 
 which is done by the creatures of fashion. With this know'- 
 ledge at his heart he will maintain a manly demeanour, not 
 churlish or aggressive, but firm, resolved, composed, and self- 
 reliant. Do you know Emerson’s apologue ? 
 
 ‘ The mountain and the squirrel 
 Had a quarrel ; 
 
 Aud the former called the latter Little Prig.” 
 
 “ You are doubtless very big ; 
 
 But all sorts of things and weather 
 Must be taken in together, 
 
 To make up a year 
 And a sphere. 
 
 And I think it no disgrace 
 To occupy my place. 
 
 If I’rn not so large as you, 
 
 You are not so small as I, 
 
 And not half so spry. 
 
 I’ll not deny you make 
 A very pretty squirrel track ; 
 
 Talents differ, all is well and wisely put ; 
 
 If I cannot carry forests on my back. 
 
 Neither can you crack a nut.” ’ 
 
 This assertion by each class of its peculiar strength and of its 
 place in the general economy will, if made in a moderate and 
 patient spirit, tend to establish an amicable sentiment between 
 all classes, and promote the growth of fine manners, based on 
 the ground of self-respect. 
 
 To assist in bringing about this high result, each well-ordered 
 household should be ‘ a. centre of life and light.’ It is impossi- 
 ble to limit the extent of its influence; to define, with exact- 
 ness, the measurement of the wide area over which its vitalising 
 energy will be diffused. Moralists are never weary of reminding 
 us of the burden of responsibility towards the community that 
 rests upon every individual, because he cannot isolate himself, 
 cannot live alone, cannot restrict the operation of his thoughts, 
 feelings, or actions. We know not where will be reaped, for 
 
THE GOOD THAT EACH MAY DO, 32S 
 
 good or evil, the harvest of the saying carelessly dropped from 
 our lips, or of the deed to which we have this moment com- 
 mitted ourselves. There is a black bit of moorland in Perth- 
 shire, high up above the sea, and remote from the gathering- 
 places of busy men, where, within a few feet of each other, rise 
 a couple of small springs. To the spectator nothing more in- 
 significant can appear; it seems as if by the pressure of his 
 foot he could stop their flow or divert them into new channels. 
 In no respect do they differ from the thousand and one brook- 
 lets that well out of the sod, ripple down green hill-sides and 
 through leafy valleys, to be lost sight of in some marsh or pool, 
 or absorbed in larger streams. But one of these springs swells 
 into the Clyde, washes a great city, and empties its waters into 
 the Atlantic. The other goes on its way, widening and 
 deepening, and after traversing a long reach of cultivated ground, 
 becomes the boundary line between two kingdoms, and under 
 the name of the Tweed, flows into the German Ocean. In like 
 manner it is that the words and works of each one of us pass 
 far out of our range and knowledge, and grow broader as they 
 pass, and become, if wise and good in themselves,, a fertile 
 channel of wisdom and goodness to our fellow men. Thus it 
 is that each household, if rightly administered, will prove a 
 source of blessings, which we cannot estimate in number or in 
 character, to a constantly increasing circle, and contribute directly 
 as well as indirectly to the general welfare of the country. 
 Thus it is that the way in which masters govern their servants, 
 and servants obey their masters, must be regarded as essentially 
 a matter of national interest ; and hence that broader and more 
 liberal etiquette which, in the pages of the present volume, I 
 have endeavoured to indicate, claims the attention of the 
 moralist in its application of the old and glorious rule : ‘ Do 
 to others as you would that others should do unto you.' 
 Such an etiquette is obviously an all-important agent of Social 
 Reform. 
 
INDEX 
 
 Acting Charades, 99 
 Address, Forms of, 259 
 Adaptation of Talk to Time and Place, 312 
 Advantage, Relative, of Different Kinds of 
 Exercise, 281 
 
 Advice to Young Men About to Marry, 212 
 -^stheticism. Absurdities of, 32 
 ,, the Cant of, 34 
 After a Dinner-Party, 73 
 Afternoon Parties, General Remarks on, 83 
 After the London Season, 107 
 After the Wedding Ceremony, 231 
 Aggressive Shake of the Hand, 74 
 A Good Head of Hair, 268 
 Agricultural Meeting, the, 48 
 Agriculturists’ Calendar, Great Events in, 
 47 
 
 Almanach des Gourmands, 113 
 Amateur Actors, Mistakes of, 90 
 Amateur Singers, Errors of, 28 
 Amateur Theatricals, How to Get up, 89 
 Ambition, the Good Side of, 320 
 Applause at Private Theatricals, 90 
 Archery Parties, 102 
 
 Aristocratic Professions and other Callings 
 Admitted in Society, 125 
 Arrangement of Guests at Dinner, 127 
 Arrogance and Servility, 312 
 Art at Home, 30 
 Articulation in Singing, 28 
 Artistic Development, 31 
 Art Needlework, 119 ^ , 
 
 Assisting a Fair Equestrian to Mount, 282 
 At Court, 239 
 At Homes, 83 
 Attempting too much, 322 
 At the Church on the Wedding Day, 230 
 Austen (Miss) on Amateur Theatricals, 
 
 Badly-arranged Dinner Party, A, 147 
 Ballad upon a Wedding, 232 
 Balls and Balls, 154 
 
 Ball or At Home, Hostess’s Place at a, 70 
 Ball (A) or Soiree in Lieu of a Wedding 
 Breakfast, 233 
 Ball (The) and its Bliss, 152 
 ,, How to get up a, 155 
 „ Invitations, 155 
 ,, Maxims, 301 
 „ on board an Iron-clad, 154 
 ,, Refreshments and Supper, 161 
 
 Ball-room Conversation, 160, 194 
 ,, Decoration of the, 156 
 
 ,, Diplomacy, 159 
 
 ,, Duties, Maxims on, 302 
 ,, Ethics, 163 
 
 ,, Etiquette, 157 
 
 ,, Flirtations, 160 
 
 ,, Introductions, 157 
 
 ,, Opportunities, 160 
 
 ,, Platitudes, 195 
 
 ,, ‘ Proposals ’ condemned, 160 
 
 ,, Scene from ‘ Daniel Deronda/ 158 
 
 Banns, Publication of, 224 
 Bathing and Baths, 266 
 Baths, Three kinds of, 266 
 Bayard, A Nineteenth Century, Picture o'", 
 284 
 
