Sandown station one day the second special train for Waterloo was coming
in, and the platform was crowded with gaily-dressed women, tired and hot
after the walk across the fields on a tropical July day. A lady and
small Eton boy were together, and suddenly, when about to open the door
of a carriage at the moment the train came to a standstill, found
themselves all but thrown down by a sweeping motion of the arm of a
young man who was bent on reserving that particular carriage for his
party. Without a word of apology to the lady, he shouted to his sisters
and friends to “Come on,” still holding back the two who had wished to
get in. They entered the next compartment, and as they did so the lady
remarked to her companion, “What an extremely ill-mannered person that
is!” Meanwhile the party next door were settling down and congratulating
themselves on having secured seats, when one of them turned to their
over-zealous friend and remarked, “I saw Lady Blank get into the next
carriage with her eldest boy.” “_Who?_” he asked, with a sudden and
remarkable rush of colour on his face. The lady to whom he had behaved
so rudely turned out to be one from whom he had that very morning
received a long-desired invitation to spend a few days at her country
house in the following month. This he owed to the good offices of a
friend in the F. O., and, delighted at having made such a step in his
social career, he had at once written off accepting the invitation. It
is scarcely necessary to add that he never made the visit, but had to
wire at the last moment one of those conventional excuses that the “unco
guid” call fibs, but which are only the transparent devices adopted by
society to lubricate some of the more difficult of its processes.
Between the acts of a play the modern man thinks it his duty to himself
to go out and have a drink, perhaps smoke a cigarette.
[Sidenote: The interval.]
There was a time when, had any such suggestion been made to a gentleman
who had constituted himself the escort of a lady, he would have asked,
though perhaps not in Milton’s words--
“And leave thy fair side all unguarded, lady?”
But now the majority of young men visit the bar or the _foyer_.
[Sidenote: How a man may win golden opinions.]
But who shall say what golden opinions are won by those who do not
follow the custom, who refrain from acquiring the odour of tobacco, or
whiskey, or brandy while they are in the company of ladies in the heated
atmosphere of a theatre? A lady sometimes says to the men of her party,
“I see that there is a general stampede going on. Don’t mind me if you
would like to go out.” If they go she thinks, “Oh, they are just like
the rest.” If they stay she says to her own heart, “How delightful it is
to find a man who can do without a B.-and-S. or a smoke for two or three
hours!” and up he goes many pegs in her estimation.
[Sidenote: Other considerations.]
Apart from the lady he is with and considerations connected with her,
there is the inconvenience to which many of the audience are subjected
by the passing in and out of so many. However, it is a recognised
custom, so much so that a smoking _foyer_ is attached to all the best
theatres, and a warning bell is rung in it by the management a few
minutes before the rising of the curtain.
[Sidenote: When refreshments are brought around.]
Refreshments are frequently carried round by attendants to private
boxes, and sometimes in the stalls as well. Should they appear, it is
the duty of the gentleman of the party to ask the lady or ladies if they
wish for any, and to pay for what is consumed. It is, however, a rare
thing for ladies to eat or drink at the play. The gentleman also pays
for the programme at the few theatres where a charge is made.
[Sidenote: On unnecessary payment for programmes.]
I may mention, by the way, that it is not considered very good form to
pay for programmes at theatres where the management makes no charge.
Instances have been known where attendants have been discharged for
accepting such fees; and even apart from this, it is tantamount to
presenting the attendant with sixpence or a shilling if one insists on
paying for a programme or two provided free of charge. Many of the
attendants are superior to accepting it.
_AT A BALL._
[Sidenote: The etiquette of the ball-room.]
The etiquette of the ball-room is not difficult to acquire, and yet
there are thousands of young men going into society constantly who
flagrantly fail in it. Their bad manners are conspicuous. They decline
to dance unless the prettiest girls in the room are “trotted out” for
them, block the doorways, haunt the refreshment-room, and after supper
promptly take their leave. Could any course of conduct be in worse
taste? And what can a poor hostess do? Young men are necessary at
dances, and they must be invited. If they will not dance, who shall make
them?
[Sidenote: “The delight of the hostess’s heart.”]
The delight of the average hostess’s heart is the well-bred man,
unspoiled by conceit, who can always be depended on to do his duty. He
arrives in good time, fills his card before very long, and can be asked
to dance with a plain, neglected wallflower or two without resenting it.
