HOTEL DINNER.
In dressing for a hotel dinner, it is not well to adopt a full evening
costume, and to appear as if attired for a ball; for instance, with a
coloured velvet gown; or one of a splendid brocade; or a transparent
gauze material over a satin; or with short sleeves and bare neck in cold
weather; or with flowers or jewels in the hair. Such costumes should be
reserved for evening parties. If worn at the table d'hote, it may be
suspected you have no other place in which to display them. Your dress
need not be more showy than you would wear when dining at a private
house, particularly if you are a permanent boarder. There is no place
where dress escapes with less scrutiny than at a great hotel. Still, it
is bad taste to go to the dinner-table in ungenteel and unbecoming
habiliments--such as a figured or party-coloured mousseline-de-laine, a
thing which always has the effect of calico, and, like calico, gives an
unlady-like look even to the most decided lady. In fact, what is it but
woollen calico? And if it is accompanied by a very thin, flimsy collar,
so small and narrow as to be scarcely visible, the neck and face will
look dingy and ill-coloured for want of sufficient white to relieve it.
No collar at all, but merely a coloured silk handkerchief, or a
coloured dress, coming immediately against the neck, is disfiguring to
all women, and men too.
Most American ladies beyond the age of thirty-five, look better in caps
than without them, even if their hair shows no signs of middle age.
Before that time, the females of our country begin to fade, evincing one
effect of torrid summers and frozen winters. A tasteful and simply
elegant cap (not one that is elaborate in its design, and loaded with
ornament,) imparts a grace and softness to a faded face, and renders
less conspicuous the inroads of time. A decidedly old lady, persisting
in going with her head uncovered, is a pitiable object, and scarcely
looks respectable. Worse still, when she takes to an auburn wig. Gray
hair is seldom unbecoming to a man. To a woman it gives a masculine
aspect, especially if worn without a cap; and if there is an attempt at
long gray locks, or ringlets, the effect is strange, wild and ghastly.
It is far more becoming for an elderly lady to give a dark shade to her
temples, and the upper part of her forehead, by a plain, simple, and
becoming dark-coloured braid, not intended to pass as her natural hair,
(for it never does,) but merely that the face should be set off by a due
proportion of shadow,--and not be all light or lightish. If a decidedly
old lady prefers wearing her own gray hair, let her part it smoothly on
her forehead, but make no attempt at curls, and be sure to add a cap to
it. An elderly female should, as we have said, _always_ wear a cap; and
her cap should have tabs or broad strings to tie under her chin. There
is no use or beauty in a lady looking older than is necessary, by
wearing a short-eared or round-eared cap, set back from her head, and
exposing all her cheeks even beyond her ears, with the crease in her
chin, and the deep furrows or wrinkles on each side of her neck--all
which can be concealed by bringing forward the bow of her cap tabs.
Let all ladies, old and young, avoid having their caps trimmed with
ribbons or flowers of what are called high-colours; deep, heavy pinks
and blues, and reddish lilacs. These colours vulgarize every thing they
are intended to decorate. High-coloured ribbons, flowered or figured,
are decidedly vulgar.
A profusion of jewels at a public table is in very bad taste,
particularly if the jewellery is palpably false--for instance, a large
brooch with great mock diamonds, or a string of wax beads meant for
pearls. Still worse, glass things imitating topazes or garnets--or two
or three gilt bracelets on one arm. A _large_ imitation gem always
betrays its real quality by its size.
Endeavour to make your arrangements so as to be dressed for dinner, and
seated in the ladies' drawing-room, about ten or fifteen minutes before
the dining-hour, that you may be ready to go in with the rest of the
company.
If you and your party are strangers, recently arrived, do not at once
take the lead, and walk up to the head of the table, regardless of
dislodging and causing inconvenience among the regular boarders, to whom
those seats have been allotted. But desire a servant to show you a
place. The head-waiter is usually at hand to arrange seats for the
strangers, and he will attend to you. Persons not accustomed to hotels,
frequently show a great craving for the seats near the head of the
table. This is foolish. There are no places of honour; neither are the
eatables better at one part of the table than another.