 Beaconsfield (Lord) and the Conversation 
 that fascinates Society, 144 
 Beaconsfield’s (Lord) Picture of a Gentle- 
 man, 5 
 
 Beards, Variety and Significance of, 245 
 Beauty, when unadorned, is adorned the 
 most, 275 
 
 Bedroom, How to Furnish a, 35 
 ,, ^ Two Descriptions of a, 36 
 Behaviour towards Servants, 317 
 Belinda (The) of the Poet, 275 
 Best Manners are Founded on Reason, 303 
 Betrothal (The), 220 
 Beveridge (Bishop) on hTusic, 22 ‘ 
 
 Bill of Fare, or Menu, Hints on the, 131 
 Bills of Fare for a Year, 133 
 Bills of Fare for Five to Twelve Persons, 
 ^34. 
 
 Blending of Colours in Dress, 181 
 Bloomerism, Diatribe against, 178 
 Body (The), Duty of Keeping it Healthy, 
 263 
 
 Bodily Fatigue, A Certain Amount of, 
 necessary for Health, 277 
 Bowing and Hand-shaking, Maxims upon, 
 292 . . 
 
 Brathwait’s (Richard) Advice to Ladies, 14 
 ,, ‘ Reproofe touching Apparell,’ 
 
 175 
 
 Breath, The Real Sweetness of the, 273 
 ,, Vitiation of the, '272 
 Bridal Dresses Described, 236 
 
 ,, Gifts, On the Symmetry and Com- 
 pleteness of, 227 
 
328 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Bridegroom’s Attire, 236 
 Bride’s Attire, 236 
 
 ,, Reappearance in Society, 235 
 Bridesmaids’ Bouquets and Presents , 229 
 ,, Dresses, 236 
 
 ,, On the Number and Selection 
 
 of, 222 
 
 Brillat-Savarin on a Pleasant Dinner-party, 
 
 69 
 
 Brilliant Company at a Presentation, 246 
 British Farmer, The Traditional, 48 
 Brummell (Beau) has a Lesson in Punctu- 
 ality, 319 
 
 Bungay’s (Mr.) Dinner-party, 126 
 Bunsen’s (Baron) Notes on Dinners, 114 
 Burke upon Good Manners, 317 
 Business Calls, or upon Strangers, 66 
 
 Callers, Limitation of, 66 
 Calls, A Defence of, 62 
 ,, Different kinds of, 72 
 Cards, Maxims on, 294] 
 
 Cards riot to be given when the Hostess is 
 at home, 65 
 
 Carving under Difficulties, 146 
 Centuries (Two) of Maxims upon Manners, 
 290 
 
 Ceremony, Visits of, 72 
 
 ,, when it may be dispensed with, 
 308 
 
 Chaperone, Duties of the, 307 
 Chapman’s (George) Picture of a Lady, 6 
 Character, A Fine Field for the Study of, 
 312 
 
 „ Dress an Index to, 167 
 „ The Highest Standard of, 286 
 Charades, or Pantomimic Puzzles, 98 
 Chatham (Lord) on Politeness, 16 
 Chief Points to be Studied in Amateur 
 Theatricals, 98 
 
 Children and Dogs not to be intruded by 
 Callers, 66 
 
 Chivalry (Modern) and the Fair Sex, 284 
 Choice of Guests, On the, 12 
 Church Dignitaries, and Others, How to 
 address, 262 
 
 Civil Conversation, Short Notes for, 205 
 Civil Marriage, A, 223 
 Classes, Antagonism of, 323 
 Cleanliness a Mark of Politeness, 265 
 
 „ How associated with Etiquette, 
 
 265 
 
 „ Value and Necessity of, 265 
 
 Cockades, whose Servants may wear them, 
 306 
 
 Cold Bath, Effects of a, 266 
 Cold Collation, Materials for a, on different 
 Occasions, 104 
 
 Coleridge on Wordsworth’s Sister, Dorothy, 
 
 9 
 
 Colloquial Inferiority of the Present Day, 
 Cause of the, 208 
 
 Colour of the Hair — Dark or Fair ? 269 
 Colours in Dress, Harmony of and How to 
 Treat, 181, 182, 183 
 Comfort, Old English Ideas of, 32 
 
 ‘ Company Dinner,’ what it should be, 133 
 Competition in Extravagant Ostentation, 
 179 
 
 Complaints about Servants, 314 
 Complementary Colours, 181 
 Compliments, On the Paying of, T92 
 Condolence, Visits of, 76 
 Conduct, Errors of, 19 
 Conduct of Employers towards their Ser- 
 vants, 316 
 
 Congratulation, Visits of, 76 
 Congratulations, to whom offered, 293 
 Consideration to Inferiors, 19 
 Continental Fashion in Visiting Cards, 60 
 Contrasts in Dress, 168 
 Conventional Marriages, 211 
 Conversation, Art of, 188 
 
 ,, and Small Talk, Distinction 
 
 between, 202 
 
 ,, at Dinner, The Art of, 141 
 ,, Certain General Rules to 
 
 Success in, 190 
 ,, Chief Objects of, 200 
 
 ,, Daily Staple of, 204 
 
 ,, Different Styles of, 197 
 
 ,, Hints upon, 197 
 
 ,, in High Life, 145 
 
 ,, opens our Views, 109 
 
 ,, _ Topics of, 143 
 
 Conversational Monstrosities, 194 
 
 ,, Powers, Ejdiibition of, 197 
 
 ,, Soloists, 199 
 
 Conversationalist (The) in Society, 190 
 
 ,, How to become a Success- 
 
 ful, 141 
 
 Conversaziones, Diversions of, 82 
 Conversing with Guests, Art of, 79 
 Corisande’s Garden, 52 
 Cornet, About the, 23 
 Cosmetics, Effects of the Use of, 265 
 Country Ball, Hostess’s Place at a, 70 
 Country Life, Social Aspects of, 44 
 
