The American Gentleman's Guide to Politeness and Fashion Part 15

"'I will try, love,' he replied, 'for I am so cold!'

"'I will ask that man for his chair,' I whispered. Poor Ernest! his eyes flashed. 'No! No!' said he, 'if he has not the decency to offer it, you shall not speak to him!'

"Of course, I would not irritate him by opposition, but placed an ordinary chair before the fire, and, supporting him into it, held his head on my shoulder, while I chafed his benumbed hands. In the meanwhile, the wail of the baby did not help to quiet us, nor to shorten the time of waiting; and it seemed as if John would never make his appearance, nor the room I had ordered be prepared. By my direction, nurse rang the bell. I inquired of the very placid individual who answered it, whether the room was ready for us, and upon being told that they were making the fire, entreated the emblem of serenity to hasten operations, and at once to bring me a cup of hot tea. Minutes seemed hours to me, as you may suppose, and the dull eyes that were fastened upon us from the centre of the stuffed chair, I so longed for, really made me nervous. I felt as though it might be some horrid ghoul, rather than anything human, thus looking upon our misery. 'Good G----, Lu!'

said Ernest, at last, 'isn't the bed ready yet?'

"I could bear it no longer. Gently withdrawing my support from the weary, weary head, I flew to my boy, s.n.a.t.c.hed him from nurse, and signifying my design to her, we united our powers, and, laying baby on the sofa, we succeeded in pushing it up to the side of the fire-place.

Then, while I hushed the child on my breast, we piled up our wrappings and placed my husband upon the couch, so as to rest his poor wounded frame (you know, Colonel, his spine was injured). The groan, half of relief and half of torture, that broke from his lips, as he rested his head, was like to be the 'last straw' that broke my heart--but the soldier's wife! How often did I repeat to myself, during that long journey:

'Remember thou'rt a _soldier's wife_, Those tears but ill become thee!'

"Well! by this time, John made his appearance, and, consigning his master temporarily to his care, I took nurse with me, and went to see what a woman's ready hand could do in expediting matters elsewhere. When showed to the room we were expected to occupy, I found it so filled with smoke, and so dreadfully cold, as to be wholly uninhabitable, and in despair sent for the steward, or whoever he was, to whom I had given directions at first. No other room with two beds could be secured. By the glimmering light of the small lamp in the hand of the Irishman, who was laboring with the attempt at a fire, I investigated a little; the smouldering coals belched forth volumes of smoke into my face. Nothing daunted by this ('twas not the 'smoke of battle,' though I felt as though in the midst of a conflict of life and death), I bade the man remove the blower. Behold the draught closed by the strip of stone sometimes used for that purpose, after a hard coal fire is fully ignited! I think, Colonel, you would have admired the laconic, imperiously cool tone and manner with which I speedily effected the removal of the entire ma.s.s of cold hard coal, subst.i.tuted for it, light, dry wood, and covering up my boy, as he still rested in my arms, dissipated the smoke that contended with the close, shut-up sort of air in the room, for disagreeability, by opening the windows, had the most comfortable looking of the beds drawn near the fire, and opened to air and warm, ordered up the trunks we wanted, opened them, hung a warm flannel dressing-gown near the fire, placed his slippers and everything else Ernest would want just _where_ they would be wanted, near the best chair I could secure, and the table that was to receive his supper when he should be ready for it, and, in short _put the matter through_, as Ernest would say, with the speed of desperation. It was wonderful how quickly all this, and more, was effected by the people about me chiefly through my ability to tell them exactly what to do and how to do it.

Excuse me if I boast; it was the deep calmness of despair that inspired me! _Now_ I can smile at the look of blank amazement with which Paddy received my announcement of the necessity of taking out all the coals from the grate, before he could hope to kindle a fire, and the stare of the _man of affairs_ for the D---- House, as he entered upon the field of my efforts to say that tea was ready."

"There is but one step from the sublime to the ridiculous!" I exclaimed, laughing, in spite of my sympathy with my fair friend. "And what became of the barbarian in the large chair?"