Nobody "sits below the salt." And every one has an equal chance of
obtaining a share of the nicest articles on the table. What is most
desirable is to have a seat in the vicinity of agreeable people, and you
will more frequently find them about the middle, or lower end of the
table, than at the top--that being the place usually most coveted by the
least genteel of the guests. We have seen the Chief Magistrate of the
Union, "the ruler of millions," simply take a seat near the door, at the
lower end of a hotel-table, in Philadelphia, having arrived
unexpectedly.
As we have said before, we perceive not the propriety or the convenience
of a large party of strangers, on entering in a body, pertinaciously
making their way to the upper end of the table, with a determination to
obtain seats all in a row; as if the whole row together could join in
the same conversation, or even _see_ each other, when they sit on the
same side.
In seating yourself, look down for a moment to see if you have placed
the foot of your chair on the dress of the lady sitting next to you; and
if you have done so, remove it immediately, that her dress may be in no
danger of tearing when she attempts to rise. Sit close to the table,
but never lean your elbows upon it. To sit far from it, and reach out
distantly, is very awkward. Having unfolded your napkin, secure it to
your belt with a pin, to prevent its slipping down from your lap, and
falling under the table. This may be done so that the pinning will not
be perceptible. Bring with you a spare pin or two for this purpose,--or
keep always a pincushion in your pocket. It is much better than to incur
the risk of getting your dress greased or stained by the napkin
deserting your lap. If such accidents _should_ happen, pass them over
slightly, and do not lose your temper. For the present, wipe the spot
with your napkin, and dip the corner in water, and rub it lightly over
the grease-mark. When dinner is over, you can finish repairing the
injury in your own room. The coloured waiters are generally very clever
at removing grease-spots from dresses. One of them will do it for you
after dinner. The stain of wine or fruit may in most cases be taken out
of a washable article by laying it immediately in cold water.
To eat in gloves or mittens was always foolish; fortunately it is no
longer fashionable; but greatly the contrary.
Refrain from loud talking, or loud laughing. Young ladies truly genteel
are never conspicuously noisy at a public table, or anywhere else. Still
more carefully refrain from whispering, or exchanging significant
glances. Whispers are always overheard, (even when the vulgar precaution
is taken of screening your mouth with your hand,) and glances are
always observed.[12] Joggings, nudgings, pinchings, sleeve-pullings,
&c. are excessively unlady-like, and shamefully impudent when (as is
often the case) the eye of the jogger is fixed upon the object of the
jog. To put up an eye-glass at the face of a stranger, is very rude. So
it is to make remarks in French.
When eating fish, first remove the bones carefully, and lay them on the
edge of your plate. Then with your fork in your right hand, (the concave
or hollow side held uppermost,) and a small piece of bread in your left,
take up the flakes of fish. Servants, and all other persons, should be
taught that the butter-sauce should not be _poured over_ the fish, but
put on one side of the plate, that the eater may use it profusely or
sparingly, according to taste, and be enabled to mix it conveniently
with the sauce from the fish-castors. Pouring butter-sauce _over_ any
thing is now ungenteel.
Do not attempt removing a cover from a dish, that you may help yourself
before the rest of the company. Leave all that to the waiters. Tell them
what you want in a distinct, but not in a loud, conspicuous voice. In
asking a servant to bring you a thing, add not the useless and senseless
words "_will_ you?" for instance, "Bring me the bread, will you?"--"Give
me some water, will you?" Of course he will. Has he the option of
refusing? How you would be startled were he to answer, "_I will not_."
It is well always to say, even to servants, "I will thank you for the
bread,--or the water." If you are a stranger in the house, ask, at the
beginning, the servant who waits on you to tell you his name. This may
save you some inconvenience. Where servants are numerous, they should
always go by their surnames, and be called Wilson, Jackson, Thomson, or
whatever it may be. This will prevent the confusion arising from half a
dozen Johns, or as many Williams.
If the waiters are attentive, and in sufficient number, you will have,
at a _good_ hotel, little or no occasion to help yourself to any thing.
Do not, under any circumstances, reach across the table, or rise on your
feet to get at any particular dish you may want. Trouble no one of the
company; but wait till you see a servant at hand. No man who is a
gentleman ever puts the ladies in requisition to help him at table.