 ,, of the Clergy and Gentry, 48 
 Country, Pleasures of the, 40 
 Country Towns, Parties in, 81 
 Country Visits, How to arrange, 108 
 Court Ball (A) at Dublin Castle, 257 
 Court Dress Described, 184 
 
 ,, for Gentlemen, 242 
 
 ,, for Ladies, 251 
 
 Court Mourning, 288 
 Courtesy in the Family Circle, 19 
 ,, Main Principles of, 2 
 
 ,, Minor Observances of, 18 
 
 ,, The Higher Requisites of, 8 
 
 Cowper on Conversation, 143 
 Coxcomb’s (A) Philosophy of Dress, 170 
 Croquet-parties, 103 
 Cry of (Dinner) Despair, 149 
 Cultivated Taste, Evidences of a, 35 
 Cup (The) of Innocent Pleasure, 153 
 Curling (Hair) Fluids, 272 
 Curtseying, The Art of, 251 
 
 Dancer, Description of a Good, 165 
 Dancer’s Duty, A 160 
 
INDEX. 
 
 329 
 
 Dancers, Arrangement of the, 157 
 Dancing-parties, 153 
 Dancing, Maxims on, 300 
 
 ,, Some Hints upon, 164 
 Dark-haired and Fair-haired, 269 
 Day (The) after a Ball, 73 
 Decoration of the Dinner-table, 117 
 Decorative Napkin Work, 119 
 Degeneracy of Servants, Complaints of the, 
 
 315 . 
 
 Delay in answering Invitations inexcusable, 
 66 
 
 Delights of the Ball, 152 
 Description of a Drawing-room, 253 
 Description of a Levee, 247 
 Devices for Dinner Napkins, 119 
 Dickens (Charles) to a Neophyte in Social 
 Practices, 136 
 
 Different Kinds of Piano Players, 24 
 Dining is a good Common Basis, 149 
 Dining-room, the, en regie, 37 
 
 ,, what it should be, 38, 115 
 
 Dinner (A) How to Ensure the Success of, 
 130 
 
 ,, Critical Interval before, 71 
 
 ,, Enthusiasts, in 
 
 ,, Importance of, no 
 ,, Maxims, Some, 294 
 
 ,, Napkins, On, i_i8 
 
 ,, of To-day Satirised, 146 
 
 ,, Ware and Crystal, 120 
 
 ,, Card (A), what it calls up, 148 
 
 Dinner-giving should be in accordance with 
 your means, 120 
 
 Dinner-givers should strike out a New Line, 
 
 149 
 
 Dinner-guests, Number of, and Choice of, 
 121, 124 
 
 Dinner Invitations and Replies, Forms of, 
 124 
 
 Dinners at which one would have liked to be 
 present, 112 
 
 ,, in High Places, 114 
 „ Some Famous, 112 
 Dinner-party, A Pleasant, 69 
 
 ,, Object of the, 150 
 ,, The Country, 49 
 
 Dinner-table (The), Shape of, and how to 
 Arrange, 117 
 
 Dinner-table Conversation, 130, 14 1 
 Dishes and Decorations for a Cold Collation, 
 
 Dishes of an Established or Historical Repu- 
 tation, 1 13 
 
 Display of the Wedding Presents, 231 
 Distribution (Proper) of Wines, 297 
 Domestication of Art, 31 
 Do not Talk too Much, 193 
 Douche and Shower Baths, 267 
 Drawing-room Decoration, 33 
 
 ,, How to Enter a, 73 
 
 Drawing-room (Court), Etiquette of a, 250 
 ,, ,, Description of a, 253 
 
 Drawing-rooms at Dublin Castle, 255 
 Drawing-rooms, when held, 240 
 Dress, A Coxcomb’s Philosophy of, 170 
 
 Dress an Index to Character, 167 
 ,, a Matter of Importance, 166 
 ,, Appropriateness of, to Age and Posi- 
 tion, i75_ 
 
 ,, Contrasts in, 168 
 ,, Gentlemen’s, for Different Occasions, 
 176 
 
 ,, The Right, for Various Occasions, 
 184 
 
 ,, For a (Court) Drawing-room, 251 
 ,, How much should be Expended on, 
 
 ,, for Special Occasions, 186 
 ,, Individuality in, 168 
 ,, Men’s of the Present Day, Merits of, 
 169 
 
 ,, Moderation and Extravagance in, 
 167 
 
 ,, of the Georgian Era, 169 
 ‘ Dressed above their Station,’ 175 
 Dresses actually Worn at Fashionable As- 
 semblies, 185 
 
 Dressing Well, The Art of, 170 
 ,, Maxims on, 298 
 
 Driving Out with Ladies, 306 
 Dublin Castle, Presentations at, 250 
 Dulness and Feebleness of Conversation, 
 198 
 
 Eastern Customs of Darkening the Eyelids 
 and Eyelashes, 273 
 Economy, a Sermon on, 319 
 Edgeworth, Miss, on an Amateur Dramatic 
 Performance, 90 
 
 Education has not removed Class Feeling, 
 
 323 
 
 „ Refinement of, 8 
 
 ,, Higher, of Women, 8 
 
 Effeminacy is not Politeness, 18 
 Eliot, George, Picture of a Gentleman, 5 
 ,, Picture of a Lady, 7 
 
 ,, on Music, 28 
 
 Emerson, Apologue by, 324 
 
 ,, on the Creation of the Gentleman 
 ^285. 
 