"Oh, when I returned to the parlor to have Ernest removed to our own room, there he sat, still, lolling comfortably back in his chair, with his hat on, and his feet laid up before him, and apparently as much occupied as ever in staring at the strangers, and no more

'On hospitable thoughts intent'

than when I quitted the room, the horrid ghoul! I was so rejoiced to escape with my treasures safe from his blighting gaze! But now for the _moral_ of my story, dear Colonel, for every story has its moral, I suppose,--John, Ernest's man, told nurse, who, by the way, was so highly indignant on the occasion, as to a.s.sure me afterwards, that if she had been a man, she'd have just pitched the selfish brute beast out of the chair, and taken it for Mr. V----, without so much as a 'by your leave.'"----

I could not refrain from interrupting Mrs. ---- to say that I thought I should have been sorely tempted to some such act myself, under the circ.u.mstances.

"Yes," pursued Mrs. V----, "nurse still recurs to that 'awful cold night in A----' with an invariable malediction upon the '_bad speret_ as kept the chair.' But, as I was saying, John told her afterwards that the ghoul asked him who that sick gentleman was, and said that his wife appeared to be in so much trouble that he should have offered to help her along a little, but he _wasn't acquainted with her_!"

"Uncle Hal, isn't an artist _a gentleman_?" inquired Blanche of me one morning, during a recent visit to our great Commercial Metropolis, as the newspaper writers call it. "What do you mean, child," said I, "you cannot mean to ask whether artists _rank as gentlemen_ in society, for that does not admit of question." I saw there was something troubling her, the moment she came down, for she did not welcome her old uncle with her usual sparkling smile, though she snugged close up to me on the sofa, and kept my hand in both of hers, while we were arranging some matters about which I had called.

"Is not an _engraver_ an artist?" she inquired, with increased earnestness of tone. "Does not an engraver who has a large _atelier_, numbers of _employes_, and does all kinds of beautiful prints, heads, and landscapes, and elegant figures, take rank in social life with other gentlemen?"

"Certainly, my dear; but tell me what you are thinking of; what troubles you my child?"

"Well, you remember, dear uncle, perhaps, the young orphan boy in whom papa and all of us used to be so interested the summer you spent with us, long ago, when we were all children at home. He is now established in this city, after years of struggle with difficulties that would have crushed a less n.o.ble spirit, and his sisters, for whom he has always provided, in a great degree, though at the cost of almost incredible self-denial, as I happen to know, are now nearly prepared for teachers.

We have always retained our interest in them all; and they always make us a visit when they are at D----. Indeed, papa always says he knows few young men for whom he entertains so high a regard; and I am sure he is very good-looking, and though he may not be very fashionable,--you needn't smile, uncle Hal, I"----

"My dear, I am charmed with your sketch, and shall go, at once, and have my old visage engraved by your handsome artist-friend; and when I publish my auto-biography, it shall be accompanied by a 'portrait of the author,' superbly engraved by a 'celebrated artist.'"

"He _is_ celebrated, uncle, really; you have no idea of the vast number of orders he has from all parts of the country, nor how beautifully he gets up everything. But I must tell you," proceeded the sensitive little thing, with more cheerfulness, for I had succeeded in my design of cheering her up a little--"Mr. Zousky--Henry, as we always call him, has been engraving the head of one of our friends at home for a literary affair--some biographical book, or something of that sort, and he came up to show me one of the 'first impressions,' as I think he calls them, and to bring a message from his sister, last evening--wishing me to '_criticise_,' he told me, as he had nothing but rather an indifferent daguerreotype to copy from. It was just before tea that he called--because he is busy all day, I suppose, and perhaps, he thought he should be sure of finding me, then. Indeed, he said something about fearing to intrude later, when there might be other visitors--he is the most sensitive and un.o.btrusive being! Well, just as we were having a nice little chat about old times at D----, cousin Charles came home and came into the parlor. Of course, he knows Henry very well, for he has seen him often and often at our house, when he used to be there in vacations with my brothers; and, indeed, once before Henry came here to live, was one of a party of us, who went to his little studio, to see his self-taught paintings and sketches. When he entered the room, I said, 'cousin Charles, our friend Mr. Zousky does not need an introduction to you, I am sure.' I cannot describe his manner. I did not so much mind its being cold and indifferent, but it was not that of _an equal_--of one gentleman to another, and without sitting down, even for a moment, he walked back to the dining-room, and I heard him ask the servant whether tea was ready. Henry rose in a moment, and took my hand to say good-bye--oh, uncle, I cannot tell you how hurt I was! His voice was as low and gentle as ever, but his face betrayed him! I know he noticed cousin Charles' manner. I was determined that he should not go away so; so I didn't get up, but drew him to a seat by me on the sofa, and said that he must not go yet, unless he had an engagement, for that I had not half done telling him what I wished, and rattled on, hardly knowing what I _did_ say, for I was so grieved and mortified. He said he would come again, as it was my tea-time, but I insisted that my tea was of no consequence, and that I much preferred talking to a friend--all the while hoping that either cousin Maria or cousin Charles would come and invite him to take tea. Presently I heard cousin Maria come down, and then the gla.s.s doors were closed between the rooms, and I knew they were at tea. Why, uncle Hal, papa would no more have done such a thing in _his_ house, than he would have robbed some one! What! wound the feelings of any one for fear of not being '_genteel!_' that's the word, I suppose--I hear cousin Maria use it very often! We were always taught by dear mamma, while she lived, to be particularly polite and attentive to those who might not be as happy or prosperous as ourselves. She used to say that fashionable and distinguished people were the least likely to observe those things, but that the sensitive and self-distrustful were apt to be almost morbidly alive to every indication of neglect.