It is not customary at hotels for ladies to be assiduous in watching and
supplying the plates of gentlemen. They can take care of themselves.
If in turning to speak to a waiter, you find him in the act of serving
some one else, say, "_When you are at leisure_, I will thank you for
some water,"--or whatever you may want.
It is selfish to be continually sending out of the room the man who
waits near you, for the purpose of bringing extra things for yourself.
Try to be satisfied with what you find on the table, and recollect that
you are depriving others of his services, while you are dispatching him
back and forward on errands to the kitchen.
Many persons hold silver forks awkwardly, as if not accustomed to them.
It is fashionable to use your knife only while cutting up the food small
enough to be eaten with the fork alone. While cutting, keep the fork in
your left hand, the hollow or concave side downward, the fork in a very
slanting position, and your fore-finger extended far down upon its
handle. When you have done cutting up what you are going to eat, lay
aside your knife, transfer the fork to your right hand, and take a small
piece of bread in your left. If eating any thing soft, use your silver
fork somewhat as a spoon, turning up the hollow side that the cavity may
hold the food. If engaged in talking, do not, meanwhile, hold your fork
bolt upright, but incline it downward, so as to be nearly on a level
with your plate. Remember, always, to keep your own knife, fork, and
spoon out of the dishes. It is an insult to the company, and a disgrace
to yourself, to dip into a dish any thing that has been even for a
moment in your mouth. To take butter or salt with your own knife is an
abomination. There is always a butter-knife and a salt-spoon. It is
nearly as bad to take a lump of sugar with your fingers.
In eating bread at dinner, break off little bits, instead of putting the
whole piece to your mouth and biting at it.
No lady looks worse than when gnawing a bone, even of game or poultry.
Few _ladies_ do it. In fact, nothing should be sucked or gnawed in
public; neither corn bitten off from the cob, nor melon nibbled from
the rind.[13] It is very ungraceful to eat an orange at table, unless,
having cut a bit off the top, you eat the inside with a
tea-spoon--otherwise reserve it for the privacy of your own room. Always
pare apples and peaches; and crack no nuts with your teeth. In eating
cherries, put your half-closed hand before your mouth to receive the
stones; then lay them on one side of your plate. To spit out the stones
one at a time as you proceed with the cherries is very ungenteel. Get
rid of plumb-stones in the same manner.
Do not eat incongruous and unsuitable things from the same plate,
telling the waiter that "he need not change it, as it will do very
well." The washing of a plate (more or less) is no object whatever in a
large establishment, and it is expected that the guests will have clean
ones very frequently.
It is an affectation of ultra-fashion to eat pie with a fork, and has a
very awkward and inconvenient look. Cut it up first with your knife and
fork both; then proceed to eat it with the fork in your right hand.
Much of this determined fork-exercise may be considered foolish. But it
is fashionable.
If a lady wishes to eat lobster, let her request the waiter that attends
her, to extract a portion of it from the shell, and bring it to her on a
clean plate--also to place a castor near her.
Novices in lobster sometimes eat it simply with salt, or with vinegar
only, or with black pepper. This betrays great ignorance of the article.
To prepare it according to the usual custom,--cut up, very small, the
pieces of lobster, and on another plate make the dressing. First, mash
together some hard-boiled yolk of egg, and some of the red coral of the
lobster, with a little salt and cayenne. Mix in, with a fork, mustard to
your taste; and then a liberal allowance of salad-oil, finishing with
vinegar. Transfer the bits of lobster to the plate that has the
dressing, and combine the whole with a fork. Lettuce salad is dressed in
the same manner.
At a public table, a lady should never volunteer to dress salad for
others of the company. Neither should she cut up a pie, and help it
round. These things ought only to be done by a gentleman, or a servant.
If a gentleman with whom you are acquainted has dressed a salad, and
offers the plate to you, take what you want, and immediately return to
him the remainder; and do not pass it on to persons in your vicinity. It
is _his_ privilege, and not _yours_ to offer it to others, as he has had
the trouble of dressing it. And it is just that he should have a portion
of it for himself, which will not be the case if you officiously hand it
about to people around you. Leave it to him to dispose of as he pleases.
