The American Gentleman's Guide to Politeness and Fashion Part 10

UNCLE HAL.

LETTER V.

MANNER--PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS.

MY DEAR NEPHEWS:

Though good breeding is always and everywhere essentially the same, there are phases of daily life, especially demanding its exhibition.

_Manner in the street_ is one of these.

Even in hours most exclusively devoted to business, do not allow yourself to hurry along with a clouded, absent face and bent head, as if you forever felt the foot of the earth-G.o.d on your neck! Carry an erect and open brow into the very midst of the heat and burden of the day.

Take time to see your friends, as they cross you in the busy thoroughfares of life and, at least by a pa.s.sing smile or a gesture of recognition, give token that you are not resolved into a mere money-making machine, and both will be better for this fleeting manifestation of the inner being.

During business hours and in crowded business-streets no man should ever stop another, whom he knows to be necessarily constantly occupied at such times, except upon a matter of urgent need, and then if he alone is to be benefited by the detention, he should briefly apologize and state his errand in as few words as possible.

But the habit of a cheerful tone of voice, a cordial smile, and friendly grasp of the hand, when meeting those with whom one is a.s.sociated in social life, is not to be regarded as unimportant.

If you do not intend to stop, when meeting a gentleman friend, recognize him as you approach, by a smile, and touching your hat salute him audibly with--"Good morning, sir," or "I hope you are well, sir," or (more familiarly), "Ah, Charley!--good morning to you." But don't say, "How d' ye do, sir," when you cannot expect to learn, nor call back as you pa.s.s, something that will cause him to linger, uncertain what you say.

If you wish to stop a moment, especially in a thoroughfare, retain the hand you take, while you retire a little out of the human current; and never fall into the absurdity of attempting to draw a tight or moistened glove while another waits the slow process. It is better to offer the gloved hand as a rule, without apology, in the street.

If you are compelled to detain a friend, when he is walking with a stranger, briefly but politely apologize to the stranger, and keep no one "in durance vile" longer than absolute necessity requires. When thus circ.u.mstanced yourself, respond cheerfully and courteously to the apologetic phrase offered, and, drawing a little aside, occupy yourself with anything beside the private conversation that interrupts your walk. Sometimes circ.u.mstances render it decorous to pa.s.s on with some courteous phrase, to step into some neighboring bookseller's, etc., or to make a rapid appointment for a re-union. Cultivate the quick discernment, the ready tact, that will engender _ease of manner_ under those and similar circ.u.mstances requiring prompt action.

Never leave a friend suddenly in the street, either to join another, or for any other reason, without an apology; the briefest phrase, expressed in a _cordial tone_, will suffice, in an emergency.

Upon pa.s.sing servants, or other inferiors in station, whom you wish to recognize, in the street, it is a good practice, without bowing or touching the hat, to salute them in a kindly voice.

When you meet a gentleman whom you know, walking with one or more ladies, with whom you are not acquainted, bow with grave respect to them also.

Politeness requires that upon meeting ladies and gentlemen together, with both of whom one is acquainted, that one should lift the hat as he approaches them, and bowing first to the ladies, include the gentleman in a sweeping motion, or a succeeding bow, as the case permits. Should you stop, speak first to the lady, but do not offer to shake hands with a lady in full morning costume, should your glove be dark-colored or your hand uncovered. Again lift your hat to each, in succession of age or rank, as a subst.i.tute for this dubious civility, with some playful expression, as "I am sorry my glove is not quite fresh, Mrs. ----, but you need no a.s.surance of my being always the most devoted of your friends" or "admirers," or "Really, Miss ----, you are so beautifully dressed, and looking so charmingly, that I dare not venture too near!"

And as you part, again take your hat quite off, letting the party _pa.s.s you_, and on the wall side of the street, if that be practicable.

In the street with other men, carefully give that precedence to superior age or station which is so becoming in the young, by taking the outer side of the pavement, or that nearer the counter current, as circ.u.mstances may make most polite. When you give, or have an arm, carefully avoid all erratic movements, and _keep step_, like a well-trained soldier!

