[15] In buying a _handsome_ parasol or umbrella, see that it has a folding-joint in the middle of the stick, and that this joint works easily, so that there may be no difficulty in packing it in a trunk or box. To prevent the silk being rubbed, tie up the parasol in a smooth linen case, previous to packing.

[16] We were a few years since, told by one of our princ.i.p.al booksellers that a young lady came into his store when he chanced to be at the counter himself, and, showing him a small English prayer-book elegantly bound, and with fine engravings, she enquired if he had any exactly like that. On his replying in the negative, she desired that he would get precisely such a prayer-book _made for her_, in time for church on Sunday morning--(it was then Friday)--as she had set her mind on it. It must have just such pictures, and just such a beautiful gilt cover. He endeavoured in vain to convince her of the utter impossibility of performing this feat of having one single book printed, and bound, with plates engraved purposely for it, and all in the s.p.a.ce of a day and a half. She seemed much displeased, and went away, in search, as she said, of a bookseller that was more obliging.

CHAPTER XVIII.

OFFENCES.

If the visits of an acquaintance become less frequent than formerly, the falling off is not always to be imputed to want of regard for you, or to having lost all pleasure in your society. The cause may be want of time, removal to a distance, precarious health, care of children, absence from town, family troubles, depressed fortunes, and various other circ.u.mstances. Also, with none of these causes, visiting may gradually and almost insensibly decline, and neither of the parties have the slightest dislike to each other. If no offence has been intended, none should be taken; and when you chance to meet, instead of consuming the time in complaints of estrangement, meet as if your intercourse had never been interrupted, and you will find it very easy to renew it; and perhaps on a better footing than before. The renewal should be marked by a prompt interchange of special invitations--followed by visits.

Unless your rooms are s.p.a.cious, you cannot have what is called a large general party. Some of your acquaintances must be omitted, and all that are left out, are generally offended. Therefore it is not well ever to have such parties, unless your accommodations are ample. _Squeezes_ are out of fashion in the best American society. We have heard of parties at great houses in London, where, after the rooms were crowded to suffocation, a large portion of the company had to pa.s.s the evening on the stairs; and where coaches, unable to draw up from the immense number of these vehicles that were in advance, had to remain all night at the foot of the line, with ladies sitting in them. When morning came, they had to turn back, and drive home, the carriages being all they saw of the party.

It is better to give two or three moderate entertainments in the course of the season, than to crowd your rooms uncomfortably; and even then to risk giving offence to those who could not be added to the number.

If such offence has been given, try to atone for it by inviting the offended to dine with you, or to pa.s.s an evening, and asking at the same time a few pleasant people whom you know she likes.

You may have a very intimate and sincere friend who does not find it convenient to send for you every time she has company. If, in all things else, she treats you with uniform kindness, and gives reason to believe that she has a true affection for you, pa.s.s over these occasional omissions of invitation, and do not call her to account, or treat her coolly when you see her. True friendship ought not depend upon _parties_. It should be based on a better foundation.

If no answer is returned to a note of invitation, be not hasty in supposing that the omission has sprung from rudeness or neglect. Trust that your friend is neither rude nor neglectful; and believe that the answer was duly sent, but that it miscarried from some accidental circ.u.mstance.

A friend may inadvertently say something that you do not like to hear, or may make a remark that is not pleasant to you. Unless it is prefaced with a _previous_ apology; or unless she desires you "not to be offended at what she is going to say;" or unless she informs you that "she considers it her duty always to speak her mind,"--you have no right to suppose the offence premeditated, and therefore you should restrain your temper, and calmly endeavour to convince her that she is wrong; or else acknowledge that she is right. She ought then to apologize for what she said, and you should immediately change the subject, and never again refer to it. In this way quarrels may be prevented, and ill-feeling crushed in the bud. When what is called "a coolness" takes place between friends, the longer it goes on the more difficult it is to get over. But "better late than never." If, on consideration, you find that _you_ were in the wrong, let no false pride, no stubborn perverseness prevent you from making that acknowledgement. If your friend, on her part, first shows a desire for reconciliation, meet her half-way. A vindictive disposition is a bad one, and revenge is a most unchristian feeling.

People of sense (unless the injury is very great, and of lasting consequences) are easy to appease, because they generally have good feelings, and know how to listen to reason. Dr. Watts most truly says--

"The wise will let their anger cool, At least before 'tis night; But in the bosom of a fool, It burns till morning light."

Should you chance to be thrown into the presence of persons who have proved themselves your enemies, and with whom you can have no intercourse, say nothing either _to_ them or _at_ them; and do not place yourself in their vicinity. To talk _at_ a person, is mean and vulgar.