 Emotional Shake of the Hand, 74 
 Employers, Duties of, 315 
 Enforced Marriages, 213 
 Engagement, Duration of the, 
 
 Engagement Ring, The, 220 
 English Farmer (The) of the Present Day 
 47 
 
 Ennui translated literally, 57 
 ‘ Enough is as good as a Feast,’ 132 
 Entering the Dining-room, 129 
 Equality of Guests, 310 
 Errors in Hand-shaking, 76 
 
 „ of Masters towards Servants, 317 
 Etiquette a matter of Household Concern 
 20 ^ 
 
 ,, and Politeness, 16 
 
 ,, Applicable to Drawing - room 
 
 Music, 29 
 
 „ should begin at Home, 2 
 ,, Trivialities of, 137 
 ,, Wide Range of the Subject, 2 
 
330 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Etiquette of ‘ At Homes/ 83 
 ,, of the Ball-room, 157 
 ,, of Conversaziones, 83 
 
 ,, of Country Visits, 108 
 
 ,, of the Dinner-party, 127 
 ,, of a (Court) Drawing-room, 250 
 ,, of Dress, 176 
 
 ,, of Five o’clock Teas, 85, 100 
 
 ,, of Garden-parties and Matinees, 
 102 
 
 „ of Invitations and Replies, 66 
 
 ,, of Kettle-drums, 103 
 
 ,, of a Levee, 241 
 
 ,, of Morning Calls, 77 
 
 ,, of Mourning, 288 
 
 ,, of Receptions, 87 
 
 ,, of Riding, 281 
 
 ,, of Visiting Cards, 60 
 
 ,, of Weddings, 210' 
 
 Evelyn’s Picture of a Lady, 7 
 Exaggeration in Dress to be avoided, 186 
 Example, Influence of, 316 
 Excessive Fashions in Ladies’ Dress, 177 
 Exercise, the Subject of, 277 
 ,, _ Forms of. Various, 283 
 
 Expenditure upon Dinner-parties, 132 
 Eyes, How to Brighten the, 274 
 ,, Treatment of the, 273 
 
 Face to Face with Nature, 52 
 Fair-haired and Dark-haired, 269 
 Fair Sex (the) and Modern Chivalry, 284 
 Familiarities of Valets and Maids, 314 
 Familiar Faces at a Court Presentation, 
 244 
 
 Farniers, Habits and Customs of, 46 
 Fashionable Formalities of Visiting Cards, 
 61 
 
 Fashion in Dress, 168 
 
 ,, ^ Run Riot, 187 
 
 Fashion in Ladies’ Dress, 177 
 Faults in Conversation, 200 
 Favours, Art in Offering, 310 
 Feet, About the, 276 
 ,, Injudicious Treatment of the, 277 
 Female Attendants, 123 
 Feverish Effort to Rise in the Social Scale, 
 322 
 
 Fiancees, Attention to, 305 
 
 Fine Manners, the Philosophy of, 15 
 
 Five o’clock Teas, 85, 100 
 
 Flattery of Listening, The, 304 
 
 Flippancy cannot pass Muster as Wit, 202 
 
 Floor (the), the Music, and the Dances, 157 
 
 Flowers, Poetry of, 118 
 
 Ford’s (John) Picture of a Gentleman, 4 
 
 Forms of Address, 259 
 
 French Diplomatist (A) on Dinner, in 
 
 Friend, the Surest Way of Losing a, 304 
 
 Friendly Visit (A) and its Consequences, 64 
 
 Friendships, on the Formation of, 306 
 
 Fuller (Thomas) on Conversation, 188 
 
 Funeral Customs, 289 
 
 Furniture and Decorations of the Dining- 
 room, 116 
 
 Gardening, an Elegant Amusement, 50 
 ,, for Ladies, 51 
 Gardens and Gardens, 51 
 Garden-parties, 101 
 Garden-picture by Tennyson, 53 
 Gaskell (Mrs.) on Dining,^ii7 
 
 ,, on Dinner-guests Helping 
 themselves and each other, 
 122 
 
 ,, on the Social Life of a Pro- 
 vincial Town, 79 
 
 General Calls, Time and Duration of, 76 
 Gentility is in the Mind, 299 
 Gentleman (the True) Definition of, 3 
 ,, only on the Surface, 287 
 
 ,, What makes the, 286 
 
 Gentlemen’s Dress, minor Details of, 176 
 Gentry in Town and Country, 49 
 Gifts, on the Making of, 304 
 Gloom in the Household, 20 
 Good Manners and Happiness, 17 
 ,, Refinement of, 284 
 
 Good Masters make Good Servants, 315 
 Good or Fashionable Society, 284 
 Gossip, Two Kinds of, 310 
 Gorgeous Uniforms to be seen at a Presen- 
 tation, 245 
 
 Graceful Walk, How to obtain a, 276 
 Grace in Simplicity of Dress, 179 
 Great Talk has been succeeded by Small 
 Talk, 197 
 
 Great Talkers Dying Out, 194 
 Great Table Talkers, 205 
 Growth of the Hair, How to promote the, 
 271 
 
 Guests, the Art of Receiving, 67 
 
 ,, at the Wedding Breakfast, Ar- 
 rangement of, 232 
 ,, should be Punctual, 140 
 5, Dinner, Skill in Matching the, 147 
 
 Habits and Customs of Society, some 
 Maxims on the, 295 
 Habits at Table, 138 
 Hair, About the, 268 
 ,, Brushes and Brushing, 271 
 ,, How to Preserve the, 270 
 ,, Oils, Pomades, and Washes, 272 
 Hands, Whiteness and Purity of the, 274 
 Hand-shaking as a Fine Art, 75 
 ,, Varieties of, 74 
 Happy Mistake, A, 65 
 Harvest-Home, The, 44 
 Hastings, Lady Elizabeth, 7 
 Hasty Attachments, Against, 215 
 Hayward’s (Mr.) Sketch of a Perfect 
 Hostess, 69 
 
 Head of the House, Influence of the, 314 
 Health, A Lecture on, 264 
 Healthy Exercise, A, 51 
 ,, Life, A, 263 
 
 Helps (Sir Arthur) on Living with Inferiors < 
 317 
 
 High-bred English Ladies, 7 
 Hints about Titles, 258 
 ,, for a Cold Collation, 104 
 
INDEX, 
 
 331 
 
 Hints to Social Talkers, 142 
 Holland s (Lady) Famous Dinners, 112 
 Home Comfort, Drawbacks to, 13 
 