It was formerly considered ill-manners to refuse to take wine with a
gentleman. Now that the fortunate increase of temperance has induced so
many persons to abjure, entirely, the use of all liquors, it is no
longer an offence to decline these invitations. If you have no
conscientious scruples, and if you are acquainted with the gentleman, or
have been introduced to him, (not else,) you may comply with his
civility, and when both glasses are filled, look at him, bow your head,
and taste the wine. If you are placed between a lady and gentleman who
are taking wine together, lean back a little that they may see each
other's faces. It is not customary, in America, for a lady to empty her
glass,--or indeed, at a hotel, or boarding-house, to take wine with the
same gentleman after the first day. Next time he asks, politely refuse,
simply desiring him to excuse you. If he is a true gentleman, he will
regard your refusal in its proper light, and not persist. We have often,
at a public table, regretted to see ladies in the daily practice of
taking wine with the same gentleman as often as invited. This "daily
practice" is improper, indelicate, and we will say mean--for wine is
expensive, and no lady should every day place herself under the same
obligation to the same gentleman, even for a single glass. He will not
respect her the more for doing so. On no consideration let any lady be
persuaded to take _two_ glasses of champagne. It is more than the head
of an _American_ female can bear. And she may rest assured that (though
unconscious of it herself) all present will find her cheeks flushing,
her eyes twinkling, her tongue unusually voluble, her talk loud and
silly, and her laugh incessant. Champagne is very insidious; and two
glasses may throw her into this pitiable condition.
If a stranger whom you do not know, and to whom you have had no
introduction, takes the liberty of asking you to drink wine with him,
refuse at once, positively and coldly, to prove that you consider it an
unwarrantable freedom. And so it is.
If you are helped to any thing whose appearance you do not like, or in
which you are disappointed when you taste it, you, of course, at a hotel
table, are not obliged to eat it. Merely leave it on your plate, without
audibly giving the reason; and then, in a low voice, desire the waiter
to bring you something else. It is well, while at table, to avoid any
discussion of the demerits of the dishes. On the other hand, you may
praise them as much as you please.
In refusing to be helped to any particular thing, never give as a reason
that "you are afraid of it," or "that it will disagree with you." It is
sufficient simply to _refuse_; and then no one has a right to ask why?
While at table, all allusions to dyspepsia, indigestion, or any other
disorders of the stomach, are vulgar and disgusting. The word "stomach"
should never be uttered at any table, or indeed anywhere else, except to
your physician, or in a private conversation with a female friend
interested in your health. It is a disagreeable word, (and so are all
its associations,) and should never be mentioned in public to "ears
polite." Also, make no remarks on what is eaten by persons near you,
(except they are children, and under your own care,) such as its being
unwholesome, indigestible, feverish, or in any way improper. It is no
business of yours; and besides, you are not to judge of others by
yourself. No two constitutions are alike, and what is very bad for
_you_, may be perfectly innoxious to others. If persons are with you in
whom you are much interested, and over whom you have influence, and they
seem inclined to eat what is bad for them, refrain from checking them in
presence of strangers. Above all, do not open your eyes, and hold up
your hands, and exclaim against their folly, and want of self-control,
and predict their certain sufferings from that cause. But if you _must_
remonstrate, wait till you have quitted the table, and find yourself
alone with the delinquent.
Never, while at table, (whether in public or private,) allow yourself to
talk on painful or disgusting subjects. Avoid all discussions of
sicknesses, sores, surgical operations, dreadful accidents, shocking
cruelties, or horrible punishments. A love of such topics, evinces a
coarse and unfeminine mind. It is rude in gentlemen at any time to
introduce them before ladies; and a polished man never does so. The
conversation at table should be as cheerful and pleasant as possible.
Political and sectarian controversies ought to have no place there.
Shakspeare truly says, "Unquiet meals make ill digestion."
Avoid the discussion at table of private affairs; either your own, or
those of other people. Remember that "servants have ears," and
frequently much more quickness of comprehension and retentiveness of
memory than is generally supposed. So have children.
Abstain from picking your teeth at table. Notwithstanding that custom
has allowed this practice in Europe, (even in fashionable society,) it
is still a very disagreeable one, and to delicate spectators absolutely
sickening to behold. Delay it till you are alone, and till you can
indulge in it without witnesses. We know that it is quite possible to go
on through a long life, and to have clean teeth, without ever once
having been _seen_ to pick them; and yet those teeth are really picked
after every meal.
