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THE LADIES' GUIDE
TO TRUE
POLITENESS AND PERFECT MANNERS;
OR,
MISS LESLIE'S BEHAVIOUR BOOK.
A GUIDE AND MANUAL FOR LADIES,
AS REGARDS THEIR
CONVERSATION; MANNERS; DRESS; INTRODUCTIONS; ENTRE TO SOCIETY;
SHOPPING; CONDUCT IN THE STREET; AT PLACES OF AMUSEMENT; IN
TRAVELING; AT THE TABLE, EITHER AT HOME, IN COMPANY, OR
AT HOTELS; DEPORTMENT IN GENTLEMEN'S SOCIETY; LIPS;
COMPLEXION; TEETH; HANDS; THE HAIR; ETC., ETC.
WITH FULL INSTRUCTIONS AND ADVICE IN
LETTER WRITING; RECEIVING PRESENTS; INCORRECT WORDS; BORROWING;
OBLIGATIONS TO GENTLEMEN; OFFENCES; CHILDREN; DECORUM IN
CHURCH; AT EVENING PARTIES; AND SUGGESTIONS IN BAD
PRACTICES AND HABITS EASILY CONTRACTED, WHICH NO
YOUNG LADY SHOULD BE GUILTY OF, ETC., ETC.
BY MISS LESLIE.
AUTHOR OF "MISS LESLIE'S CELEBRATED NEW COOKERY BOOK,"
"MISS LESLIE'S NEW RECEIPTS FOR COOKING," ETC.
Philadelphia:
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS,
306 CHESTNUT STREET.
* * * * *
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS,
the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and
for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
* * * * *
PREFACE.
It is said that soon after the publication of Nicholas Nickleby, not
fewer than six Yorkshire schoolmasters (or rather six principals of
Yorkshire institutes) took journeys to London, with the express purpose
of prosecuting Dickens for libels--"each one and severally" considering
himself shown up to the world as Mr. Squeers of Dotheboys Hall.
Now, if Dickens had drawn as graphic a picture of Dothe_girls_ Hall, we
firmly believe that none of the lady principals of similar institutes
would have committed themselves by evincing so little tact, and adopting
such impolitic proceedings. They would wisely have held back from all
appropriation of the obnoxious character, and passed it over unnoticed;
as if it could not possibly have the slightest reference to _them_.
Therefore we wish that those of our fair readers whom certain hints in
the following pages may awaken to the consciousness of a few habitual
misbehavements, (of which they were not previously aware,) should pause,
and reflect, before they allow themselves to "take umbrage too much."
Let them keep in mind that the purpose of the writer is to amend, and
not to offend; to improve her young countrywomen, and not to annoy them.
It is with this view only that she has been induced to "set down in a
note-book" such lapses from _les bienseances_ as she has remarked during
a long course of observation, and on a very diversified field.
She trusts that her readers will peruse this book in as friendly a
spirit as it was written.
ELIZA LESLIE.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
SUGGESTIONS TO VISITERS 2
THE VISITED 24
TEA VISITERS 30
THE ENTREE 47
INTRODUCTIONS 52
CONDUCT IN THE STREET 65
SHOPPING 71
PLACES OF AMUSEMENT 87
TRAVELLING 92
DEPORTMENT AT A HOTEL 101
HOTEL DINNER 120
SHIP-BOARD 143
LETTERS 150
PRESENTS 174
CONVERSATION 185
INCORRECT WORDS 216
BORROWING 225
OFFENCES 243
OBLIGATIONS TO GENTLEMEN 250
CONDUCT TO LITERARY WOMEN 256
SUGGESTIONS TO INEXPERIENCED AUTHORS 274
CHILDREN 285
DECORUM IN CHURCH 299
EVENING PARTIES 304
MISCELLANIES 330
* * * * *
MISS LESLIE'S
BEHAVIOUR BOOK.
* * * * *
CHAPTER I.
SUGGESTIONS TO VISITERS.
An amusing writer of the last century, justly complains of the want of
definite words to express, distinctly and unmistakably, the different
degrees of visits, with reference to their length. Whether the stay of
the guest comprises ten minutes, an hour, an evening, a day, a week, or
a month, still it goes under the vague and general term of a visit.
We propose, humourously, that if the stay of the guest exceeds a week,
it should be called "a visitation." If it includes a dining, or a
tea-drinking, or evening-spending, it may be termed "a visit;" while a
mere call can be mentioned as "a vis."