He takes his partner duly to the refreshment-room after each dance, if
she wishes to go, and provides her with whatever she wishes. Before
leaving her, he sees her safe at her chaperon’s side. If he should sit
out a dance he returns in time to claim his partner for the next, not
leaving her till it is half over, as is the wont of some young men.
[Sidenote: Self-denial the secret of good society.]
The truth is that society demands a never-ending series of self-denying
actions from those who belong to it, and the more cheerfully these are
performed, the more perfect are the manners. What can be more enjoyable
than to sit in some cool retreat with a charming girl, enjoying one of
those innocent flirtations that do so much to give zest to life? But
delightful though it be, the temptation to prolong it must be resisted,
if an expectant partner is missing her dance and waiting in the
ball-room to be claimed.
[Sidenote: Non-dancers should not accept invitations.]
It is bad manners to go to a ball unless one is accomplished in the art
of dancing. To do so is to take the place of one who may be more expert
and therefore in greater request. Consequently, every man who wishes to
be a success in society must learn to dance. There are abundant
opportunities for doing so at the various dancing “academies,” as they
are rather unsuitably entitled, for there is not much about them of the
academical, as generally understood.
[Sidenote: The value of private lessons.]
Private lessons are dearer than the others, but they are really
necessary for most men who have not been taught to dance when boys. The
whole attention of the teacher should be given during the first three or
four. A man has so much to learn in addition to the correct movements of
his feet. He must be taught to hold his head up, to grasp his partner
gently but firmly, not to tread on her toes or knock his knees against
hers, and also how to steer his course and hers in an imaginary crowded
room.
[Sidenote: The finishing touches.]
Afterwards come the finishing touches, when, perfect in the steps and
carriage of the body, the learner is taught to glide gently from foot to
foot, regulating his pace as quickly or as slowly as he may wish. At
first this seems to be impossible, for the novice is inclined to “rush
his fences,” as it were, and he waltzes round the room at breakneck
speed, making himself giddy and breathless, and sometimes causing dire
catastrophe. A girl finds it difficult to forgive a man who has made her
look ridiculous.
[Sidenote: A fall: generally the man’s fault.]
The fall of a couple is not a frequent occurrence in a ball-room, but
when it does happen it is almost always the man’s fault. Girls take much
more naturally to the graceful movements of the dance, and are, besides,
more often taught in childhood than their brothers.
[Sidenote: At a private ball.]
At a private ball the guest enters and greets his hostess before
speaking to any one else. She shakes hands with him and passes him on
to some one to introduce him to partners, perhaps her husband, perhaps
her son.
[Sidenote: The card should be filled early.]
With this beginning he will probably get on very well and may half-fill
his card, and he should take care to do so at once, for at some balls
the nice girls are immediately snapped up and engaged for even the
extras before they have been twenty minutes in the room. “Are you
engaged for every dance, Miss Grey? Can you spare me one?” And Miss Grey
probably gives him one, but if he is a stranger of whose calisthenic
prowess nothing is known, she is careful to give him only one. Sometimes
his partners, if they discover that he dances well, introduce him to
their sisters and friends. If, however, he should find himself left high
and dry towards the end of the evening, he should go back to the
gentlemen of the house and ask them to introduce him to somebody else.
Young men of experience in such matters usually manage very well without
this, but the novice has often to face the alternative of dancing no
more or asking to be introduced.
[Sidenote: The “supper” dance.]
Hostesses sometimes make special introductions for the “supper” dance,
the one immediately preceding that meal. This means that the man
introduced, unless engaged to dance it with some one else, is
imperatively called upon to accept the partner offered him and take her
down to supper.
[Sidenote: Asking a lady to dance.]
In asking a lady to dance it is usual to say, “Will you give me this
waltz?” or “May I have this barn-dance?” Some young men say, “Would you
like to dance this? Come along then!” but such a form of address is only
suited to intimates.
[Sidenote: After the dance.]
When the dance is over, and the partner left with her friends, the man
says, “Thank you,” bows, and leaves her.
[Sidenote: Seeing a lady to her carriage.]
If he wishes to see any lady to her carriage, he asks her permission to
do so, folds her wraps round her, hands her in, and stands until the
carriage has gone some yards away.
_ENGAGEMENT AND MARRIAGE._
The old-fashioned rule that a man must approach the father of a girl
before offering himself in marriage to her has now, to some extent, died
out.
