EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY MANNERS.
Nothing can more plainly show the regard in which women were held in
Virginia in the middle of the eighteenth century than the entries
in the accounts of Colonel William Byrd of his visits to Virginia
homes. He was an accomplished and cultivated gentleman, who wrote
with much intelligence and power when relating his interviews with
men, or discussing what might be termed masculine subjects, but who
revealed his opinion of the mental capacity of the fair sex by such
side glimpses as these: “We supped about nine and then prattled with
the ladies.” “Our conversation with the ladies was like whip-syllabub,
very pretty but nothing in it.” He also makes rather coarse jokes about
Miss Thekky and her maiden state, which was of course most deplorable
in his and every one else’s eyes; and he alludes disparagingly to Mrs.
Chiswell as “one of those absolute rarities, a very good old woman.”
The Virginia women are said by other authors of that day to have been
“bounteous in size and manner.” M. Droz wrote of them:--
Most of the women are quite pretty and insinuating in their manner
if they find you so. When you ask them if they would like to have
husbands they reply with a good grace that it is just what they desire.
For many years an epidemic of sentimentality and mawkishness seemed
to everywhere prevail in America, and indeed everywhere among
English-speaking peoples, and seemed also to be universally admired.
The women in America were, as Doctor Shippen wrote, “languishingly
sweet.” This insipidity pervaded the letters of the times, it showed
in all the diaries and journals that record conversations. Long and
vapid discourses on love and matrimony and “Platonicks” were held
even between comparative strangers. Even so sprightly and intelligent
a journalist as Sally Wister records her exceedingly flippant
conversation with young officers of new acquaintance, who, within a few
hours of introduction, suggested matrimony and love and kisses, and
punctuated their remarks with profanity, which they “declared was their
favorite vice.”
William Black, a most observant traveller, wrote of Philadelphia girls
in 1744:--
One of the ladies began a discourse on love wherein she pull’d the
other Sex to pieces. Setting forth the Constancy of their Sex and the
Unstability of ours. Every one of the young ladies put in an Oar and
helped her Out; at last being quite tired of the Subject and at a Loss
what more to say the Lady that begun it turned from it artfull enough
to Criticizing on Plays and their Authors, Addison, Otway, Prior,
Congreve, Dryden, Pope, Shakespere &c were named often in Question;
the words Genius and no Genius, Invention, Poetry, Fine things, bad
Language, no Style, Charming writing, Imagary and Diction, with many
more Expressions which swim on the surface of Criticism seemed to have
been caught by the Female Fishers for the Reputation of Wit.
Though William Black was willing to talk of “Love and Platonicks,” and
with warm approval, he was bitter in his rebuke of this “Fine Lady Mrs
Talkative” who dared to speak of books and authors.
It is well to note the books read by these young ladies in high life,
and their critical opinion of them. A much-liked book was named _The
Generous Inconstant_. It has vanished from our modern view. I should
really like to see the book that rejoiced in such a title. We can also
learn of the books read by Lucinda the “Young lady of Virginia” and her
friend Polly Brent. Lucinda’s journal was written during a visit to
the Lees, Washingtons, Grymes, Spotswoods, and other first families of
Virginia, and has been preserved till our own day. She thus records:--
I have spent the morning in reading Lady Julia Mandeville, and was
much affected. Indeed I think I never cried more in my life reading a
Novel; the Stile is beautiful, but the tale is horrid. Some one just
comes to tell us Mr Masenbird and Mr Spotswood is come. We must go
down, but I am affraid both Sister’s and my eyes will betray us.
Mrs. A. Washington has lent me a new Novel called Victoria. I cant say
I admire the Tale, though I think it prettyly Told. There is a Verse
in it I wish you much to read. I believe if I ant too Lazy I will copy
it off for you; the verse is not very beautifull but the sense is I
assure you.
I have been very agreeably entertained this evening reading a Novel
called Malvern Dale. It is something like Evelina, though not so
pretty. I have a piece of advice to give which I have before urged,
that is to read something improving. Books of instruction will be
a thousand times more pleasing (after a little while) than all the
novels in the World. I own myself I am too fond of Novel-reading; but
by accustoming myself to reading other Books I have become less so.