Towards _ladies_, in the streets, the most punctilious observance of politeness is due. Walking with them, one should, of course, a.s.sume the relative position best adapted to protect them from inconvenience or danger, and carefully note and relieve them from the approach of either.

In attending them into a store, &c., always give them precedence, holding the door open from without, if practicable. If compelled to pa.s.s before them, to attend to this courtesy, say, "allow me," or "with your permission," etc. Meeting ladies, the hat should be taken off as you bow, and replaced when you have pa.s.sed, or, if you pause to address them, politely raised again as you quit them.

When you are stopped by a lady friend in the street, at once place yourself so as best to shield her from the throng, if you are in a crowd, or from pa.s.sing vehicles, etc., and never by your manner indicate either surprise or embarra.s.sment upon such an occasion. Allow _her_ to terminate the interview, and raise your hat quite off as you take leave of her.

When a stranger lady addresses an inquiry to you in the street, or when you restore something she has inadvertently dropped, touch your hat ceremoniously, and with some phrase or _accent_ of respect, add grace to a civility.

If you have occasion to speak more than a word or two to a lady whom you may meet in walking, turn and accompany her while you say what you wish, and, taking off your hat, when you withdraw, express your regret at losing the further enjoyment of her society, or the like.

If you wish to join a lady whom you see before you, be careful in hurrying forward not to incommode her (or others, indeed), and do not speak so hurriedly, or loudly, as to startle her, or arrest attention, and should you have only a slight acquaintance with her, say, as you a.s.sume a position at her side, "With your permission, madam, I will attend you," or "Give me leave to join your walk, Miss ----" etc.

Of course, no well-bred man ever risks the possibility of intrusion in this way, or ever speaks first to a lady to whom he has only had a pa.s.sing introduction. In the latter case, you look at a lady as you advance towards her, and await her recognition.

Speaking of an intrusion, you should be well a.s.sured that you will not make an _awkward third_ before you venture to attach yourself to a lady and gentleman walking together, though you may even know them very well; and the same rule holds good in a picture-gallery, rococo-shop, or elsewhere, when two persons, or a party, sit or walk together.

Every man is bound by the laws of courtesy, to note any street accident that imperils ladies, and at once to hasten to render such service as the occasion requires. Prompt.i.tude and self-possession may do good service to humanity and the fair, at such a juncture.

Should you observe ladies whom you know, unattended by a gentleman, alighting from or entering a carriage, especially if there is no footman, and the driver maintains his seat, at once advance, hold the door open, and offer your hand, or protect a dress from the wheel, or the like, and bowing, pa.s.s on, all needed service rendered; or, if more familiarity and your own wish sanction it, accompany them where they may chance to be entering.

No general rule can be laid down respecting offering the arm to ladies in the street. Where persons are known and reside habitually, local custom will usually be the best guide. At night, the arm should always be tendered, and so in ascending the multiplied steps of a public building, etc., for equally obvious reasons. For similar cause, you go before ladies into church, into a crowded concert-room, etc., wherever, in short, they are best aided in securing seats, and escaping jostling, by this precedence of them. When attending a stranger lady, in visiting the noted places of your own city, or the like, and when one of a party for a long walk, or of travellers, it may often be an imperative civility to proffer the arm. To relatives, or elderly ladies, this is always a proper courtesy, as it is to every woman, when you can thus most effectually secure her safety or her comfort.

Do not forget, when walking with elderly people, or ladies, to moderate the headlong speed of your usual step.

I will here enter my most emphatic protest against a practice of which ladies so justly complain,--the too-frequent rudeness of men in stationing themselves at the entrance of churches, concert-rooms, opera houses, etc., for the express purpose, apparently, of staring every modest woman who may chance to enter, out of countenance. No one possessed of true good-breeding will indulge in a practice so at variance with propriety. If occasion demands your thus remaining stationary upon the steps or in the portico of a public edifice, make room, at once, for ladies who may be entering, and avoid any appearance of curiosity regarding them. A similar course is suitable when occupying a place upon the steps, or at the windows of a pump-room at a watering-place, or of a hotel. Carefully avoid all semblance of staring at ladies pa.s.sing in the street, alighting from a carriage, etc., and make no comment, even of a complimentary nature, in a voice that can possibly reach their ears. So, when walking in the street, if beauty or grace attract your attention, let your regard be respectful, and, even then, not too fixed. An audible comment or exclamation, addressed to a companion, a laugh, a familiar stare, are each and all, when any stranger, and more especially a _woman_, is the subject of them, unhandsome in the extreme.