[Sidenote: A man may not propose when her family object.]
At the same time it is considered dishonourable for any one to propose
to a girl in the face of the decided disapprobation of her family.
Clandestine courtship is also regarded as dishonourable, except in
circumstances where the girl is unhappy or oppressed and needs a
champion.
[Sidenote: Proposal in person.]
The usual way to ask for the admired one’s hand in marriage is in
person. This is always preferable to writing, though some men have not
the courage to adopt the first course.
[Sidenote: Asking the father’s permission.]
Should the lady accept the offer, the happy wooer must take the earliest
opportunity of seeing her father, or, failing him, her nearest friend,
and begging him to permit the engagement. Should he consent, all is
well; but in the contrary case, his decision must be accepted. To allow
a girl to engage herself against the wish of her family
[Sidenote: Should the father refuse consent.]
is to drag her into a false position. Very often submission to the
decree effects more towards procuring its reversal than violent
opposition. It is difficult, of course, for young people to be patient,
but if they can only manage a little of it they would find the truth of
the French proverb, “All things come round to those who know how to
wait.”
[Sidenote: The engagement ring.]
Immediately upon having the engagement ratified, the accepted suitor
gives the lady an engagement ring. This should be as handsome a present
as he can afford to buy. Together with all other presents and
correspondence on both sides, this ring must be returned if the
engagement should be broken off.
[Sidenote: One’s duty to one’s betrothed.]
The accepted man is in duty bound to spend most of his leisure with his
intended bride. He must not go off for a sojourn abroad while she is
spending some weeks by the sea in England, unless she has expressed a
wish to that effect. It would be a considerable “snub” to her to do so.
[Sidenote: A significant announcement.]
Society has sometimes been amused by the announcement one day of a
“marriage having been arranged between Mr. A. and Miss B.,” and on the
next of the intention of Mr. A. to start for a tour round the world.
This almost always means that the man has been entrapped into a
proposal, and would willingly retreat if he honourably could. Such
things happen only too often. Manœuvring mothers have much to answer
for in the matter. Worldly girls have often sufficient wisdom of the
serpent to bring a reluctant wooer to the point and, by immediately
announcing the engagement to their friends, to make it extremely
difficult for him to retreat.
Sometimes a girl falls so wildly in love with a man that she creates a
kind of corresponding, though passing, fervour in him, and while it
lasts he believes himself in love, though his emotions are only a
mixture of gratified vanity and that physical attraction which needs
true love to redeem it from the fleshly sort.
[Sidenote: When a girl takes the initiative.]
Should marriage follow upon such courtships as these, where the girl
takes ever the initiative, the union is very seldom a happy one. The
wife never feels sure that her husband really loves her or would have
chosen her. She knows that he was her choice, rather than she his, and a
racking jealousy seizes her and makes her not only miserable herself,
but a very uncomfortable companion for him.
[Sidenote: The unhappy sequel.]
He, too, often finds when it is too late that she fulfils none of his
ideals, and is in many ways a contrast to the girl he would have chosen
if she had not whirled him into the vortex of her own strong feeling.
And he occasionally wonders if she may not some day experience a similar
strength of attraction for some other man and let herself be carried
away by it as she had been by her feeling for him. “Hot fires soon burn
out,” he thinks, and remembers the warning given to Othello: “She hath
deceived her father, and may thee.”
[Sidenote: Long engagements.]
No man should drag a girl into a long engagement. Nor should any man
propose to a girl until he is in a position to provide for her.
[Sidenote: And unsuitable positions.]
He is only standing in the way of other wooers who may be well supplied
with this world’s gear. Such trifles as wealth and ease may appear as
nought to the mind of the youthful lover, not to be weighed for a moment
in the balance with love and young romance. The girl, too, may be of the
same way of thinking at the time, but it the more behoves the man, the
stronger, to consider her and to remember that poverty is such a bitter
and a cruel thing that it even kills love at times.
[Sidenote: A man’s duty to look at cold facts.]
Recrimination in the home is a hard thing to bear. And yet how many
millions of women since the world began have said to their husband: “Oh,
why did I ever marry you? I could have done so much better.”
And how many men have said to their wives: “Well! You were determined
to have me, so now you must make the best of me.”
However, we will suppose these rocks and quicksands past, the engaged
couple happy, and the wedding day at hand.
[Sidenote: The bridegroom’s obligations.]