 , Culture in Town and Country, 39 
 ,, Decoration, 31 
 
 ,, Recreation, 20 
 
 Honeymoon (The) and its Duration, 235 
 Household, The Ordering of the, 313 
 ,, Work, Method in, 13 
 House-keeping, Economy in, 39 
 Housewife, An Indifferent, 12 
 Host and Hostess, A Perfect, 69 
 Hostess, Duties and Trials of a, 68 
 ,, A Fussy, 71 
 
 Qualifications of a, 70 
 Hospitality, The True Spirit of, 72 
 How to Address Illustrious Personages, 
 260 
 
 ,, Lay a Dinner-table, 296 
 
 ,, Make and Keep Home Happy, 
 
 ,, obtain Presentation at Court, 239 
 
 ,, Receive Royalty, 302 
 
 ,, Talk Pleasantly, 203 
 
 ,, Treat Different Colours in Dress, 
 
 182 
 
 Humours of a Drawing-room, 256 
 ,, _ Picnic, 106 
 
 Hunt’s (Leigh), Diatribe against Masculine 
 Clothes, 169 
 
 Hunt (Leigh) on Hand-shaking, 75 
 ,, on the Piano, 26 
 Hunting, Some Remarks about, 282 
 Husband, On the Choice of a, 2J4 
 
 Ideal Gentleman (The), Various Types of, 5 
 Ideal Lady (The), Various Types of, 6 
 Ill-manners, Sources of, 303 
 Imperative Shake of the Hand, 74 
 Inanity of Ball-room Conversation, 194 
 Independence, Preservation of, 324 
 Individual Responsibilities, '’324 
 Individuality in Dress, 168 
 Inferiors, Art of Living with, 317 
 Infirmities, Intrusion of, 31T 
 Influences Unfavourable to Conversation, 
 ?94 
 
 Initial Honours on Visiting-cards, 59 
 Intelligence Conveyed by a Visiting-card, 
 60 
 
 International Law of Marriage, 225 
 Interval (The) before Dinner, 71 
 Introduction, Letters of, 72 
 Introductions, Some Maxims upon, 290 
 Invigorating Power of Music, 22 
 Invitations, Drawing up and Issuing of, for 
 different occasions, 66, 86, 155, 228 
 Irresistible Conversationalists, 193 
 Irving (Washington) on Genuine Hospitality, 
 
 71 
 
 Jamieson’s (Mrs.) Party, 80 
 Jerrold (Douglas), Wit of, 193 
 
 ,, on Etiquette, 299 
 
 Johnson (Dr.) on Conversation, 141 
 Joining the Ladies, 145 
 
 Jonson (Ben) on a Lady’s Dress, 179 
 
 Keeping up Appearances, 320 
 Keeping Visitors Waiting, Rudeness of, 78 
 Keep the Body Healthy, 263 
 Kettledrums, 85, 103 
 
 Ken’s (Bishop) Picture of Lady May- 
 nard, 9 
 
 Ladies’ Dress, Complexity of, 177 
 
 ,, General Directions about, 
 
 180 
 
 ,, of the Victorian Period, 178 
 
 Ladies, Exercise for, 279 
 
 ,, Social Pleasures of, 100 
 Lady (The True) Definition of, 5 
 Lady of the House, Duties of the, 129 
 Lady’s (A) Success in the Ball-room, 196 
 Lady’s Toilette, A, 275 
 Lansdowne’s (Lord) Description of a Perfect 
 Host, 69 
 
 Late Hours, Effect of, 264 
 Lawn-tennis Parties, 102 
 Law of Cleanliness, 276 
 Leaders of Fashion, 286 
 Lecture on Health, 264 
 Letters of Introduction, 72 
 
 ,, Some Maxims upon, 
 
 291 
 
 Letters to Illustrious Personages, Super- 
 scriptions of, 260 
 I.etter-writing a Social Duty, 66 
 Life, A Healthy, 263 
 ,, Wasted upon Small Objects, 285 
 Lind’s (Jenny) Singing, 29 
 Listening to Music, Maxims on, 298 
 Little Dinner, Story of a, 121 
 Lockhart’s (Mrs.) Singing, 29 
 Love of Luxury and Show Condemned, 
 179 
 
 Love, the Gentle Science of, 217 
 Levee, Description of a, 247 
 ,, Etiquette of a, 241 
 Lovers, Conversation of, 221 
 
 ,, Thoughtless, Warning to, 161 
 Lymphatic Shake of the Hand, 74 
 Lytton (Lord) Pictures of a Gentleman, 4 
 ,, on the Pleasures of the Table. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Macaulay, Description of a Royal Academy 
 Dinner, 112 
 
 ,, as a Dinner-giver, 113 
 
 ,, on ‘ Flashes of Silence,’ 193 
 ‘ Magic Mirror’ (The), a Good Subject for 
 a Tableau, 
 
 Make your Guests Feel Welcome, 79 
 Manners at Home, 15 
 
 ,, Compatible with Manliness, 18 
 
 ,, Defined, 3 
 
 ,, More Important than Laws, 3, 17 
 
 ,, Two Centuries of Maxims upon, 
 
 290 
 
 ,, and Morals of our Forefathers, 38 
 
 Marriage Ceremony, Details Concerning 
 the, 224 
 
Wdex. 
 
 332 
 
 Marriage, Different Methods of Celebrating, 
 223 
 
 ,, The Etiquette of, 210 
 
 ,, International Law of, 225 
 
 ,, Licenses and Fees, 225 
 
 ,, Settlements, 222 
 
 Marriages of Affection, 21 1 
 Married Life, Exclusiveness of, 293 
 Masque (The), Suggestions for, 100 
 Master’s Example, A, 316 
 Match with your Equal, 213 
 Matinees, 102 
 
 Matrimonial Proposals, How they are made, 
 216 
 
 Maxims on Dress, 170 
 
 ,, upon Manners, Two Centuries of, 
 290 
 
 Mediaeval Garden-party, A, 102 
 Melmoth (William) on Conversation, 189 
 ‘ Mens Sana in Corpore Sano,’ 263 
 Middle-aged Men and Ladies, Exercise for, 
 279 
 
 Military and Naval Levees, 250 
 Mistress of a Country House in the Olden 
 Time, 129 
 
 Mitford’s (Miss) Description of her Garden, 
 54 . 
 