The idea is a very convenient one, and we should like to see it carried
out by general adoption. Meanwhile, we must, for the present, be
contented with the old uncertain practice of saying only "visit" and
"visiter." We think it our duty to explain that this chapter is designed
for the benefit of such inexperienced females as may be about to engage
in what we should like to call "a visitation."
To begin at the beginning:--
Do not _volunteer_ a visit to a friend in the country, or in another
town, unless you have had what is called "a standing invitation," with
every reason to believe that it was sincerely and cordially given. Many
invitations are mere "words of course," without meaning or motive,
designed only to make a show of politeness, and not intended to be taken
literally, or ever acted upon. Even when convinced that your friend is
really your friend, that she truly loves you, has invited you in all
sincerity, and will be happy in your society, still, it is best to
apprize her, duly, of the exact day and hour when she may expect you;
always with the proviso that it is convenient to herself to receive you
at that time, and desiring her to let you know, candidly, if it is not.
However close your intimacy, an unexpected arrival may possibly produce
inconvenience to your hostess; particularly if her family is numerous,
or her bedchambers few. The case is somewhat different, where the house
is large, and where there is no scarcity of apartments for guests, of
servants to wait on them, or of money to furnish the means of
entertaining them liberally. But even then, the time of arrival should
be previously intimated, and observed as punctually as possible. Such
are now the facilities of travelling, and the rapidity of transmitting
intelligence, that there is no excuse for unexpected or ill-timed
visits; and when unexpected, they are too frequently ill-timed. When
attempted as "agreeable surprises," they are seldom very agreeable to
the surprised. Also the improvement in manners has rendered these
incursions old-fashioned and ungenteel. Above all, never volunteer
visits to families whose circumstances are so narrow that they can ill
afford the expense of a guest.
Having received an invitation, reply to it immediately; and do not keep
your friends waiting, day after day, in uncertainty whether you mean to
accept or decline it; causing them, perhaps, to delay asking other
visiters till they have ascertained if you are to be expected or not.
Excuse yourself from accepting invitations from persons whom you do not
like, and whose dispositions, habits, feelings, and opinions are in most
things the reverse of your own. There can be no pleasure in daily and
familiar intercourse where there is no congeniality. Such visits never
end well; and they sometimes produce irreconcilable quarrels, or at
least a lasting and ill-concealed coolness. Though for years you may
have always met on decent terms, you may become positive enemies from
living a short time under the same roof; and there is something
dishonourable in laying yourself under obligations and receiving
civilities from persons whom you secretly dislike, and in whose society
you can have little or no enjoyment.
When you arrive, take occasion to mention how long you intend to stay;
that your hostess may plan her arrangements accordingly. It is rude and
inconsiderate to keep her in ignorance of the probable duration of your
visit. And when the allotted time has expired, do not be persuaded to
extend it farther, unless you are earnestly, and with undoubted
sincerity invited to do so. It is much better that your friends should
part with you reluctantly, than you should give them reason to wish your
visit shorter. Even if it _has_ been very pleasant on both sides, it may
not continue so if prolonged too far. Take care of wearing out your
welcome. Besides, your room may be wanted for another guest.
On your first evening, enquire the hours of the house, that you may
always be ready to comply with them. Rise early enough to be washed and
dressed in time for breakfast; but if you are ready too early, remain in
your own apartment, or walk about the garden, or go to the library till
the cleaning and arranging of the sitting-room has been completed.
Meanwhile, you can occupy yourself with a book, if you stay in your own
room.
As soon as you quit your bed, take off the bedclothes, (each article
separately,) and spread them widely over the chairs, turning the
mattrass or bed as far down as it will go. This will give the bedding
time to air; and in all houses it should be done every morning, the
whole year round. Before you leave the room, raise the windows as high
as they will go, (unless it should be raining, or snowing,) that the
apartment may be well ventilated. Fortunate are those who have been
accustomed to sleeping always with the sash more or less open, according
to the weather, or the season. Their health will be much the better for
the excellent practice of constantly admitting fresh air into their
sleeping-room. See Dr. Franklin's essay on the "Art of Sleeping Well."
Mr. Combe, who has written copiously on this subject, says it not only
improves the health, but the complexion; and that ladies who follow this
practice continue to look young long after those who sleep in close
rooms have faded and shrivelled. Except in a very unhealthy climate, or
in the neighbourhood of marshes, no external air can be so unwholesome,
or productive of such baneful effects on the constitution, as the same
air breathed over and over again in a close room, and returning
continually to the lungs, till before morning it becomes unfit to be
breathed at all. Sleeping with the windows closed in a room newly
painted has produced fatal diseases. To some lungs the vapour of white
lead is poisonous. To none is it quite innoxious. Its dangerous
properties may be neutralized by placing in newly-painted rooms, large
tubs of water, into each of which has been mixed an ounce of vitriol.
