How to Behave: A Pocket Manual of Republican Etiquette, and Guide to Correct Personal Habits by Samuel Roberts Wells (read the beginning after the end novel .txt) 📕

But John is waiting, hat in hand, to hear what we have to say respecting his case.

We say that John was wrong in not taking off his hat voluntarily, but that the feeling which prevented his doing so was right. He was right in feeling that the accidental circumstance of his being a hired man gave his employer no claim to any special mark of respect from him; and, as he considered that the removal of his hat would have been a special mark of respect, and thus an acknowledgment of social inferiority, he declined to make that acknowledgment. But John was mistaken. The act referred to would not have borne such an interpretation. John ought to have felt that on coming into the presence of a man, a fellow-citizen and co-sovereign, and particularly on entering his abode, one of the innumerable royal residences of the country, some visible sign of respect, some kind of deferential salutation, is due from the person entering. John should have risen superior to the mere accident of his position, and remembered only that he and his employer were men and equals. The positions of the two men might be reversed in a day; their equality as men and citizens, nothing but crime could affect.—James Parton.

Some of the many errors which are liable to be committed through ignorance of usage, are pleasantly pointed out in the following story, which is related by a French writer:

The Abbé Cosson, professor in the Collége Mazarin, thoroughly accomplished in the art of teaching, saturated with Greek, Latin, and literature, considered himself a perfect well of science: he had no conception that a man who knew all Persius and Horace by heart could possibly commit an error—above all, an error at table. But it was not long before he discovered his mistake. One day, after dining with the Abbé de Radonvilliers at Versailles, in company with several courtiers and marshals of France; he was boasting of the rare acquaintance with etiquette and custom which he had exhibited at dinner. The Abbé Delille, who heard this eulogy upon his own conduct, interrupted his harangue by offering to wager that he had committed at least a hundred improprieties at the table. "How is it possible?" exclaimed Cosson. "I did exactly like the rest of the company."

"What absurdity!" said the other. "You did a thousand things which no one else did. First, when you sat down at the table, what did you do with your napkin?" "My napkin! why, just what everybody else did with theirs. I unfolded it entirely, and fastened it to my button-hole." "Well, my dear friend," said Delille, "you were the only one that did that, at all events. No one hangs up his napkin in that style; they are contented with placing it on their knees. And what did you do when you took soup?" "Like the others, I believe. I took any spoon in one hand and my fork in the other—" "Your fork! Who ever ate soup with a fork? But to proceed: after your soup, what did you eat?" "A fresh egg." "And what did you do with the shell?" "Handed it to the servant who stood behind my chair." "Without breaking it, of course?" "Well, my dear Abbé, nobody ever eats an egg without breaking the shell." "And after your egg—?" "I asked the Abbé Radonvilliers to send me a piece of the hen near him." "Bless my soul! a piece of the hen! You never speak of hens excepting in the barn-yard. You should have asked for fowl, or chicken. But you say nothing of your mode of drinking." "Like all the rest, I asked for claret and champagne." "Let me inform you, then, that persons always ask for claret wine and champagne wine. But tell me, how did you eat your bread?" "Surely I did that properly. I cut it with my knife in the most regular manner possible." "Bread should always be broken, not cut. But the coffee, how did you manage it?" "It was rather too hot, and I poured a little of it into my saucer." "Well, you committed here the greatest fault of all. You should never pour your coffee into the saucer, but always drink it from the cup." The poor Abbé was confounded. He felt that though one might be master of the seven sciences, yet that there was another species of knowledge which, if less dignified, was equally important.

This occurred many years ago, but there is not one of the observances neglected by the Abbé Cosson which is not enforced with equal rigidness in the present day.