Those who do it are fully capable of writing anonymous and insulting letters; and they often do so. High-minded people will always be scrupulously careful in observing toward those with whom they are at variance, all the ceremonies usual in polite society--particularly the conventional civilities of the table.

If you have, unfortunately, had a quarrel with a friend, talk of it to others as little as possible; lest in the heat of anger, you may give an exaggerated account, and represent your adversary in darker colours than she deserves. You may be very sure these misrepresentations will reach her ear, and be greatly magnified by every successive relater. In this way a trifle may be swelled into importance; a mole-hill may become a mountain; and a slight affront may embitter the feelings of future years. "Blessed are the peacemakers,"--and a mutual friend, if well-disposed toward both opponents, generally has it in her power to effect a reconciliation, by repeating, kindly, any favourable remark she may chance to have heard one of the offended parties make on the other. In truth, we wish it were the universal custom for all people to tell other people whatever good they may hear of them--instead of the wicked and hateful practice of telling only the bad. Make it a rule to repeat to your friends all the pleasant remarks that (as far as you know) are made on them, and you will increase their happiness, and your own popularity. We do not mean that you should flatter them, by reciting compliments that are not true; but truth is not flattery, and there is no reason why agreeable truths should not always be told. There would then be far more kind feeling in the world. Few persons are so bad as not to have some good in them. Let them hear of the good. Few are so ugly as not to have about them something commendable even externally, if it is only a becoming dress. Let them hear of that dress. Flattery is praise without foundation. To tell a person with heavy, dull gray eyes, that her eyes are of a bright and beautiful blue; to talk of her golden locks to a woman with positive red hair of the tint called carroty; to tell a long, thin, stoop-shouldered girl, that she possesses the light and airy form of a sylph; or a short-necked, fat one that her figure has the dignity of an empress; to a.s.sure a faded matron that she looks like a young girl; to fall into raptures on listening to bad music, or when viewing a drawing that depicts nothing intelligible; or praising alb.u.m poetry that has neither "rhyme nor reason,"--all this is gross flattery, which the object (if she has any sense) will easily detect, and suspect that you are trying experiments on her vanity and credulity.

Still where agreeable qualities _really_ exist, it is not amiss to allude to them delicately. It will give pleasure without compromising veracity.

When any thing complimentary is said to you, acknowledge it by a bow and smile, but do not attempt an answer unless you can say something in return that will be equally sincere and pleasant. Most probably you cannot; therefore look gratified, and bow your thanks, but remain silent. Few ladies are distinguished, like the Harriet Byron of Grandison, "for a very pretty manner of returning a compliment." Do not reject the compliment by pretending to prove that you do not deserve it.

But if it is a piece of bare-faced flattery, the best answer is to look gravely, and say or do nothing.

Should you chance accidentally to overhear a remark to your disadvantage, consider first if there may not be some truth in it. If you feel that there is, turn it to profitable account, and try to improve, or to get rid of the fault, whatever it may be. But never show resentment at any thing not intended for your ear, unless it is something of such vital importance as to render it necessary that you should come forward in self-defence. These instances, however, are of rare occurrence.

If you are so placed that you can hear the conversation of persons who are talking about you, it is very mean to sit there and listen.

Immediately remove to a distance far enough to be out of hearing.

It is a proverb that listeners seldom hear any good of themselves. It were a pity if they should. Eavesdropping or listening beneath an open window, the crack of a door, or through a key-hole, are as dishonourable as to pick pockets.

CHAPTER XIX.

OBLIGATIONS TO GENTLEMEN.

In her intercourse with gentlemen, a lady should take care to avoid all pecuniary obligations. The civility that a gentleman conventionally owes to a lady is a sufficient tax--more she has no right to expect, or to accept. A man of good sense, and of true politeness, will not be offended at her unwillingness to become his debtor. On the contrary, he will respect her delicacy, and approve her dignity; and consent at once to her becoming her own banker on all occasions where expense is to be incurred. This is the custom in Europe; and is, in most cases, a very good one.

When invited to join a party to a place of amus.e.m.e.nt, let her consent, if she wishes; but let her state expressly that it is only on condition of being permitted to pay for her own ticket. If she steadily adheres to this custom, it will soon be understood that such is always her commendable practice; and she can then, with perfect propriety, at any time, ask for a seat among friends who intend going. To this accommodation she could not invite herself, if in the continual habit of visiting public places at the expense of others. The best time for a lady to pay for herself is to put her money into the hand of the gentleman _previous_ to their departure for the place of performance.