The tubs must be set near the walls, and the water and vitriol renewed
every day. The introduction of zinc-paint promises to put that of white
lead out of use; as zinc is quite as cheap, and not at all pernicious to
health.
At sleeping hours the air of a bedroom should be perfectly free from all
scents, either pleasant or otherwise. Many persons cannot sleep with
flowers in their chamber, or with any sort of perfume. It is best not.
If when on a visit, you find that the chambermaid does not make your bed
so that you can sleep comfortably, show her how to do it, (privately,)
but say nothing to your hostess. There is but one way of making a bed
properly; and yet it is surprising how little that way is known or
remembered. First, shake up the bed high and evenly; turning it over,
and see that the foot is not higher than the head. If there is a
mattrass above the bed, turn the mattrass half up, and then half down,
till you have shaken up the bed beneath. Next spread on the under-sheet,
laying it well over the bolster to secure it from dragging down and
getting under the shoulders. However, to most beds now, there is a
bolster-case. Then tuck in the under-sheet, well, at both sides, to
prevent its getting loose and disordered in the night. For the same
reason tuck in the upper-sheet, well, at the foot, leaving the sides
loose. Tuck in the blankets at bottom, but not at the sides. Lay the
counterpane smoothly over the whole. Turn it down at the top; and turn
down the upper-sheet above it, so as to conceal the blankets entirely.
Should the chambermaid neglect your room, or be remiss in filling your
pitchers, or in furnishing you with clean towels, speak to her on the
subject when alone. She will hardly, for her own sake, inform her
mistress that you have had occasion to find fault with her; unless she
is very insolent or sulky, she will say she is sorry, and will promise
to do better in future. Complaining to her mistress of these neglects
will probably give offence to the lady, who may be of that wayward
(though too common) disposition which will allow no one except herself,
to find any deficiency in _her_ servants. As mistresses are frequently
very touchy on these points, your hostess may hint that your statement
is incredible, and that "no one ever complained before." Above all
things, avoid letting her know that you have found or felt insects in
your bed; a circumstance that may chance sometimes to happen even in the
best kept houses. In a warm climate, or in an old house, the utmost care
and the most vigilant neatness cannot always prevent it. It may be
caused by the bringing of baggage from boats, or ships, and by servants
neglecting their own beds; a too common practice with them, unless the
mistress or her housekeeper compels them to be cleanly, and sees that
they are so.
If you have proof positive that your bed is not free from these
intolerable nuisances, confide this fact to the chambermaid only, and
desire her to attend to it speedily. She will do so the more readily, if
you promise her a reward in case of complete success. Enjoining her to
manage this as quietly as possible, and to say nothing about it to any
one, may spare you a scene with your hostess; who, though you have
always regarded her as your warm friend, may, notwithstanding, become
your enemy for life, in consequence of your having presumed to be
incommoded in _her_ house, where "nobody ever complained before." A
well-bred, sensible, good-tempered woman will not, of course, take
offence for such a cause; and will believe that there must have been
good reason for the complaint, rather than suppose that her guest and
her friend would mention so delicate a subject even to a servant, unless
there was positive proof. And she will rightly think it was well to make
it known, and have it immediately remedied. But all women who invite
friends to visit them, are not sensible and good-tempered. Therefore,
take care.
For similar reasons, should a servant purloin any article belonging to
you, (and servants, considered quite honest, will sometimes pilfer from
a visiter when they would not dare to do so from their mistress,) it is
safest to pass it over, unless the article stolen is of consequence. You
may find your hostess very unwilling to believe that a servant of _hers_
could possibly be dishonest; and much may be said, or evidently
_thought_, that will be very painful to you, her guest.
Notwithstanding all that may be said to you about "feeling yourself
perfectly at home," and "considering your friend's house as your own,"
be very careful not literally to do so. In fact, it is impossible you
_should_ with any propriety--particularly, if it is your first visit.
You cannot possibly know the real character and disposition of any
acquaintance, till after you have had some experience in living under
the same roof. If you find your hostess all that you can desire, and
that she is making your visit every way agreeable, be very grateful to
her, and let her understand that you are exceedingly happy at her house;
but avoid staying too long, or taxing her kindness too highly.