Custom demands that the bridegroom shall present her bouquet to the
bride, as well as bouquets and a present each to the bridesmaids. He
must furnish the house for the bride in every detail, not excepting the
house and table linen, which, in the old days of spinning-wheels, was
wont to be contributed by the bride herself.
[Sidenote: The best man.]
He must provide the wedding ring and the carriage in which his best man
and himself go to church. He pays the fees to clergyman and clerk, but
it is the best man who hands them over. With him the bridegroom waits at
the altar till the bride arrives. She takes her place at his left hand
for the first time, and at the proper moment he produces the ring which
is the symbol of their union.
[Sidenote: The bridegroom’s dress.]
The usual dress of a bridegroom consists of a very dark blue frock-coat,
light trousers, light or white scarf-tie, patent boots, and a new hat.
_DRESS._
It is absolutely true, though in a very limited sense, that the tailor
makes the man.
[Sidenote: Importance of dress.]
If a man does not dress well in society he cannot be a success. If he
commits flagrant errors in costume he will not be invited out very much,
of that he may be certain.
[Sidenote: The penalty of solecisms of costume.]
If he goes to a garden party in a frock-coat and straw hat, he is
condemned more universally than if he had committed some crime. The
evidence of the latter would not be upon him for all men to read, as the
evidence of his ignorance in social forms is, in his mistaken notions of
dress. Things are more involved than ever in the sartorial line, since
so many new sports and pastimes have sprung up for men.
[Sidenote: Tailors not always to be relied on.]
A man cannot consult his tailor upon every trifling detail, even if his
tailor were always a perfectly reliable authority, which is not always
the case, for there are tailors and tailors. A young man’s finances do
not always allow him to go to one of the best, and the second and
third-rate artists in cloth are apt to purvey second and third-rate
fashions to their customers. A brief summary of the forms of dress
appropriate to various occasions may be of some use to the
inexperienced. It is obvious that to enter into detail would be out of
place in a matter where change is the order of the day.
[Sidenote: “Certain fixed rules.”]
But there are certain fixed rules that are, in a sense, permanent, and
with these I may succinctly deal.
[Sidenote: For morning wear.]
For morning wear the morning-coat or jacket or the tweed suit is
correct. After lunch, when in town, the well-dressed man may continue to
wear his morning-coat or the regulation frock-coat, with trousers of
some neat, striped grey mixture. The tailor’s name for the material of
these is “mixed cheviots.”
[Sidenote: Light trousers.]
It is not considered good form to wear very light trousers except on
special occasions, such as weddings, garden parties, or afternoon
assemblies of a festive kind. Even then it is better to err on the quiet
side than to be over-loud.
[Sidenote: Black coats.]
The days of broadcloth have long gone by, and coats are now made of
vicuna cloth or black twilled worsteds, with a dull finish and of an
elastic quality. Waistcoats may be single or double-breasted. There is
no restriction as to the colour of the tie.
[Sidenote: The Park suit.]
The Park suit may consist of a grey or light-brown frock-coat, with
waistcoat and trousers to match, and this is the usual dress for Ascot,
the smartest of all the races. At Sandown the low hat and tweed suit, or
long racing coat, are worn, except on such days as the Princess of Wales
is present, when the Prince sets the example of wearing a black coat and
silk hat, and all other men are expected to follow his example.
[Sidenote: For a summer morning in the Park.]
For a morning walk in the Park in summer the straw hat, or low hat and
tweed suit, are as correct as the black coat and silk hat. But it must
be remembered that a straw hat or low hat cannot be worn with a black
coat of any kind.
[Sidenote: Brown boots.]
The “pot” hat and brown boots are permissible with an overcoat, under
which there may be a tweed suit, but brown boots may not otherwise
accompany a black coat, though they are admissible with the Ascot suit.
[Sidenote: Special suits.]
There are special suits for all kinds of outdoor amusements, such as
shooting, golfing, tennis, boating, driving, riding, bicycling, fishing,
hunting, &c., but into the details of these it is unnecessary to enter.
[Sidenote: Spoiling an otherwise good effect.]
It may be remarked, however, that it is easy to stultify the whole
effect of these, however perfectly they may be “built” by the tailor, by
the addition of a single incongruous article of attire; such as a silk
hat or patent boots with a shooting-suit.
[Sidenote: The modern dress-coat.]