He will not be so rude as to refuse to take it. If he does refuse, she should evince her resentment by going with him no more.

Young men of limited means are frequently drawn into expenses they can ill afford, by being acquainted with young ladies who profess a pa.s.sion for equestrian exercises--a most inconvenient pa.s.sion for one who has not a horse of her own, or who lives in a family where no horses are kept. If her gentleman is obliged to hire, not only a horse for himself, but also one for the lady, let her have sufficient consideration _not_ to propose to him that they should take rides together--and let her not draw him into an invitation, by her dwelling excessively on the delight of horseback excursions. In cities, these rides are expensive luxuries to those who keep no horses. Few city ladies ride well, (even if they have been at riding-school,) for want of daily practice out of doors.

They are not exactly at ease on the horse, and always seem somewhat afraid of him; at least till they are "off the stones," and out in the open country. While in the streets, the rare sight of a lady on horseback attracts much attention, and a crowd of boys gathers round to see her mount her steed, or alight from it. This to a young lady of delicacy is very embarra.s.sing, or ought to be.

In the country, the case is totally different. There, "practice makes perfect." The ladies, being accustomed to riding their own horses from childhood, acquire the art without any trouble, have no fear, feel perfectly at home in the saddle, and therefore sit gracefully, and manage their steeds easily. And as every country gentleman has a riding-horse of his own, he can accompany a lady without the expense of hiring.

Lay no wagers with gentlemen, and have no philopenas with them. In betting with a lady, it is customary for the gentleman to pay whether he wins or loses. What then does the wager imply, but a rapacious and mean desire on the part of the lady to "get a present out of him"--as such ladies would express it. No delicate and refined female ever bets at all. It is a very coa.r.s.e and masculine way of a.s.serting an opinion or a belief; and always reminds gentlemen of the race-course, or the gaming-table.

We disapprove of ladies going to charity-fairs in the evening, when they require a male escort--and when that escort is likely to be drawn into paying exorbitant prices for gifts to his fair companion--particularly, if induced to do so from the fear of appearing mean, or of being thought wanting in benevolence. In the evening, the young ladies who "have tables," are apt to become especially importunate in urging the sale of their goods--and appear to great disadvantage as imitation-shop-keepers, exhibiting a boldness in teazing that no real saleswoman would presume to display. Then the crowd is generally great; the squeezing and pushing very uncomfortable; and most of the company far from genteel. Ladies who _are_ ladies, should only visit fancy-fairs in the day-time, when they can go without gentlemen; none of whom take much pleasure in this mode of raising money; or rather of levying contributions for special purposes. There are other ways that are more lady-like, more effective, less fatiguing, and more satisfactory to all concerned--and far less detrimental to the interests of the numerous poor women who get their living by their needles, or by their ingenuity in making ornamental nick-nacks for sale, and who ask but a fair price for them. Dress-makers are frequently induced to keep back portions of silk, the rightful property of their customers, who may afterwards be put to great inconvenience for want of them, when the dress is to be altered or repaired. And these pieces are given to the ladies who go about begging for materials to make pincushions, &c. for fancy-fairs. This is dishonest. Let them go to a store and buy small pieces of silk, velvet, ribbon, and whatever they want for these purposes.

If you have occasion to send by a gentleman a package to a transportation-office, give him along with it the money to pay for its carriage. If you borrow change, (even one cent,) return it to him punctually. He ought to take it as a thing of course, without any comment. When you commission him to buy any thing for you, if you know the price, give the money beforehand; otherwise, pay it as soon as he brings the article. Do all such things promptly, lest they should escape your memory if delayed.

When visiting a fancy-store with a gentleman, refrain from excessively admiring any handsome or expensive article you may chance to see there.

Above all, express no wish that you were able to buy it, and no regret that you cannot, lest he should construe these extreme tokens of admiration into hints that you wish him to buy it for you. To allow him to do so, would on your part be very mean and indelicate, and on his very foolish.

It ought to be a very painful office (and is a very improper one) for young ladies to go round soliciting from gentlemen subscriptions for charitable purposes. Still it is done. Subscription-papers should only be offered by persons somewhat advanced in life, and of undoubted respectability--and then the application should be made, exclusively, to those whose circ.u.mstances are known to be affluent. People who have not much to give, generally prefer giving that little to objects of charity within their own knowledge. Who is there that does not know a poor family? And without actually giving money, (which in too many instances, is immediately appropriated by a drunken husband to supply himself with more drink,) much may be done to procure a few comforts for a miserable wife and children.