 Modern Dinners are Generally Failures, 148 
 Modern Life, A Great Difficulty of, 317 
 Modest Self-possession, 139 
 Monograms and Crests, 307 
 Moore’s (T.) Singing, 29 
 Morning Call, When to be made, 61 
 Morning Calls, 77 
 Mourning, Duration of, 288 
 ,, Etiquette of, 288 
 Moustaches, Variety and Significance of, 245 
 Municipal Presentations, 241 
 Music as an Accomplishment, 22 
 
 ,, as a Cover for Conversation, Barbar- 
 ous Custom of, 88 
 ,, at Evening Parties, 25 
 ,, In Praise of, 21 
 ,, Parties, 88 
 
 Musical Instruments, On the Choice of, 22 
 
 ,, Pyrotechny, 24 
 
 Nails, On the Treatment of the, 274 
 Naming the Wedding Day, 221, 226 
 Napery, Delicate and Historic, 119 
 Napoleon’s Estimate of Dinner, in 
 Narrative (The), Style of Conversation, 197 
 Nature, The Study of, 42 
 Neglect of the Body, 264 
 
 ,, of Exercise, and its Consequences, 
 
 277 
 
 Neighbourhood of Great Towns, 43 
 Newcastle, Duchess of, Her Endeavours to 
 set an Example of Industry, 12 
 ‘ Night and Morning ’ as an Effective 
 Tableau, 95 
 ‘No Gentleman,’ 19 
 ‘ Not at Home Is it Justifiable ? 78 
 
 Occasions when Ladies may call upon 
 Gentlemen, 79 
 
 j Official Designations on Visiting-cards, 59 
 Oliphant’s (Mrs.) Diatribe against Excessive 
 1 Fashions in Ladies’ Dress, 177 
 Open-air Exercise, 278 
 Order in the Household, 318 
 Ordinary Social Conversation, The Basis of- 
 196 
 
 Ostentation to be Avoided, 305 
 Out-of-Door Matinees, 102 
 
 Pacific Influence of Good Manners, 323 
 Pageantry of Death, 289 
 Paradise (The) of Youth and Love, 151 
 Parisian Banquet in the First Empire, 114 
 Particulars of Bridal Dresses actually worn, 
 236 
 
 Parties in Country Towns, 81 
 Pastoral Poems, 40 
 Patience, the Grace of, 303 
 Patmore’s (Coventry) ‘Angel in the House, ’ 9 
 Paying of Compliments, Some Anecdotes on 
 the, 192 
 
 Pedantry in Manners, 304 
 Penance (So-called) of Morning Calls, 63 
 Petitions to Lords and Commons, Forms of, 
 262 
 
 Philosophy of Balls, 154 
 ,, of Dinners, no 
 
 ,, of Dress, 166, 170 
 
 Piano, About the, 24 
 
 _ in the Family Circle, 25 
 Picnics, How to Arrange, 103 
 Piece of Furniture (A) with a Soul in it, 26 
 Pin-money a Desirable 'Arrangement, 222 
 Playground (The) of Civilisation, 195 
 Plea (A) for the Picnic, 106 
 Poetry of Flowers, 118 
 Poets (The) and the Tresses of their 
 Heroines, 268 
 Politeness a Virtue, 17 
 
 ,, True Definition of, 16 
 
 ,, _ is not Hypocrisy, 57 
 Popularity of Good Manners, 293 
 ,, of the Piano, 24 
 
 Powders and Washes for the Teeth, 268 
 Precedence, Order of, 127 
 Preparations for the Hair, 271 
 Presence Chamber, In the, 247 
 Presentations at Court, and how obtained, 
 
 239 
 
 Pretty Faces do not ‘tell’ at the Dinner- 
 table, 149 
 
 Primary and Primitive Colours, 181 
 Princesse Dress, Gracefulness of, 178 
 Private Theatricals, How to get up, 89 
 
 ,, A few Plain Require- 
 
 ments for, 92 
 
 Private Concerts, 88 
 
 Privileges of those presented at Court, 249 
 Procedure at a Levee, Order of, 248 
 Production of Tableaux, Attention required 
 in, 94 
 
 Professional Topics, On the Introduction of, 
 in General Conversation, 207 
 Proposals, Various Forms of. Selected from 
 our Novelists, 216 
 
INDEX. 
 
 333 
 
 Proposing, Remarks on, 215 
 Protest against Slang, 144 
 Public and Private Balls, 155 
 Pump-handle and Pendulum Shakes, 74 
 Punctuality in Household Matters, 318 
 ,, On the necessity of, 140 
 
 Queen’s Levee, The, 248 
 
 Raillery, The Idea of, 201 
 Rare Gift of Manners, The, 292 
 Receiving Guests, manner and mode of, 68 
 Receptions, 87 
 
 Refinement and Grace in Art-Decoration, 
 35 . 
 
 Refining Pastimes, 20 
 Refreshments at Afternoon Parties, 84 
 Regulations for Drawing-rooms and Levees, 
 240 
 
 Rehearsals, on the necessity of, for Private 
 Theatricals, 98 
 
 Relation of Host to Guest, 68 
 Rending the Eyes with Painting, 273 
 Replies to Invitations, 67 
 Richter (Jean Paul) on Dancing, 280 
 Riding as an Exercise, Relative Advantages 
 of, 281 
 
 Right Dress (The) at the Right Time, 184 
 Royal Academy Dinners, 112 
 Royal Family, Forms of addressing the, 
 260 
 
 Royal Guests at a Ball, 302, 
 
 Rules for Court Dresses, 251 
 Rural Amusements, 50 
 ,, Retirement, 41 
 ,, ^ Scenes, 43 
 
