outdoor life, bicycling, and so on, the costume worn by men in church is
experiencing the same modifications that characterise it in other
departments. The details of shooting suits can always be studied in the
illustrated advertisements of the tailors. A man’s wardrobe is now
almost as varied as a woman’s. He has different costumes for walking,
riding, driving, visiting, boating, hunting, shooting, golfing,
bicycling, tennis, and cricket, dining, smoking, and lounging, football,
racing, and yachting, to say nothing of uniform and Court suit, besides
the now developing motor-car costume.
_VISITING-CARDS AND CALLS._
It is necessary for every young man to have a supply of visiting-cards,
and for these there is one fixed rule, any departure from which betokens
want of knowledge of the customs of well-bred people.
[Sidenote: Visiting-cards, size and style.]
The size must be exactly three inches by one and a half. The pasteboard
must be pure white and glossy and the lettering must be in italic.
An idea prevails among young men of a certain class that it is incorrect
to put the title “Mr.” before their own name on a visiting-card. This is
a great mistake. Not to put it is to show oneself lacking in _savoir
faire_.
[Sidenote: The customary or other title must precede the name.]
The name must always be preceded by “Mr.” or “Sir,” or other title. The
address must occupy the left-hand corner, and the name of one’s club or
clubs must follow it.
[Sidenote: In the absence of a permanent address.]
When a young man has no permanent address, it is well to have only his
name printed, filling in the address in pencil before leaving or
presenting his card.
[Sidenote: The hours for calling.]
The hours for calling are from four to seven in the afternoon, but young
men who are not on very intimate terms with the family should carefully
abstain from calling after six o’clock, lest they should be the last and
solitary caller.
[Sidenote: On arrival.]
When the door is opened, and the question, “Is Mrs. Blank at home?”
answered in the affirmative, the visitor is invited to follow the
servant. He may take off his overcoat if he wishes, but he must carry
his hat and stick in his hand. The right-hand glove must be removed. The
gloved hand is never given to a lady, certain exceptional circumstances
proving the rule.
[Sidenote: Greeting the hostess.]
Arrived in the drawing-room, he holds his hat and glove in the left
hand, greets hostess first, she shaking hands with him, and then he
looks round the room and greets any acquaintance he may recognise, going
up to them if he knows them well, bowing if his previous knowledge of
them has been slight. Having taken his seat, he still holds his hat in
his hand, and he must find small talk as best he can, for sitting silent
is awkward for him and distressing to his hostess. She, by the way, will
probably say, “Would you not like to put down your hat?” indicating some
spot where he may lay it. The reason of carrying the hat to the
drawing-room
[Sidenote: The reason why the hat is carried.]
is a somewhat subtle one. It is based on the supposition that the
masculine caller feels himself privileged in being permitted to pay his
respects, and feeling himself on sufferance, is ready to leave in a
moment, hat in hand, should he not find his presence agreeable and
acceptable.
I have a private theory that this custom is cherished and kept up by men
from a conviction that their hats are much safer in their own sight in
the drawing-room than they would be downstairs in the hall. New
umbrellas have been taken instead of old, as we all know, and new hats
are quite as tempting, if not more so.
[Sidenote: The card should not be sent up.]
Do not send your card up when making a call. This is reserved for
business men. The servant asks your name, and it must be given very
distinctly. It will then be announced in a loud, clear voice when the
door is opened. Should the hostess show by her manner that she has not
recognised the name, its owner must recall himself to her memory by
saying, “I am Mr. So-and-so. I had the pleasure of,” &c., &c.,
explaining the circumstances that led to the call.
[Sidenote: Leaving the card on departure.]
The visiting-card must be left on the hall table when the caller goes
away, one card for the ladies of the house, and one for the gentleman
or gentlemen, whether these latter have been present or absent during
the call.
Should the lady called on be “Not at home” the cards are given to the
servant.
[Sidenote: Rendering an important service.]
When a man has rendered an unknown lady some really important service,
as in the case of a street accident or some other disagreeable
circumstance in which he has been able to avert from her some
unpleasantness which she would have otherwise incurred, the lady will
probably ask him to let her know to whom she is indebted for so much
kindness. The proper course to pursue is to disclaim any special
obligation, but if the lady persists, it is then good manners to give
the name. Should the gentleman feel very much interested in the lady, he
may say, “I should very much like to call to-morrow to find out if you
are none the worse for your adventure.” She may then give him her
address, and he would give her his card.
[Sidenote: A trivial service.]
But this would all be very much out of place if the affair had been some
mere matter of common courtesy, such as picking up some article dropped
by a lady and restoring it to her. A gentleman in such circumstances
raises his hat and retires as quickly as possible, lest the lady should
imagine that he could base a claim to her acquaintance on the
performance of so trivial a service.
It is only the “cad” who thus presumes, and the “cad-ess” who allows him
to do so.
Visiting-cards are never sent by post. They denote a call in person.
[Sidenote: P.P.C. Cards.]
The only exception to this rule is in sending out P.P.C. cards.