Should you chance to be extremely incommoded by some extraneous
substance that has gotten between your teeth, you can remove it
unperceived, by holding up your napkin or handkerchief before your
mouth, so as effectually to conceal the process. When you take any thing
out of your teeth, do not make the persons who are near you sick, by
laying the disgusting particle on the side of your plate; but conceal it
immediately. Still, nothing but "sheer necessity" can excuse any
teeth-picking at table.
We have seen a young _lady_, at a very fashionable house in one of our
great cities, pull a dish of stewed oysters close to her, and with a
table-spoon fish out and eat the oysters one at a time; audibly sipping
up their liquor from the said dish.
We have seen a young _gentleman_ lift his plate of soup in both hands,
hold it to his mouth and drink, or rather lap it up. This was at no less
a place than Niagara.
We have heard of a well-dressed stranger at a great hotel in Boston, who
having used his own knife for the butter, flew into a violent passion
with the waiter for respectfully pointing out to him the silver
butter-knife. Swearing that the knife he had been putting in his mouth
was quite good enough, afterward, for any butter in the world, the
_gentleman_ flung the silver knife across the table, and broke it
against the wall. For this exploit he had to pay five dollars.
A man that habitually rises on his feet to reach across the table for a
dish, and pulls it to himself, instead of desiring the waiter to bring
it to him, is unworthy the appellation of a gentleman. Ladies, of
course, cannot be guilty of this abomination; but it is true that they
sometimes extend their arms entirely too far, in trying to get at
something which a servant would bring them if asked to do so.
Some persons behave coarsely at a public table because they are
ignorant, and know no better. Some (far less excusable) are rude because
they are too selfish to put any restraint on their inclinations, or to
care for the convenience of others.
Some display, all the time, a vulgar determination to "get the full
worth of their money." Some, who at a _private_ dinner-table would be
the most polite people imaginable, lay aside their good manners in a
_public_ dining-room; regarding a hotel as they would a tavern--a sort
of Liberty Hall. And some are insolent by way of "showing their
consequence,"--having, in reality, mixed so little with _true_ people of
consequence, as not to be aware that persons of high station are, with
few exceptions, entirely free from the assumption of undue importance.
Servants are often very shrewd observers, and they always say that real
gentlefolks "never take airs." Neither they do.
When the finger-glasses are sent round, dip a clean corner of your
napkin into the water, and wet round your lips with it, but omit the
disgusting foreign fashion of taking water into your mouth, rinsing and
gurgling it round, and then spitting it back into the glass. Wait till
you can give your mouth a regular and efficient washing up-stairs. Dip
your fingers into the glass, rub them with the slice of lemon, or the
orange-leaf that may be floating on the surface, and then wipe them on
the napkin. We have heard of a man who saw finger-glasses for the first
time in his life, when dining at one of the New York hotels. A slice of
lemon floating on the top, he took up the bowl and drank the water,
exclaiming as he set it down--"Well! if this isn't the poorest lemonade
I ever tasted!"
On quitting the table, it is not necessary to fold up your napkin.
Merely lay it on the table near your plate. The napkins will be
immediately collected by the servants, carried to the laundry, and
thrown at once into tubs of water, to take out the stains.
When dinner is over, and you see that nearly all the company, except two
or three, have left the table, it is not well to be one of that two or
three, and to remain to an indefinite period, loitering over the last
pickings of a plate of nuts--nut-picking being always a tedious
business. The waiters are, by this time, very tired of standing, and
they (like all other people) are entitled to some consideration of their
comfort. Even the attraction of a beau drinking his wine beside her,
ought not to induce a young lady to outstay all the company, with the
pretext of being passionately fond of nuts. She may indulge this passion
at any time by keeping a bag of them in her own room.
The English travellers who visit America are often right in their
remarks on many of our customs. And instead of resenting these remarks,
we might profit by them, and reform.