 Ruskin on Ladies’ Dress, 179 
 
 Salt (The) of Ordinary Conversation, 310 
 Sanatory Agent, The Great, 207 
 Sanitary Influence of Walking, 278 
 Sauciness mistaken for Wit, 195 
 Science of Bowing, 312 
 Seclusion, Usual Periods of, 288 
 Secondary Colours, 181 
 Second Marriage of a Lady, 231 
 Self-Consciousness the Essence of Vulgarity, 
 299 
 
 Self, Disregard of, 284 
 Self-possession and Self-respect, 139 
 Sensible Garden, A, 52 
 Senseless Jokes to be avoided, 307 
 Sentiments, On the Free Communication 
 of, 189 
 
 Separation (The) of the Upper and Lower 
 Classes, Tendencies of, 46 
 Servants, Duties of, 315, 318 
 
 ,, are much what they are made, 
 316 
 
 ,, Present Race of. Defended, 314 
 Servility and Arrogance, 312 
 Shaftesbury’s (Lord, the elder) Picture of a 
 Gentleman, 4 
 
 Shakespeare’s Gentlemen, 4 
 ,, Ladies, 5 
 
 Shelley’s Lines ‘ To (^onstantia, singing,’ 29 
 
 Shortcoming, a Social, 204 
 Shower and IDouche Baths, 267 
 Sights and Sounds of a Country Life, 41 
 Signing the Register, and what follows, 231 
 Silence, Flashes of, 193 
 ,, is Golden, 307 
 Simplicity in Dress, Grace of, 179 
 Singing in the House and for one’s Friends 
 
 Skilfully-managed Small- talk, 203 
 Skill in Matching the Guests, 147 
 Slang, Maxims upon, 307 
 ,, a Protest against, 144 
 ‘ Sleeping Beauty,’ a Charming Tableau, 
 95 
 
 Slovenliness and Over-dressing, 167 
 Small Feet and Pretty Feet, 277 
 Small Talk, 196 
 
 Small Talker, True Arena of the, 203 
 Smoking, Maxims on, 297 
 Social Duties must not be neglected, 57 
 Social Gatherings Essential, 149 
 Social Juggernaut, A, 150 
 Social Institution, An Excellent, 62 
 Social Position, Impatience to Attain a 
 Higher, 321 
 
 Social Reform, An All-important Agent of, 
 325 
 
 Social Sedans, 148 
 Solecisms, How to Avoid, 139 
 Solitary Contemplations Contract Little 
 Habits of Thinking, 189 
 Soloists in Conversation, 199 
 Solomon on a Perfect Woman, 6 
 Some People who Talked Well, 206 
 Some Plain Advice to Guests, 139 
 Soap and Water, Value of, 274 
 Special Talkers, 200 
 
 Specimens of Matrimonial Proposals, 219 
 Speculations Awakened by Gardening, 53 
 Speech, Discretion of, 31 1 
 Speeches at a Wedding Breakfast, 234 
 Spenser’s Sir Calidere, 18 
 Starting for the Palace too Early, 254 
 State Apartments, In the, 243 
 State Balls and Concerts, 249 
 State Ball Maxims, 303 
 Statute Fair, The, 46 
 Staying with a Friend, 109 
 Steele (Sir Richard) on the Marriage Life, 
 214 
 
 Stillingfleet on Politeness, 300 
 Stimulating the Brilliancy of the Eyes, Bad 
 Practice of, 273 
 
 Striving for the World’s Prizes, 321 
 Study (The) of Dress, 170 
 Study and Pastime, 284 
 Substitute (A) for Conversation, 202 
 Supercilious Shake of the Hand, 74 
 Superscription of Letters to Illustrious 
 Personages, 260 
 Supper, A Remarkable, 162 
 Surroundings, Influence of, 30 
 Suspicious Shake of the Hand, 74 
 Swift on Faults in Conversation, 200 
 ,, on Good Manners, 16 
 
334 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Sylphs more Popular than Female 
 Wranglers, 196 
 
 Sympathetic Shake of the Hand, 74 
 Sympathy, Visits of, 76 
 
 Tableau (A) at Windsor Castle Described, 
 93 
 
 Tableau-viv’ant, How to Arrange a, 94 
 Tableaux of Various Kinds, 93 
 
 ,, Scenes. suggested for, 93, 97 
 Table-talk, Some Hints upon, 204 
 Tact in Conversation, Want of, 147 
 Taking Wine, Maxims on, 294 
 Talk a Subject of Thought and Care, 209 
 ,, upon Small Subjects, 196 
 Talkers (Social), Hints to, 142, 190 
 Talking ‘ Shop,’ 207 
 Taylor (Jeremy) on Ambition, 322 
 Tennyson, Picture of a Gentleman, 5 
 ,, in his Island Home, 196 
 Teeth, On the Cleansing of, 267 
 Tertiary Colours, 181 
 Thackeray’s JPicture of a Gentleman, 4 
 ,, Picture of a Lady, 7 
 Three Distinct Classes of Exercise, 283 
 Titles, Hints about, 258 
 Toilette (The) a Proper Object of Attention, 
 
 276 
 
 ,, Useful Appliances of the, 274 
 Tones, Tints, Shades, and Hues, 182 
 Tooth-powders and Washes, 267 
 Topics of Conversation, 143 
 Tourniquet Shake of the Hand, 74 
 Traditional Rites on the Wedding-day, 235 
 'Presses (The) of the Poets’ Heroines, 268 
 Trifling Talk upon Trifles, 198 
 Trivialities of Etiquette, 137 
 'Proth (The) Plighted, 220 
 Trousseau, The Preparation of the, 126 
 Turkish Baths, 267 
 
 Understanding between Classes, A more 
 Cordial, 323 
 
 Uniforms at a Presentation, Preponderance 
 of, 244 
 
 Unpractised Actors, Faults of, 91 
 Unprotected Ladies, 292 
 Unselfishness, One Great Principle of, 50 
 Utility of Good Small Talk, 202 
 