Avoid encroaching unreasonably upon her time. Expect her not to devote
an undue portion of it to you. She will probably be engaged in the
superintendence of household affairs, or in the care of her young
children, for two or three hours after breakfast. So at these hours do
not intrude upon her,--but amuse yourself with some occupation of your
own, till you see that it is convenient to the family for you to join
them in the sitting-room. In summer afternoons, retire for an hour or
more, soon after dinner, to your own apartment, that you may give your
friends an opportunity of taking their naps, and that you may do the
same yourself. You will be brighter in the evening, from indulging in
this practice; and less likely to feel sleepy, when you ought to be wide
awake, and ready to assist in entertaining your entertainers. A silent
visiter, whether silent from dulness or indolence, or a habit of
taciturnity, is never an agreeable one.
Yet, however pleasant the conversation, have sufficient self-denial to
break off in seasonable time, so as not to keep the family up by
continuing in the parlour till a late hour. Some of them may be tired
and sleepy, though you are not. And between ten and eleven o'clock it is
well to retire.
If you have shopping to do, and are acquainted with the town, you can be
under no necessity of imposing on any lady of the family the task of
accompanying you. To shop _for_ others, or _with_ others, is a most
irksome fatigue. Even when a stranger in the place, you can easily, by
enquiring of the family, learn where the best stores are to be found,
and go to them by yourself.
While you are a guest at the house of a friend, do not pass too much of
your time in visiting at _other_ houses, unless she is with you. You
have no right to avail yourself of the conveniences of eating and
sleeping at her mansion, without giving her and her family the largest
portion of your company.
While a guest yourself, it is taking an unwarrantable liberty to invite
any of your friends or relatives to come there and spend a day or
days.[1]
Refrain from visiting any person with whom your hostess is at enmity,
even if that person has been one of your own intimate friends. You will
in all probability be regarded as "a spy in the camp." There is nothing
so difficult as to observe a strict neutrality; and on hearing both
sides, it is scarcely possible not to lean more to the one than to the
other. The friend whose hospitality you are enjoying will soon begin to
look coldly upon you, if she finds you seeking the society of her enemy;
and she may evince that coldness whenever you come home from these
visits. However unjust her suspicions, it is too probable she may begin
to think that you are drawn in to make her, and her house, and family,
subjects of conversation when visiting her adversary; therefore, she
will cease to feel kindly toward you. If you understand, soon after your
arrival, that there is no probability of a reconciliation, send at once
a concise note to the lady with whom your hostess is at variance;
express your regret at the circumstance, and excuse yourself from
visiting her while you remain in your present residence. This note
should be polite, short, and decisive, and so worded as to give no
offence to either side; for, before sending, it is proper for you to
show it, while yet unsealed, to the friend with whom you are staying. And
then let the correspondence be carried no further. The lady to whom it
is addressed, will, of course, return a polite answer; such as you may
show to your hostess.
It is to be presumed, she will not be so lost to all delicacy and
propriety, as to intrude herself into the house of her enemy for the
purpose of visiting you. But, if she does, it is your place civilly to
decline seeing her. A slight coolness, a mere offence on a point of
etiquette, which, if let alone, would die out like a tinder-spark, has
been fanned, and blown into a flame by the go-betweening of a so-called
_mutual friend_. We repeat, while you are a visiter at a house, hold no
intercourse with any foe of that house. It is unkind and disrespectful
to the family with whom you are staying, and very unsafe for yourself.
If you know that your friends are hurried with their sewing, or with
preparations for company, offer to assist them, as far as you can. But
if you are conscious of an incapacity to do such things well, it is
better to excuse yourself by candidly saying so, than to attempt them
and spoil them. At the same time, express your willingness to learn, if
permitted. And you _may_ learn, while staying at the house of a clever,
notable friend, many things that you have hitherto had no opportunity of
acquiring.
When called on by any of your own acquaintances, they will not expect
you to ask them to stay to tea, or to dinner. That is the business of
your hostess--not yours.
If you are a young lady that has beaux, remember that you have no right
to encourage the over-frequency of their visits in any house that is not
your home, or to devote much of your time and attention to flirtation
with them. Above all, avoid introducing to the family of your
entertainers, young men whom they are likely in any respect to
disapprove. No stranger who has the feelings of a gentleman, will make a
_second_ visit to any house unless he is invited by the head of the
family, and he will take care that his visits shall not begin too early,
or continue too late. However delightful he may find the society of his
lady-fair, he has no right to incommode the family with whom she is
staying, by prolonging his visits to an unseasonable hour. If he seems
inclined to do so, there is nothing amiss in his fair-one herself
hinting to him that it is past ten o'clock. Also, there should be "a
temperance" even in his morning calls. It is rude in a young lady and
gentleman to monopolize one of the parlours nearly all the
forenoon--even if they are _really_ courting--still more if they are
only pretending to court; for instance, sitting close to each other, and
whispering on subjects that might be discussed aloud before the whole
house, and talked of across the room.