These are always sent by post. The letters denote _pour prendre congé_
(“to take leave”), and are used when it is found impossible to call and
say goodbye to all one’s circle of acquaintance.
A call after a ball or dinner-party must be made within the week, and
cards left.
[Sidenote: Sickness and death.]
In calling to inquire after the welfare of an invalid, or after the
family has suffered bereavement, cards are always left. If a man is on
intimate terms with a family that has suffered bereavement, he sometimes
uses cards with a slight line of black, and should he write a letter of
condolence, notepaper and envelopes with the same slight indication of
mourning on them. This expresses sympathy and a personal share in the
sorrow felt.
In making a call after death has visited any family, the dress of the
caller should be attuned to the occasion, and should be of a sombre
order, though it need not be precisely mourning.
When a man is a frequent visitor to any house, he may leave his hat and
stick in the hall.
The umbrella is never taken into a drawing-room.
[Sidenote: After an invitation.]
Cards must be left after an invitation, whether the latter be accepted
or not.
In case of not wishing to pursue the acquaintance of the person who sent
the invitation, it is sufficient to leave the cards without inquiring
whether the lady is at home.
[Sidenote: Terminating an acquaintanceship with courtesy.]
If a man should wish, for any reason, to courteously end an
acquaintanceship, he can do it without any of the intolerable “cutting,”
a method resorted to only by the rough and uncultivated.
[Sidenote: The final call.]
He may make a call that, in his own mind, he knows to be a final one,
remaining only just the quarter of an hour that is the minimum length of
such functions, and preserving a certain gravity of demeanour which is
as free from “sulks” as it is from other forms of bad temper. After
this, he may leave cards once more without asking if the ladies of the
family are at home. In this way he can gradually and with perfect
courtesy break off the intimacy.
[Sidenote: In the street.]
In the street he raises his hat but does not stop to speak. It is quite
possible to ignore the attempt to do so on the opposite side, but should
circumstances be such as to make it difficult to do so without positive
rudeness, he must stop, putting an end to the conversation at the
earliest possible moment.
[Sidenote: Duration of call.]
A call should never extend over half an hour unless the caller be
expressly requested to prolong it.
[Sidenote: Consulting the watch.]
A gentleman never looks at his watch during a call, at a dinner-party,
afternoon reception or ball. This is prohibited because the inference
would be that time was dragging with him and that he was anxious to get
away. A man may feel such anxiety, but he must hide it if he would be
deemed well-bred.
Young men who do not pay their duty call and leave a card after any
entertainment, are likely to be omitted from the list of guests invited
on some succeeding occasion.
[Sidenote: When a man finds himself “dropped.”]
Occasionally it happens that a young man finds himself “dropped” by some
family with whom he has been on terms of intimacy. He is debarred by the
rules of polite society from asking for an explanation, it being a canon
of good breeding never to ask questions that are embarrassing to reply
to. This has been embodied in a very outspoken and unceremonious phrase
“you ask me no questions, I tell you no lies.” There is a deep truth in
it, nevertheless, and even in family life it is well to observe it.
Sometimes the reason a young man is dropped in this way is that
something to his disadvantage has been discovered.
[Sidenote: An occasional reason.]
But not unfrequently the true reason is that one of the daughters of the
house has shown a preference for his society which the parents think
should be checked. Girls of the present day do not always exercise the
well-bred self-control that is the rule of good society in such matters.
To love unsought is a misfortune for any girl, leading inevitably to
much mortification and humiliation, but these may be minimised if she
can only practice a dignified reticence about her feelings.
[Sidenote: Putting out a feeler.]
But should a young man thus capriciously (as it seems to him) be left
out in the cold be on sufficiently good terms with a son of the house,
it would be quite in rule for him to put out a feeler or two on the
subject: “I say, old fellow, I wonder if I have been so unfortunate as
to offend your people in any way?” He will soon discover, from the
aspect of his interlocutor, whether he is likely to gain any information
on the matter.
CALLS OF INQUIRY.
[Sidenote: Calling on friends bereaved.]
In calling on friends who have suffered bereavement, after having
received their card of thanks for kind inquiries, it is, of course,
requisite that the dress should be of the quietest description. A red
tie, for instance, would be horribly out of place. Only in case of very
intimate friendships is the call prolonged beyond ten minutes or a
quarter of an hour. The caller takes his tone from that of the family.
[Sidenote: Avoiding reference to the loss.]
It is in the worst taste to refer to the loss sustained unless the
initiative is taken by one of those bereaved. This is very seldom done,
and the conversation is usually conducted on lines calculated to avert
any disturbing remark. No one likes to break down or lose self-command
except in seclusion; and, in fact, it is only necessary to look into
one’s own consciousness in order to discover what is the best course to
follow in such cases.
[Sidenote: Attending the funeral.]
Should a young man be invited to attend the funeral, he must wear
mourning, black gloves, and black hatband. Punctuality, important at all
times, is particularly essential at this dreary ceremonial. The family
usually provides carriages, but in the case of friends who possess
equipages, they always take their own. It is the custom to assemble at
the house, or to go by fixed train should the family reside in the
country.