When you ask money for a charitable purpose, do so only when quite alone with the person to whom you apply. It is taking an undue advantage to make the request in presence of others--particularly if, as before observed, there is not wealth as well as benevolence. There is a time for all things--and young ladies are deservedly unpopular when, even in the cause of charity, they seize every opportunity to levy contributions on the purses of gentlemen.

It is wrong to trouble gentlemen with commissions that may cause them inconvenience or expense. In the awful days of bandboxes, unfortunate young men riding in stages were sometimes required to convey one of these c.u.mbrous receptacles of bonnets and caps a day's journey upon their knees, to save it from rain outside. Sometimes an immense package containing an immense shawl. We knew an officer who, by particular desire, actually carried _three_ great shawls several hundred miles; each bundle to be delivered at a different house in "the City of Magnificent Distances." But as to officers, "sufferance is the badge of all their tribe." Now these shawls should all have been sent by the public line, even if the transportation _did_ cost something.

We repeat, that a lady cannot be too particular in placing herself under obligations to a gentleman. She should scrupulously avoid it in every little thing that may involve him in expense on her account. And he will respect her the more.

CHAPTER XX.

CONDUCT TO LITERARY WOMEN.

On being introduced to a female writer, it is rude to say that "you have long had a great _curiosity_ to see her." Curiosity is not the right word. It is polite to imply that, "knowing her well by reputation, you are glad to have an opportunity of making her personal acquaintance."

Say nothing concerning her writings, unless you chance to be alone with her. Take care not to speak of her first work as being her best; for if it is really so, she must have been retrograding from that time; a falling off that she will not like to hear of. Perhaps the truth may be, that you yourself have read only her _first_ work; and if you tell her this, she will not be much flattered in supposing that you, in reality, cared so little for her first book, as to feel no desire to try a second. But she will be really gratified to learn that you are acquainted with most of her writings; and, in the course of conversation, it will be very pleasant for her to hear you quote something from them.

If she is a writer of fiction, and you presume to take the liberty of criticising her works, (as you may at her own request, or if you are her intimate friend,) refrain from urging that certain incidents are _improbable_, and certain characters _unnatural_. Of this it is impossible for you to judge, unless you could have lived the very same life that she has; known exactly the same people; and inhabited with her the same places. Remember always that "Truth is stranger than fiction." The French say--"Le vrai n'est pas toujours le plus vraisemblable,"--which, literally translated, means that "Truth is not always the most truth-like." Also, be it understood that a woman of quick perception and good memory can see and recollect a thousand things which would never be noticed or remembered by an obtuse or shallow, common-place capacity. And the intellect of a good writer of fiction is always brightened by the practice of taking in and laying up ideas with a view toward turning them to professional use. Trust in her, and believe that she _has_ painted from life. A sensible fictionist always does. At the same time, be not too curious in questioning her as to the ident.i.ty of her personages and the reality of her incidents. You have no right to expect that she will expose to you, or to any one else, her process of arranging the story, bringing out the characters, or concocting the dialogue. The machinery of her work, and the hidden springs which set it in motion, she naturally wishes to keep to herself; and she cannot be expected to lay them bare for the gratification of impertinent curiosity, letting them become subjects of idle gossip. Be satisfied to take her works as you find them. If you like them, read and commend them; but do not ask her to conduct you behind the scenes, and show you the mysteries of her art--for writing is really an art, and one that cannot be acquired, to any advantage, without a certain amount of talent, taste, and cultivation, to say nothing of genius. What right have you to expect that your literary friend will trust you with "the secrets of her prison-house," and put it into your power to betray her confidence by acquainting the world that a certain popular novelist has informed you with her own lips ("but it must on no account be mentioned, as the disclosure would give mortal offence, and create for her hosts of enemies,") that by her character of f.a.n.n.y Gadfly she really means Lucy Giddings; that Mr. Hardcastle signifies Mr. Stone; that Old Wigmore was modelled on no less a person than Isaac Baldwin; that Mrs.

Bastings was taken from Mrs. Sunning; and Mrs. Babes from Mrs.

Childers--&c. &c. Also, do not expect her to tell you on what facts her incidents were founded, and whether there was any truth in them, or if they were mere invention.

Be not inquisitive as to the length of time consumed in writing this book or that--or how soon the work now on hand will be finished. It can scarcely be any concern of yours, and the writer may have reasons for keeping back the information. Rest a.s.sured that whenever a public announcement of a new book is expedient, it will certainly be made in print.

There are persons so rude as to question a literary woman (even on a slight acquaintance) as to the remuneration she receives for her writings--in plain terms, "How much did you get for that? and how much are you to have for this? And how much do you make in the course of a year? And how much a page do you get? And how many pages can you write in a day?"