'Never brush rudely by the human sensitive plant, my dears,' she used to say, 'lest you should bruise the tender leaves; and never forget that it most needs the _sunshine of smiles_!' Dear mamma! she used to be so polite to Henry--not _patronizing_, but so friendly, so considerate--always she put him at ease when there was other company at our house (though he never came in when he knew there were other visitors), and she used to do so many kind things to a.s.sist his first efforts in his art! I only hope he understood that _I_ have no rights here. I am sure I _feel_ that I have not! But I would rather be treated a hundred times over again as I was last night, myself, than to have Henry's feelings wounded; still, I must say that I should not think, because she happened to be detained past the exact tea-hour, of sending away the tea-things and keeping cold slops in a pitcher for any guest in _my_ house, if I had one"----

"Hush, Blanche! I never heard you talk so indiscreetly before!"

"Well, I don't care! Papa _made_ me come here to stay, because he said they had visited us, and came out to Bel's wedding, and all; but I do so wish I was at the St. Nicholas with you and the Clarks, uncle, dear!

Cousin Charles ain't like himself since he married his fashionable New York wife; even when he comes to pa's he isn't, though _there_ he throws off his cold, ceremonious manner somewhat. But I really feel as if I was in a straight-jacket here!"

"Why, Blanche, what's the trouble? I am sure everything is very elegant and fashionable here!"

"Yes, too elegant and fashionable for poor little me! I am not used to that, and don't care for it. I'd rather have a little more friendliness and sociability than all the splendor. I am constantly reminded of my utter insignificance; and you know, uncle, poor Blanche is spoiled, as you often say, and not used to being reduced to a mere nonent.i.ty!"

With this the silly child actually began to cry, and when I tried to soothe her, only sobbed out, in broken words: "I wouldn't be such a goose as to mind it, if Henry Zousky had not been treated so so, so--_so--fash-ion-a-bly_!"

Looking over some letters from a sprightly correspondent of mine, the other day, I laid aside one from which I make the following extract, as apposite to my subject:

"You asked me to give you some account of the social position, etc., and an idea of the husband of your former favorite, M---- S----. 'What is Dr. J---- like?' you inquire:--Like nothing in heaven above, or in the earth beneath, I answer; and, therefore, he might be worshipped without a violation of the injunction of the Decalogue! How such a vivacious creature as M---- S---- came to tie herself for life to such a mule, pa.s.ses my powers of solution. Dr. J---- is very accomplished in his profession, for a young man, I hear, and much respected for his professional capacity--but socially he is--_nothing!_--the merest cipher conceivable! A man may be _very quiet_ at home, now-a-days, and yet pa.s.s muster; but there are times when he _must act_, as it seems to me; but M----'s husband seems to be a _man of one idea_, and that never, seemingly, suggests the duties of host. But you shall judge for yourself.--While I was in A----, we were all invited there one evening, to meet a bride, an old friend of M----'s, stopping in town on her marriage tour. M---- said it was too early in the season for a large party, and that we were expected quite _en famille_; but it was, in reality, quite an occasion, nevertheless, as the bride and her party were fashionable Bostonians. I happened to be near the hostess, when _the_ guests of the evening entered. She received them with her usual _Frenchy_ ease and playfulness of manner, and it seemed that the gentleman was an old friend of hers, but did not know her husband. He expressed the hope that Dr. J----'s professional duties would not deprive them of his society the whole evening, as he much desired the pleasure of his acquaintance. I saw, by the heightening of her color, that M----, woman of the world though she be, felt the unintended sarcasm of this polite language; for Dr. J. was calmly ensconced in the deep recess of a large _fauteuil_ in the corner of the fire-place, apparently enjoying the glowing coal-fire that always adds its cheerful influence to the elegant belongings of M----'s splendid drawing-room.