 Vapidity of some Society Conversation, 
 198, 284 
 
 Variety of Exercise Recommended, 284 
 Ventilation of the Body, 267 
 
 Victorian Style of Furnishing and Decorat- 
 ing a House, 33 
 Village Feast, A, '45 
 Violin, About the, 22 
 Visiting-cards, All about, 58 
 Visitor, Duties of the, 79 
 Visits of Ceremony, 72 
 
 Sympathy — Congratulation or Con- 
 dolence, 76 
 
 Vitiation of the Breath, 272 
 Vulgarity of Would-be Refinement, 138 
 
 Waiters and Waiting, 122 
 Waiting to be Piesented, 243 
 Waldegrave’s (Countess) Dinners at Straw- 
 berry Hill, 1 12 
 
 Walking the Best Form of Exercise, 278 
 Walpole (Horace), Account of a Dinner at 
 Northumberland House, 37 
 ,, on Mankind, 57 
 
 Warning against Superfluous and Expensive 
 Household Work, 13 
 
 Waywardness in Dress, Ostentation of, 187 
 Wedding-Breakfast, The, 232 
 
 ,, Ceremony, Expenses of the, 229 
 ,, Dress, 236 
 
 ,, Favours, 231 
 
 ,, Guests, Selection of, 
 
 ,, Invitations, Remarks on, 228 
 
 ,, Presents, On the Selection of, 226 
 
 ,, Etiquette of the, 210 
 
 Well-administered Households a matter of 
 National Interest, 325 
 Well-appointed Households, 320 
 What to Drink at Dinner, 136 
 Where shall we Spend the Autumn ? 
 
 ‘ Whole Duty of Man ’ at Parties, 82 
 Wife, On the Choice of a, 212 
 Windsor Castle, Baron Bunsen’s Descrip- 
 tion of a Dinner at, 114 
 Wine-drinking, Maxims on, 296 
 Wines at Dinner, 136 
 Wit and Repartee, 201 
 Wit, Maxims upon, 305 
 Woman’s Greatest Personal Charm, 268 
 Women of the Present, Example of some, 12 
 Working Classes (The) and their Superiors, 
 323 
 
 World (The) without Music, 21 
 Worries and howto Treat them, 14 
 
 Younger Sons, Distinction of, 128 
 Young Men and Maidens, a Pleasant Sight 
 
 153 
 
 ‘ Zara,’ Amateur Performance of, 91 
 
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 ‘ It is pleasant to congratulate Mr. Ingram upon the close of his labours. Seldom has 
 
 a duty so arduous and necessary been performed with equal loyalty and zeal 
 
 Profoundly interesting from commencement to close is the biography now given to the 
 world. ’ — A t/iencBUfn, 
 
 THOMAS DE QUINCEY: His Life and Writings. With Unpub- 
 lished Correspondence. By H. A. Page, Author of * Memoir of Hawthorne,’ etc. 
 Second Edition, in two Volumes, crown 8vo., Roxburgh style, with Portrait, price 12s. 
 The Letters hi the Two Volumes comprise nearly One Hundred, from Mr. De 
 Quincey to his family, the Wordsworths, and others; and to him from Mr. Thoinas 
 Carlyle, Professor Wilson, and others. 
 
 ‘ Who that knows anything of recent literature, does not appreciate De Quincey as a 
 man that stands alone and unapproachable in his sphere, a sphere that is, in itself, a 
 magician’s island.’ — Henry Giles. 
 
 ‘ Decidedly, this Life of De Quincey is the best biography of the year in the English 
 language.’ — Vide Critical Notices. 
 
 ‘ The work is enriched by letters which his two surviving daughters have brought out of 
 
 long-closed repositories In taking leave of this creditable book, we thank 
 
 Mr. Page for Ms labour of love, and congratulate him on the collaboration that he has 
 been favoured with. We should add that there is, as frontispiece, an excellent likeness of 
 De Quincey, from a chalk drawing by Mr. Archer. It is far superior to any other pub- 
 lished portrait of him.’ — Times. 
 
 A HANDBOOK OF REFERENCE AND QUOTATION. 
 
 MOTTOES AND APHORISMS FROM SHAKESPEARE: 
 
 Alphabetically arranged : with a Copious Index of 9,000 references to the infinitely 
 varied Words and Ideas of the Mottoes. Any word or idea can be traced at once, 
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 further. Second Edition, fcap. 8vo., price 2s. 6d. 
 
 ‘ The collection is, we believe, unique of its kind It solves in a moment the 
 
 often difficult question of where a proverb, or aphorism, or quotation from Shakespeare can 
 be found.’ — Oxford Times. 
 
 ^ As neat a casket of Shakespearean gems as we ever remember havimg met with.’— 
 Public Opinion. 
 
 A PRACTICAL GUmE TO ENGLISH VERSIFICATION, 
 
 With a Compendious Dictionary of Rhymes, an Examination of Classical Measures, 
 and Comments upon Burlesque and Comic Verse, Vers de Society, and Song Writing. 
 By Tom Hood. A New and Enlarged Edition ; to which are added Bysshe’s 
 ‘RULES FOR MAKING ENGLISH VERSE,’ etc. Fcap. 8vo., cloth, price 2s. 6d. 
 
 ‘ A dainty little book on English Verse-making. The Dictionary of Rhymes will be 
 found one of the most complete and practical in our language.’— 
 
 V/OMAN’S WORK AND WORTH IN GIRLHOOD, MAIDEN- 
 HOOD, AND WIFEHOOD. Illustrations of Woman’s Character, Duties, Rights, 
 Position, Influence, Responsibilities, and Opportunities. With Hints on Self-Culture 
 and Chapters on the Higher Education and Employment of Women. By W. H. 
 Davenport Adams, Author of ‘ The Secret of Success,’ &c. Crown 8vo., 576 pp., 
 cloth, price 6s. 6d.; gilt edges, 7s. 
 
 ‘ A perfect gem ; full of information without being prosy, abounding in pleasan 
 anecdotes of literary persons, stories of filial love, heroic wives and husbands, together 
 with a concise amount of almost every artistic and literary woman from the earliest periods 
 o the present time.’ — Dundee Advertiser. 
 
 LONDON ; JOHN HOGG, 13, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C. ^ 
 
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