I have entertained myself all day reading Telemachus. It is really
delightful and very improving.
I have for the first time in my life just read Pope’s Eloiza. I had
heard my Polly extol it frequently, and curiosity led me to read it.
I will give you my opinion of it; the Poetry I think butifull, but do
not like some of the sentiments. Some of Eloizas is too Amorous for a
Female I think.
Sally Wister, a girl of fifteen, had brought to her what she called
“a charming collection of books,”--_Caroline Melmoth_, some _Ladys
Magazines_, _Juliet Grenville_ and “Joe Andrews”--this, Fielding’s
_Joseph Andrews_, I suppose.
The sensible and intelligent Eliza Lucas wrote in 1742, when she was
about twenty-one years old, with much critical discrimination on what
she read:--
I send by the bearer the last volume of Pamela. She is a good girl and
as such I love her dearly, but I must think her very defective, and
even blush for her while she allows herself that disgusting liberty
of praising herself, or what is very like it, repeating all the fine
speeches made to her by others,--when a person distinguished for
modesty in every other respect should have chosen rather to conceal
them, or at least let them come from some other hand; especially as
she might have considered those high compliments might have proceeded
from the partiality of her friends, or with a view to encourage her
and make her aspire after those qualifications which are ascribed to
her, which I know experimentally to be often the case. But then you
answer, she was a young country girl, had seen nothing of life, and
it was natural for her to be pleased with praise, and she had not art
enough to conceal it. True, before she was Mrs. B. it was excusable
when only wrote to her father and mother, but after she had the
advantage of Mr B’s conversation, and others of sense and distinction,
I must be of another opinion. But here arises a difficulty--we are to
be made acquainted by the author of all particulars; how then is it
to be done? I think by Miss Durnford or some other lady very intimate
with Mrs B. How you smile at my presumption for instructing one so far
above my own level as the author of Pamela (whom I esteem much for the
regard he pays to virtue and religion) but contract your smile into a
mortified look for I acquit the author. He designed to paint no more
than a woman, and he certainly designed it as a reflection upon the
vanity of our sex that a character so complete in every other instance
should be so defective in this. Defective indeed when she sometimes
mentions that poor creature Mr H’s applauses it puts me in mind of the
observation in Don Quixote, how grateful is praise even from a madman.
A most popular form of literary intercourse and amusement was
everywhere found in stilted sentimental correspondence, conducted often
under assumed and high-sounding names, usually classical. For instance,
this young lady of Virginia writes to her friend, plain Polly, when
separated for a short time:--
Oh my Marcia how hard is our fate! that we should be deprived of your
dear company, when it would compleat our Felecity--but such is the
fate of Mortals! We are never permitted to be perfectly happy. I
suppose it is all right, else the Supreme Disposer of all things would
have not permitted it, we should perhaps have been more neglectful
than we are of our duty.
She frequently forgets to use the pompous name of Marcia, especially
when writing on any subject that really interests her:--
You may depend upon it Polly this said Matrimony alters us mightily.
I am afraid it alienates us from every one else. It is I fear the ban
of Female Friendship. Let it not be with ours Polly if we should ever
Marry. Farewell my love, may Heaven shower blessings on your head
prays your Lucinda. (I always forget to make use of our other name.)
Even so sensible and intelligent a woman as Abigail Adams corresponded
under the names Diana or Portia, while her friends masqueraded as
Calliope, Myra, Aspasia, and Aurelia. Wives wrote to their husbands,
giving them fanciful or classical names. This of course was no new
fashion. Did not Shakespeare write:--
Adoptedly--as school-maids change their name
By vain though apt affection.
It is evident that in spite of all the outward dignity shown in these
pompous forms of address, and in a most ceremonial and reserved bearing
in public, there existed in private life much rudeness of demeanor and
much freedom in manner. Let me quote again from the vivacious pages of
the young lady of Virginia:--
The Gentlemen dined today at Mr Massinbirds. We have supped, and the
gentlemen are not returned yet. Lucy and myself are in a peck of
troubles for fear they should return drunk. Sister has had our bed
moved in her room. Just as we were undress’d and going to bed the
Gentlemen arrived, and we had to scamper. Both tipsy!