Breakfasting one morning, at West Point, with an agreeable Portuguese, we chatted for some time over the newspapers and our coffee, as we sat within view of one of the most beautiful landscapes it has ever been my fortune to behold. At length our _un-American_ indulgence in this respect, became the theme of conversation between us.

"Pardon me," said the elegant foreigner, "but though the Americans are very kind--a very pleasant people, they do not take enough of time for these things, at all. They do not only eat in a hurry, but they even _pa.s.s their friends_ in the street, sometimes, _without speaking to them_! I remember last winter, in Philadelphia, where I was some months, I met one day, in Chestnut street, a gentleman whom I knew very well, and he pa.s.sed me without speaking. I made up my mind at once, that this shall not happen again, so the next time I saw him coming, I looked into a shop window, or at something, and did not see him. He came to me and said--"Good morning, Mr. A----! what is the matter with you, that you do not speak to me?" or something like that. I answered, that he had _cut_ me in the street (I think that is what you call it!) two or three days before, and that I never will permit myself to be treated in this manner. Then he said, that I must excuse him, that he must have been _in business_ and did not see me, and so on. But this is not the way of a _gentleman_ in my country!"

You must imagine for yourselves the double effect, lent to the words of my companion by his foreign action and imperfect p.r.o.nunciation, and the slight curl of his dark moustache as he emphasized the words I have underscored.

"What a harum-scarum fellow that James Condon is!" exclaimed a young lady, in my hearing. "I had reason to repent declining to drive to the concert last night, I a.s.sure you! The moon, upon which I had counted, was obscured, and he not only hurried me along (though we had plenty of time, as I was quite ready when he came), at breathless speed, but actually dragged me over a heap of rubbish, in crossing the street, upon which I nearly tumbled down, though I had his arm. When we reached the place, I was so heated and flurried that I could not half enjoy the music, and this morning I find not only that my handsome new boots are completely spoiled, but that I have any quant.i.ty of lime upon the bottom of the dress I wore, and my pretty fan, which he must needs insist upon carrying for me, sadly broken!"

"I have seen everything and everybody I wish, in London, except the Duke of Wellington," said a sprightly lady whose early morning walk past Apsley House--the town residence of the Iron Duke--I was attending some years since, "every distinguished man, except the Hero of Waterloo. I hope I shall not lose that pleasure!"

"You may have that pleasure now, madam!" exclaimed a gentleman, pa.s.sing us and rapidly walking forward, in whose erect figure and very narrow brimmed hat, I at once recognized the object of my companion's. .h.i.therto unsatisfied curiosity.

Strolling in Kensington Park, during that same morning, and at an hour too unfashionably early for a crowd, with my fair charge, I drew her gently aside, as she leaned on my arm, from some slight obstruction in our path, which she did not observe, and which might otherwise have incommoded her.