For instance, it is true that the generality of Americans eat too fast,
for their own health, and the comfort of those about them; masticating
their food very slightly, and not allowing themselves time enough to
enjoy their meals. The French, however, eat faster still, and can
dispatch a surprising quantity of food in less time than any people in
the civilized world. If we pattern after either nation in the customs of
the table, the _genteel_ English are far better models than most of
their neighbours across the Channel. But the best class of Americans are
unsurpassed in the essentials of all these observances. The English
attach too much importance to ceremonies merely conventional, and for
which there seems no motive but the ever-changing decrees of fashion.
Yet, on going to England, let every American lady take care to make
herself acquainted with these ceremonies; for her ignorance of them will
find no quarter there--and she need not flatter herself that it will be
passed over unnoticed.
In most hotels it is not customary to have hot cakes or any warm dishes
on the tea-table, except in cold weather. We think, in a summer
afternoon, they can be easily dispensed with, and that ladies might be
satisfied with sweet cakes, fruit, preserves, and other things more
delicate, and more suited to the hour, than the hot preparations they
sometimes call for; and which, by not seeing them on the table, they may
be assured do not come within scope of the tea-arrangements. It is
expecting too much to suppose the cook will be willing to mix
batter-cakes and bake them, or to scorch over the fire with broiling or
stewing relishes, in a warm summer evening--or even to make toast,
except for an invalid. Also, every one should know that a substantial
meal (including tea and coffee) can generally be had at the nine o'clock
supper-table. In houses where there is no nine o'clock supper, the
tea-table is set out with greater profusion and variety.
At hotels, the interval between dinner and tea is usually short; the
tea-hour being early, that the guests may have ample time to prepare for
going to places of amusement. Yet there are ladies who, though spending
all the evening at home, will remain sitting idly in the parlour till
eight o'clock, (or later still,) keeping the table standing and servants
waiting in attendance, that they may have a better appetite, and be able
to make a heartier meal at their tea. This is selfish and inconsiderate,
particularly as they might easily wait a little longer, and take their
tea or coffee at the supper-table. Their appetites would then be still
better. The servants certainly require rest, and should be exempt from
all attendance in the ladies' eating-room, for an hour or two in the
evening.
No lady can remain long in the drawing-room talking to a gentleman
after all the rest have retired for the night, without subjecting
herself to remarks which it would greatly annoy her to hear--whether
merited or not. Neither is it well for her to be seen continually
sitting at the same window with the same gentleman.
Ladies and gentlemen who wish to hold private dialogues, should not for
that purpose monopolize a centre-table; thereby preventing persons who
wish to read from availing themselves of the light of the chandelier
above it. Lovers who have proper consideration, (a rare occurrence,)
always sit as far as possible from the rest of the company, and so they
should--unless they can bring themselves to join in general
conversation. That is, if the lovership is real. In many cases the
semblance is only assumed to produce effect, and the talk has really
nothing secret or mysterious about it, and might just as well be uttered
audibly.
In making acquaintance with a stranger at a hotel, there is no
impropriety (but quite the contrary) in enquiring of her from what place
she comes. In introducing yourself give your name _audibly_; or what is
still better, if you have a card about you, present that; and she should
do the same in return. Before you enter into conversation on any subject
connected with religion, it will be well to ask her to what church she
belongs. This knowledge will guard you from indulging, inadvertently, in
sectarian remarks which may be displeasing to her, besides producing a
controversy which may be carried too far, and produce ill-feeling
between the parties. We have known the mere question, "Have you been to
church to-day?" when asked of a stranger at a Sunday dinner-table, bring
on a dialogue of great asperity, and very annoying to the hearers. As it
cannot possibly concern yourself whether the strangers at a hotel have
been to church or not, or what church they have visited, omit
catechising them at table on this or any other religious subject. We
have never known a clergyman guilty of this solecism in good sense and
good manners.