Today is Sunday. Brother was so worsted by the frolick yesterday,
we did not set off today. Mr C. Washington returned today from
Fredericksburg. You cant think how rejoiced Hannah was, nor how
dejected in his absence she always is. You may depend upon it Polly
this said Matrimony alters us mightely. Hannah and myself were going
to take a long walk this evening but were prevented by the two Horred
Mortals Mr Pinkard and Mr Washington, who siezed and kissed me a dozen
times in spite of all the resistance I could make. They really think,
now they are married, they are prevaliged to do anything....
When we got here we found the house pretty full. I had to dress
in a great hurry for dinner. We spent the evening very agreeably
in chatting. Milly Washington is a thousand times prettyer than I
thought her at first and very agreeable. About sunset Nancy, Milly
and myself took a walk in the Garden (it is a most beautiful place).
We were mighty busy cutting thistles to try our sweethearts, when Mr
Washington caught us; and you cant conceive how he plagued us--chased
us all over the Garden and was quite impertinent. I must tell you
of our frolic after we went to our room. We took a large dish of
bacon and beef; after that, a bowl of Sago cream; and after that an
apple-pye. While we were eating the apple-pye in bed--God bless you,
making a great noise--in came Mr Washington dressed in Hannah’s short
gown and peticoat, and seazed me and kissed me twenty times, in spite
of all the resistance I could make; and then Cousin Molly. Hannah soon
followed dressed in his Coat. They joined us in eating the apple-pye
and then went out. After this we took it into our heads to want to eat
oysters. We got up, put on our rappers and went down in the Seller to
get them; do you think Mr Washington did not follow us and scear us
just to death. We went up tho, and eat our oysters. We slept in the
old ladys room too, and she sat laughing fit to kill herself at us.
Now, these were no folk of low degree. The lively and osculatory Mr.
Washington was Corbin Washington. He married Hannah, daughter of
Richard Henry Lee. Their grandson, John A. Washington, was the last
of the family to occupy Mount Vernon. Mr. Pinkard also had a delicate
habit of “bolting in upon us, and overhearing part of our conveasation
in our rooms, which hily delighted him,” trying to seize the girls’
letters, dressing in women’s clothes, and other manly and gentlemanly
pleasantries.
Sarah Eve records in her journal an equally affectionate state of
manners in Philadelphian society in 1722. She writes:--
In the morning Dr Shippen came to see us. What a pity it is that the
Doctor is so fond of kissing. He really would be much more agreeable
if he were less fond. One hates to be always kissed, especially as it
is attended with so many inconveniences. It decomposes the economy of
ones handkerchief, it disorders ones high roll, and it ruffles the
serenity of ones countenance.
Though there was great talk made of gallant and chivalric bearing
toward the ladies, it is evident that occasional rudeness of manner
still existed. A writer in the _Royal Gazette_ of August 16, 1780, thus
complains of New York swains:--
As the Mall seems to be the chief resort for company of an evening I
am surprized that there is no more politeness and decorum observ’d
by the masculine gender. In short there is seldom a seat in that
agreeable walk that is not taken up by the gentlemen. This must be
very disagreeable to the fair sex in general whose tender delicate
limbs may be tired with the fatigues of walking, and bend, denied a
seat to rest them.
I cannot discover that anything of the nature of our modern chaperonage
was known in colonial days. We find the early travellers such as Dunton
taking many a long ride with a fair maid a-pillion back behind them.
In 1750 Captain Francis Goelet made a trip through New England. He
consorted only with the fashionable folk of the day, and he appeared to
find in them a very genial and even countrified simplicity of manners.
He tells of riding to “Turtle Frolicks” and country dances with young
ladies of refinement and good station in life. To one of the finer
routs at Cambridge he rode with Miss Betty Wendell in a chaise. There
were twenty couples in all who went to this Frolick, all, he says
complacently, the “Best Fashion in Boston.” Young men escorted young
girls to dancing-parties, and also accompanied them home after the
dance was finished.
Weddings were everywhere, throughout the middle and southern colonies,
scenes of great festivity.