The dress-coat is no longer made of broadcloth, the shiny finish of
which would now have a very old-fashioned appearance. The ordinary
evening coat is made of an elastic twill cloth, with a dull finish. Its
elasticity makes it fit to perfection when cut by a good tailor. Of
course it would be incorrect to wear other than black trousers with it.
The waistcoat is much cut away, to show a wide expanse of immaculately
got-up shirt-front.
This is the only correct costume for evening wear on all occasions of a
formal nature.
[Sidenote: The dinner-jacket.]
The dinner-jacket has very largely superseded the dress-coat for home
wear and at dinners in houses where one is a familiar guest. It is
occasionally seen at the play, too, but it would be incorrect to wear it
when accompanying ladies.
[Sidenote: On evening dress at theatres.]
Etiquette is not now nearly so strict as it used to be in the matter of
evening dress in the stalls, private boxes, and dress circle of the
theatres. I think this is rather to be deplored, but the wave of
democracy that has poured over society of late has left its impress in
this as in other matters. Though theatre managers put on the tickets
special to the best seats “Evening Dress,” I have seen half-a-dozen men
in the stalls dressed in a variety of unorthodox fashions, and once, in
August, I even saw a man in a boating suit come in, straw hat in hand,
and, ushered by an unprotesting attendant, take his seat. In the
off-season, when all the fashionable people are out of town, this was
not, perhaps, very surprising.
[Sidenote: A courageous young man.]
But he must have been a courageous young man.
[Sidenote: Mourning dress.]
Mourning for men seems almost a dead-letter nowadays, except in the
first two or three weeks after bereavement. A widower’s mourning is not
worn for more than a couple of months, unless the widower should belong
to the numerous class who cling conservatively to old customs, and
believe that to doff his weeds would imply some disrespect to his late
wife.
Disraeli, in his “Endymion,” puts the following words in the mouth of
Mr. Vigo, the great tailor:--
[Sidenote: “Dress does not make a man.”]
“Dress does not make a man, but it often makes a successful one. The
most precious stone, you know, must be cut and polished. I have known
many an heiress lost by her suitor being ill-dressed. You must dress
according to your age, your pursuits, your object in life; you must
dress, too, in some cases, according to your set. In youth a little
fancy is rather expected, but if political life be your object, it
should be avoided--at least after one-and-twenty.
[Sidenote: “But it often makes a successful one.”]
I am dressing two brothers now, men of considerable position; one is a
mere man of pleasure, the other will probably be a Minister of State.
They are as like as two peas, but were I to dress the dandy and the
minister the same, it would be bad taste--it would be ridiculous. No man
gives me the trouble which Lord Eglantine does; he has not made up his
mind whether he will be a great poet or a Prime Minister. ‘You must
choose, my lord,’ I tell him. ‘I cannot send you out looking like Lord
Byron if you mean to be a Canning or a Pitt.’
“What all men should avoid is the ‘shabby genteel.’ No man ever gets
over it. I will save you from that. You had better be in rags.”
_COUNTRY LIFE._
[Sidenote: Dress in the country.]
Dress in the country varies considerably in many matters from that worn
in town. A boy’s first “country suit” after he leaves school is a great
event to him.
[Sidenote: The first suit of tweeds.]
At Eton and Harrow the style of dress might almost be called a uniform,
and the first suit of tweeds marks the emancipation from school-life.
When in the country he dons these the first thing in the morning, unless
he should be on hunting or bicycling thoughts intent, or should incline
towards tennis, boating, or the slow delights of angling. After lunch a
change has occasionally to be made.
[Sidenote: At a garden party.]
Should a garden party be in question, he may take his choice between
tweed suit and low hat or cutaway coat with silk hat. If he happen to be
great on tennis the tweed suit would be naturally his choice, unless it
were distinctly understood that the game would form a prominent feature
of the afternoon’s entertainment. In this case flannels would be worn.
Sometimes very ceremonious garden parties take place in the country,
when Royalty or distinguished persons are expected to be present, when
the frock coat and its usual accompaniments would not be out of place.
[Sidenote: Invitations to breakfast.]
Invitations to breakfast in the country are by no means unusual. The
dress would consist of that ordinarily worn in the mornings, whether
tweed suit, knickerbockers, hunting or riding gear, or the black
morning-coat or suit. Frequently a silk hat is never seen between Sunday
and Sunday.
[Sidenote: Church-going costume.]