Young ladies noted for abounding in beaux, are generally rather
inconvenient visiters; except in very spacious houses, and in gay, idle
families. They should not take the liberty of inviting the said beaux
to stay to dinner or to tea. Leave that civility to the head of the
house,--without whose invitation no _gentleman_ ought to remain.
It is proper for visiters to put out and pay for their own washing,
ironing, &c. Therefore, carry among your baggage two clothes-bags; one
to be taken away by the laundress, the other to receive your clothes in
the interval. You may always hear of a washerwoman, by enquiring of the
servants of the house.
On no consideration question the servants, or talk to them about the
family, particularly if they are slaves.
Take with you a small writing-case, containing whatever stationery you
may be likely to want during your visit; including post-office stamps.
Thus you will spare yourself, and spare the family, the inconvenience of
applying to them whenever you have occasion for pen, ink, paper, &c. If
you have no ink with you, the first time you go out, stop in at a
stationer's store, and buy a small sixpenny bottle that will stand
steadily alone, and answer the purpose of an inkstand. Also, take care
to be well supplied with all sorts of sewing articles. There are young
ladies who go from home on long visits, quite unprovided with even
thimbles and scissors; depending all the time on borrowing. Many
visiters, though very agreeable in great things, are exceedingly
troublesome in little ones.
Take care not to slop your washing-stand, or to lay a piece of wet soap
upon it. Spread your wet towels carefully on the towel-rail. See that
your trunks are not placed so near the wall as to injure the paper or
paint when the lid is thrown back.
If, when travelling, you are to stop but one night at the house of a
friend, it is not necessary, for that one night, to have _all_ your
baggage carried up-stairs, particularly if your trunks are large or
heavy. Before leaving home, put into your carpet-bag all the things you
will require for that night; and then no other article of your baggage
need be taken up to your chamber. They can be left down-stairs, in some
safe and convenient place, which your hostess will designate. This will
save much trouble, and preclude all the injury that may otherwise accrue
to the banisters and staircase-wall, by the corners of trunks knocking
against them. It is possible to put into a carpet-satchel (that can be
carried in your own hand) a night-gown and night-cap, (tightly rolled,)
with hair-brush, combs, tooth-brush, &c. It is surprising how much these
hand-satchels may be made to contain, when packed closely. No lady or
gentleman should travel without one. In going from home for one night
only, a satchel is, frequently, all that is requisite.
On concluding your visit, tell your entertainers that it has been
pleasant, and express your gratitude for the kindness you have received
from them, and your hope that they will give you an opportunity of
returning their civilities. Give a parting gratuity to each of the
servants--the sum being according to your means, and to the length of
your visit. Give this to each servant _with your own hands_, going to
them for the purpose. Do not tempt their integrity, by entrusting (for
instance) to the chambermaid the fee intended for the cook. She may
dishonestly keep it to herself, and make the cook believe that you were
"so mean as to go away without leaving any thing at all for her." Such
things have happened, as we know. Therefore, give all your fees in
person.
After you get home, write very soon (within two or three days) to the
friend at whose house you have been staying, tell her of your journey,
&c., and allude to your visit as having been very agreeable.
The visit over, be of all things careful not to repeat any thing that
has come to your knowledge in consequence, and which your entertainers
would wish to remain unknown. While inmates of their house, you may have
unavoidably become acquainted with some particulars of their way of
living not generally known, and which, perhaps, would not raise them in
public estimation, if disclosed. Having been their guest, and partaken
of their hospitality, you are bound in honour to keep silent on every
topic that would injure them in the smallest degree, if repeated.
Unhappily, there are ladies so lost to shame, as, after making a long
visit, to retail for the amusement of their cronies, all sorts of
invidious anecdotes concerning the family at whose house they have been
staying; adding by way of corroboration--"I assure you this is all true,
for I stayed five or six weeks at their house, and had a good chance of
knowing." More shame then to tell it!
Whatever painful discoveries are made during a visit, should be kept as
closely secret as if secrecy was enjoined by oath. It is not sufficient
to refrain from "mentioning names." No clue should be given that could
possibly enable the hearers even to hazard a guess.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] So it is to order the carriage without first asking permission of
your hostess.