When you give a gratuity to a servant--for instance, to the man who
waits on you at table, or he that attends your room, or to the
chambermaid or the errand-boy--give it at no regular time, but whenever
you think proper, or find it convenient. It is injudicious to allow them
to suppose that they are to do you no particular service without being
immediately paid for it. It renders them mercenary, rapacious, and
neglectful of other boarders who are less profuse; not reflecting that
the servants are hired to wait on the company, and are paid wages for
doing so, by the proprietor of the establishment, and that it is
therefore their duty to him, and to his guests, to exert themselves so
to give satisfaction. Still, it is right and customary to pay them extra
for conveying your baggage up and down stairs when you are departing
from the house or returning to it. Carrying heavy baggage is very hard
work even for strong men. If you are a permanent boarder, and from
ill-health require extra attendance, it is well to give a certain sum
monthly to each of the servants who wait upon you; and then they will
not expect any thing more, except on extraordinary occasions. And to
each of them, separately, give the money with your own hand. In short,
whatever you give to any one, (servants or others,) it is safest, when
convenient, to bestow it in person. There will then be no mistakes, no
forgettings, and no temptation to embezzlement.
If you live in Philadelphia, you will find it very convenient, in most
cases, to send messages by a note with a stamp on it, put into the
city-post. There is a mail-bag and a letter-box at all hotels, and at
most of the large boarding-houses. The errand-boy of the hotel carries
parcels, and takes such messages as require an _immediate_ answer. For a
distance of any consequence, he will expect from twelve to twenty-five
cents. For little errands in the immediate neighbourhood, less will
suffice. When a servant brings you small change, do not tell him to keep
it. It is giving him the bad habit of expecting it always; and at times
when you may have occasion, yourself, for that very change. It is the
worst way of feeing them. On leaving the house, and at Christmas, it is
customary to give a fee rather larger than usual, to the servants who
have been your attendants. But as we have said before, give it with your
own hands.
It is ungenerous and most unjustifiable to bribe the servants to neglect
other boarders, (whose place is near yours,) for the purpose of their
bestowing on you a double share of attention. It is taking an undue
advantage, which in the end will come out badly.
All persons who go to hotels are not able to lavish large and frequent
gratuities on the servants. But all, for the price they pay to the
proprietor, are entitled to an ample share of attention from the
domestics.
It is very mean and unlady-like to gossip secretly with the servants,
and question them about any of the other guests. Still worse, to repeat
what they tell you, and give _them_ as authority. Treat them always with
kindness and civility, but have no confidential and familiar intercourse
with them. To those you know, it is but common civility to bid good
morning every day. Coloured people you may always gratify by saying a
few words to them, now and then, in passing. They value this little
kindness, and will not presume upon it like those from "the old
country," who, if treated familiarly, will frequently take liberties,
and lose all respect for you. Elderly coloured people, (particularly in
the South,) like much to be called "aunt" or "uncle;" and it degrades no
white lady to please them by doing so.
In all hotels, it is against the rule to take out of the ladies'
drawing-room any books that may be placed there for the general
convenience of the company, such as dictionaries, guide-books,
directories, magazines, &c. If you borrow a file of newspapers from the
reading-room, get done with them as soon as you can, lest they should be
wanted there by the gentlemen; and as soon as you have finished, ring
for a servant to carry them back.
Be careful, in cold weather, always to shut the parlour-doors after
you. If you think the room too warm, do not throw open either door or
window, without first enquiring if it will cause inconvenience to any
one present. It is a good practice to carry a pocket fan even in winter,
in case you should chance to feel the heat more sensibly than any other
lady in the room. If the heat of the grate causes you inconvenience,
enquire if there is any objection to having the blower brought in and
stood up before it. If not, ring the bell and order it.
If you have an anthracite fire in your chamber, and wish to extinguish
it on retiring for the night, take the tongs, and lifting off some of
the largest coals from the top, lay them beneath the grate. Then, with
the shut-tongs or the poker, make a deep hollow in the centre of the
fire; raking it into two hills, one on each side, leaving a valley down
in the middle. It will begin to blacken immediately, and go out in a few
minutes. If you cannot do this yourself, ring for a servant.
This is _the only way_ to put out an anthracite fire, whether in a grate
or a stove.--There is no other. Try it.
FOOTNOTES:
[12] A whisperer usually betrays herself by unconsciously fixing her
eyes on the person she is secretly talking of. If you wish to inform
your neighbour that a distinguished person is present say softly, "Mr.
C. is here, but do not look at him just now."
[13] It is, however, customary in eating sweet potatoes of a large size,
to break them in two, and taking a piece in your hand, to pierce down to
the bottom with your fork, and then mix in some butter, continuing to
hold it thus while eating it.