Lord Hardwicke's family consists of his countess, his eldest son (about eighteen or twenty, Lord Royston by courtesy), three of the finest-looking daughters you ever saw, and several younger sons. The daughters—Lady Elizabeth, Lady Mary, and Lady Agnita—are surpassingly beautiful; such development—such rosy cheeks, laughing eyes, and unaffected manners—you rarely see combined. They take a great deal of out-door exercise, and came aboard the Merrimac, in a heavy rain, with Irish shoes thicker soled than you or I ever wore, and cloaks and dresses almost impervious to wet. They steer their father's yacht, walk the Lord knows how many miles, and don't care a cent about rain, besides doing a host of other things that would shock our ladies to death; and yet in the parlor are the most elegant looking women, in their satin shoes and diamonds, I ever saw.... After dinner the ladies play and sing for us, and the other night they got up a game of blind-man's-buff; in which the ladies said we had the advantage, inasmuch as their "petticoats rustled so that they were easily caught." They call things by their names here. In the course of the game, Lord Hardwicke himself was blindfolded, and, trying to catch some one, fell over his daughter's lap on the floor, when two or three of the girls caught him by the legs and dragged his lordship—roaring with laughter, as we all were—on his back into the middle of the floor. Yet they are perfectly respectful, but appear on a perfect equality with each other.—Letter from an Officer of the "Merrimac."

"Speaking of not speaking," said I, when the general amusement had abated, "reminds me of an amusing little scene that I once witnessed in the public parlor of a New England tavern, where I was compelled to wait several hours for a stage-coach. Presently there entered a bustling, sprightly-looking little personage, who, after frisking about the room, apparently upon a tom of inspection, finally settled herself very comfortably in the large cushioned rocking-chair—the only one in the room—and was soon, as I had no reason to doubt, sound asleep. It was not long, however, before a noise of some one entering aroused her, and a tall, gaunt, old Yankee woman, hung around with countless bags, bonnet-boxes, and nondescript appendages of various sizes and kinds, presented herself to our vision. After slowly relieving herself of the numberless incumbrances that impeded her progress in life, she turned to a young man who accompanied her, and said, in a tone so peculiarly shrill that it might have been mistaken, at this day, for a railroad whistle—

"'Now, Jonathan, don't let no grass grow under your feet while you go for them toothache drops; I am a'most crazy with pain!' laying a hand upon the affected spot as she spoke; 'and here,' she called out, as the door was closing upon her messenger, 'just get my box filled at the same time,' diving with her disengaged hand into the unknown depths of, seemingly, the most capacious of pockets, and bringing to light a shining black box of sufficient size to hold all the jewels of a modern belle. 'I thought I brought along my snuff-bladder, but I don't know where I put it, my head is so stirred up.'

"By this time the little woman in the rocking-chair was fairly aroused, and rising, she courteously offered her seat to the stranger, her accent at once betraying her claim to be ranked with the politest of nations (a bow, on my part, to the fair foreigner in the group). With a prolonged stare, the old woman coolly ensconced herself in the vacated seat, making not the slightest acknowledgment of the civility she had received. Presently she began to groan, rocking herself furiously at the same time. The former occupant of the stuffed chair, who had retired to a window and perched herself in one of a long row of wooden seats, hurried to the sufferer. 'I fear, madame,' said she, 'that you suffare ver' much—vat can I do for you?' The representative of Yankeedom might have been a wooden clock-case for all the response she made to this amiable inquiry, unless her rocking more furiously than ever might be construed into a reply.

"The little Frenchwoman, apparently wholly unable to class so anomalous a specimen of humanity, cautiously retreated.

"Before I was summoned away, the toothache drops and the snuff together (both administered in large doses) seemed to have gradually produced the effect of oil poured upon troubled waters.

"The sprightly Frenchwoman again ventured upon the theater of action.

"'You find yourself now much improved, madame?' she asked, with considerable vivacity. A very slight nod was the only answer.

"'And you feel dis fauteuil really very com-for-ta-ble?' pursued the little woman, with augmented energy of voice. Another nod was just discernible.

"No intonation of mine can do justice to the very ecstasy of impatience with which the pertinacious questioner actually screamed out:

"'Bien, madame, vil you say so, if you please?'