Throughout the entire evening our effigy of a host kept his post, where we found him on entering. People went to him, chatted a while, and moved away; we danced, refreshments were served, wine was quaffed,

'All went merry as a marriage bell;'

M---- glided about from group to group, with an appropriate word, or courteous attention for each one, and, in addition to the flowers that adorned the rooms, presented the bride of her old friend with an exquisite bouquet, saying, in her pretty way, that she would have been delighted to receive her in a bower of roses, when she learned from Mr.

---- how much she liked flowers, but that Flora was in a pet with her since she had given up her old conservatory at her father's. As the evening waned, I observed her weariness, despite the hospitable smile; and well she might be! Several times she slipped away to her babe; once, when I stood near her, she started slightly: 'I thought I heard a _nursery-cry_,' she whispered to me, 'my little boy is not well to-night;' and I missed her soon after. When I went away, I, of course, sought the master of the house to say good-night. He half rose, with a half smile, in recognition of my adieu, and re-settled himself, apparently wholly unconscious of any possible occasion for further effort! But the climax, in true epic style, was reserved for the _finale_. It was a frightfully stormy night, and when we came down to the street door to go away, there stood M----, in her thin dress, the cold wind and sleet-rain rushing in when the door was opened, enough to carry away her fairy figure, _seeing off her friend and his bride_!"

"My dear Miss C----," exclaimed a gentleman after listening to the complaint of a lady who had just been charging the lords of creation with the habitual discourtesy of retaining their hats when speaking to ladies, in stores and shops, as well as in public halls and even in the drawing-room; "My dear Miss C----, don't you know that 'Young America'

_always wears his hat and boots whenever he can_?"

"Does he _sleep in them_?" inquired the lady.

"Well, my dears," I overheard a high-bred and exceedingly handsome man inquiring of two lovely English girls, on board a steamer the other day, "how did you succeed in your efforts to dine to-day? I will not again permit you to be separated from your aunt and me, if we find the table ever so crowded."

"But we had Charley, you know, sir," returned one of the fair interlocutors, with a smile worthy of Hebe herself.

"True, but Charley is only a child; and boys as well as women fare ill at public tables in this 'land of liberty and equality,' unless aided by some powerful a.s.sistant!"

"I thought we had found such a champion to-day," exclaimed the other lady, "in the person who sat next me at dinner. His hands were so nice that I should not have objected in the least to his offering me such dishes as were within his reach, especially as there seemed to be no servant to attend us, and we really sat half through the first course without bread or water. Having nothing else to do, for some time, I quietly amused myself with observing my courteous neighbor. So wholly absorbed did he seem in his own contemplations, so utterly oblivious of everything around him, except the contents of his heaped-up plate, that I soon became convinced that I had the honor to be in close proximity to a philosopher, at least, and probably to some fixed star in the realms of science!"

"Oh, Clare! I am so sorry to tell you, but I learned afterwards, accidentally, that your profound-looking neighbor is--_a dentist_!"

"And, therefore, accustomed only to the _most painful a.s.sociations with the mouths of others_!" chimed in the aristocrat, laughing in chorus: "Well, as our shrewd, sensible friend, the daughter of the Siddons, used to say, after her return from America, 'if the Americans profess to be all _equal_, they should be _equally well bred_!'"

With a repet.i.tion of this doubly sarcastic apothegm, my dear friends, for the present,

Adieu!

HARRY LUNETTES.

LETTER VII.

HEALTH, THE TOILET, ETC.

MY DEAR NEPHEWS:

Since no man can fulfill his destiny as an actively-useful member of society without _Health_, perhaps a few practical suggestions on this important subject may not be inconsistent with our present purpose.

The only reliable foundation upon which to base the hope of securing permanent possession of this greatest of earthly blessings, is the early acquisition of _Habits of Temperance_.