I have been much interested and amused in reading the _Diary of Jacob
Hiltzheimer_, of Philadelphia (which has recently been published),
to note his references to the deep drinking at the weddings of the
day. One entry, on February 14, 1767, runs thus: “At noon went to
William Jones to drink punch, met several of my friends and got
decently drunk. The groom could not be accused of the same fault.” This
cheerful frankness reminds us of Sir Walter Raleigh’s similar ingenuous
expression: “Some of our captains garoused of wine till they were
reasonable pleasant.”
This William Jones was married eighteen years later to a third wife,
and again kept open house, and once more friend Jacob called on the
bride and ate the wedding-cake and drank the wedding-punch. Nay,
more, he called four days in succession, and at the end “rode all the
afternoon to wear off the effects of the punch and clear my head.” At
one bride’s house, Mrs. Robert Erwin’s, record was kept that for two
days after the wedding, between three and four hundred gentlemen had
called, drank punch, and probably kissed the bride.
It was the universal Philadelphia custom for the groom’s friends to
call thus for two days at his house and drink punch, and every evening
for a week large tea-parties were given by the bride, the bridesmaids
and groomsmen always in attendance. Sometimes a coaching trip was taken
by the entire bridal party out on the Lancaster pike, for a wedding
breakfast.
Similar customs prevailed in New York. In a letter written by Hannah
Thompson I read of bridal festivities in that town.
The Gentlemans Parents keep Open house just in the same manner as the
Brides Parents. The Gentlemen go from the Bridegroom house to drink
punch with and give Joy to his Father. The Brides visitors go in the
same manner from the Brides to her mothers to pay their compliments to
her. There is so much driving about at these times that in our narrow
streets there is some danger. The Wedding house resembles a beehive.
Company perpetually flying in and out.
In a new country, with novel methods of living, and unusual social
relations, there were some wild and furious wooings. None were more
coarsely extraordinary than the courting of young Mistress Burwell by
the Governor of the colony of Virginia, an intemperate, blustering
English ruffian named Nicholson. He demanded her hand in an Orientally
autocratic manner, and when neither she nor her parents regarded him
with favor, his rage and determination knew no bounds. He threatened
the lives of her father and mother “with mad furious distracted
speech.” When Parson Fouace came, meekly riding to visit poor Mr.
Burwell, his parishioner, who was sick (naturally enough), the Governor
set upon him with words of abuse, pulled the clerical hat off, drew
his sword, and threatened the clerical life, until the parson fled in
dismay. Fancying that the brother of Commissary Blair, the President of
the Virginia College, was a would-be suitor to his desired fair one, he
assailed the President with insane jealousy, saying, “Sir, your brother
is a villain and you have betrayed me,” and he swore revenge on the
entire family. To annoy further the good President, he lent his pistols
to the wicked college boys that they might thus keep the President
out of the college buildings. He vowed if Mistress Burwell married
any one but himself he would cut the throat of bridegroom, minister,
and justice who issued the marriage license. The noise of his abuse
reached England, and friends wrote from thence protesting letters to
him. At last the Council united and succeeded in procuring his removal.
Poor President Blair did not fare well under other governors, and both
College and President were fiercely hated by Governor Andros; and “a
sparkish young gentleman,” the grandfather of Martha Washington’s first
husband, to show his zeal for his gubernatorial friend, went into
church and “with great fury and violence” pulled Mrs. Blair out of her
pew in the face of the minister and the whole congregation--and this in
the stately old cavalier days.
One very curious duty devolved on young girls at that day. They often
served as pall-bearers. At the funeral of Mrs. Daniel Phœnix the
pall-bearers were women, and when Mrs. John Morgan, sister of Francis
Hopkinson, died in Philadelphia, her brother wrote of her funeral:--
The morning was snowy and severely cold, and the walking very
dangerous and slippery, never the less a number of respectable
citizens attended the funeral and the pall was borne by the first
ladies of the place.
Sarah Eve, in her diary, writes in 1772, in a somewhat flippant manner:
“R. Rush, P. Dunn, K. Vaughan, and myself carried Mr. Ash’s child to
be buried; foolish custom for girls to prance it through the streets
without hats or bonnets!” At the funeral of Fanny Durdin in 1812, the
girl pall-bearers were dressed in white, and wore long white veils.