"Really Colonel Lunettes," said she, "your watchful politeness reminds me of my dear father's. You gentlemen of the old school so much surpa.s.s modern beaux in courtesy! I well remember the last walk I had in Broadway with papa, before we sailed. Mrs. W---- and I were making a morning visit, quite up town for us Brooklynites--in Union Place, upon a bride, when who should also arrive but papa. When we took leave, he accompanied us, and finding that we had taken a fancy to walk all the way to the ferry, insisted upon going with us--only think, at his age, and so luxurious in his habits, too! As he is a little hard of hearing, and likes always to talk with Mrs. W----, who is a great favorite of his, I insisted upon his walking between us--that I might have his arm, and yet not interfere with his conversation. This, of course, brought me on the outside. But I cannot describe to you the watchful care he had for me, all the way. At the slightest crowding he held me so firmly--saw every swerve of the vehicles towards us, and would hold my dress away from every rough box or so, that lumbered the sidewalk, and every now and then he would say--'Minnie, wouldn't you be more comfortable on my other arm? I am afraid you will be hurt there!' At the Brooklyn ferry he was to leave us, as he could not go over to dine that day. Seeing a crowd at the door of the office, he hastened a little before us to pay the fare, and then saw us safely through the press, taking leave of me as politely as of Mrs. W----. 'What an elegant gentleman your father is!' cried out Mrs. W----, as soon as he was gone, 'he always reminds me of the descriptions we read of the chivalrous courtesy of knights of olden time; it is like listening to a heroic ballad to be with him, and receive his politeness.' I know you won't laugh at me, Colonel, when I say that the memory of that simple incident is still as fresh in my heart, as though no ocean voyage and long travel had come between; and I can truly say that I was prouder of my _cavalier attendant_ that day, than I ever was of all the young men together, who ever walked Broadway, with me." The tremulous tones, the glistening eyes, and the glowing cheeks of the fair young speaker attested the truth of her filial boast, and I--but you must draw your own morals!

Presently we resumed our chat, and the theme of the moment together.

"I well recollect," said my companion, in the course of our discussion, "the impression produced upon me, in my girlhood, by the manners of a young gentleman, who was my groomsman at the wedding of a young friend.

Some of the lessons of good breeding taught me by his example, I shall never forget, I think. I was the most bashful creature in the world at that time, and he quite won my heart by the politeness with which he set me at ease, at once, when he came to take me away in a carriage to join my young friends. But that was not the point: the next morning after the wedding, we were all to attend the 'happy pair' as far as Saratoga, on their wedding-tour; that is, the bridesmaids and bridesmen. At Schenectady, we were put into an old-fashioned car, divided into compartments. Just as we were about to start, a singularly tall, gaunt, Yankeefied-looking elderly woman scrambled into our little box of a place, and seated herself. We were fairly off, before she seemed fully to realize the trials of her new position. She did not say, in the language of the popular song,

'I think there must be danger 'Mong so many sparks!'

but she looked as though she feared having fallen among the Philistines; and, I am ashamed to say that some of our merry party made no scruple of privately amusing themselves with her peculiarities of dress and manner.

Mr. Henry, however (my groomsman), addressed some polite remarks to her, in so grave and respectful a manner as soon to convince her of his sincerity, and as carefully watched the sparks that fell upon her thick worsted gown, as those that annoyed the rest of us. At the first stopping-place, you may be very sure that the unwilling intruder was in haste to change her seat.

"'Do you wish to get out, madam!' inquired Mr. Henry; 'allow me to help you;' and bounding out, he a.s.sisted her down the high step, as carefully and respectfully as though she were some high dame of rank and fashion.

I am afraid that, though I did not actually join in the merriment of my thoughtless friends, I deserved the sting of conscience that served to fasten this little incident so firmly in my remembrance. Perhaps I was, for this reason, the more impressed by another proof of the ever-ready politeness of this gentleman, who made such an impression upon my girlish fancy. We dined at b.a.l.l.ston, on our way to Saratoga, and after dinner, I asked Mr. Henry, with whom, in spite of my first awe of his superiority of years and polish, I began to feel quite at ease, to run down with me to one of the Springs, for a gla.s.s of water, before we should resume our journey. So he good-naturedly left the gentlemen (_now_ I know that he may have wished to smoke) together at the table, and accompanied me. But now for my _denoument_. Just as we were in a narrow place, between a high, steep bank and the track, the cars came rushing towards us. In an instant, _quicker_ than thought, Mr. Henry had transferred me from the arm next the cars--because more removed from the edge of the bank--to the other arm, thus placing his person between me and any pa.s.sing danger, and with such a quiet, re-a.s.suring manner! You smile, Colonel--but, really--well, you see what an impression it made upon my youthful sensibilities!"