[Sidenote: Invitations to return.]
It is better not to accept any invitations to return to the house
afterwards; for, as a rule, these are only given as a matter of form.
[Sidenote: Gifts of flowers.]
We often see in newspapers after the announcement of a death, a request
that no flowers may be sent. Failure to comply with this would argue a
want of perception, but when no such intimation is made a friend may
send flowers, the only essential being that they should consist as a
rule of pure white flowers or orchids, pansies, or violets. Occasionally
an exception is made to these in the case of favourite flowers of the
lost friend. An exquisite garland of pale tea-roses appeared among the
scores of wreaths seen at the funeral of one of our greatest poets.
_MANNER._
[Sidenote: The importance of a good manner.]
It would not be easy to over-estimate the importance of a good manner
from a social point of view. It ranks far above much more important
qualities. The “rough diamonds” who conceal their traditional good heart
under a surly exterior are seldom happy people, notwithstanding their
genuine thoroughness and real goodness.
[Sidenote: The qualities valued by society.]
In family life and in society a gentle manner “covers a multitude of
sins.” The world and the home reflect back to us the face we present to
them. If we cultivate a bright and cordial manner we shall be heartily
received by others, though the real nature of us lies beneath as cold
and hard as salt fresh from a mine. In the home the coldness and
hardness are soon found out, but they are partially condoned for the
sake of the superficial courtesy and kindness. In society the quality of
the heart matters little, so long as the surface is, at the same time,
genial and polished.
[Sidenote: “Life is a large bundle of little things.”]
Life is chiefly made up of small things, and if we learn to take an
interest in the trifling incidents of our friends’ lives, in the
everyday occurrences in the existence of our acquaintances, we supply
the sympathetic element that tells so largely in our favour.
[Sidenote: Simulation may induce reality.]
And very often the simulation of this interest induces the reality, and
our own life is brightened by participating in the pleasures and the
happiness of others, and deepened by sharing in their disappointments,
and by doing so helping them to overcome them. With a cold, forbidding
manner it is impossible to convey any such impression.
[Sidenote: Shyness.]
But this often comes from shyness, not only in the young, but all
through life. The youthful form of shyness is self-consciousness and
self-distrust. That which lasts through life is the fear of
self-revelation.
[Sidenote: And reticence.]
Even the frankest natures have often this quality of reticence, which
forbids them to reveal the inner depths of their thoughts, and makes
them hate to be divined.
Rochefoucauld says we all hate to be divined, though we like to divine
others; but many of us know well what a delightful thing it is to be
read like an open book by those whose thoughts reflect our own, and with
whom we discover ourselves to be in mental kinship.
[Sidenote: The ideal life--few friends, many acquaintances.]
The ideal life is that which has few friends but many acquaintances.
The friends are close and firm ones, “grappled to our hearts with hooks
of steel,” and the circle of acquaintances offers opportunities for
adding to their number. But without an agreeable manner it is difficult
to secure these inner and outer spheres of social companionship.
[Sidenote: A recipe for the formation of a good manner.]
Were I asked to give a recipe for the formation of a good manner I
should recommend an equal mixture of self-confidence and humility as the
first essential, then a considerable desire to please, tempered by the
self-respect which preserves from officiousness and that annoying air of
“ingratiating” themselves that some men assume in society. There must be
perfect self-possession, though in the very young this is scarcely
expected, a little becoming shyness sitting very well upon them. “I like
a shy man. He’s getting so scarce,” said a very pretty woman at a ball
not long since. “Find one, quick, and introduce him.” Her laughing
emissaries went off to search for the desired article, and after a while
returned with the report that the only shy man in the room was engaged
for every dance!
[Sidenote: Add gentleness to self-possession.]
When self-possession has been acquired it is well to add on to it the
saving grace of gentleness. This quality is much misunderstood by men.
In women they adore it; in themselves and each other they undervalue
it. But women love gentleness in men. It is a most telling piece of the
necessary equipment for society. A gentle manner, a gentle voice, and
the absence of all self-assertion, that is at the root of the matter,
have won more love than good looks.
Carlyle called the members of upper-class society “amiable stoics,” in
reference to the equable serenity of countenance and calm
self-possession of manner with which they accept those occasionally
trying conditions of social life which necessitate self-denial in
matters great and small.
[Sidenote: “Amiable stoics.”]
This placidity is the result of long training. Not just at first does a
young man bow to the decree of his hostess which separates him from the
girl he admires and tells him off to take some uninteresting dowager to
the supper-room. But should he evince any sign of discontent with the
arrangement he is at once convicted of ill-breeding. The man of “perfect
manners” is he who is calmly courteous in all circumstances, as
attentive outwardly to the plain and the elderly as he is to the young
and pretty.
[Sidenote: The man of “perfect manners.”]
It is difficult to renounce the delightful _tête-à-tête_ with a charming
girl when asked by his hostess to dance with some poor wallflower who
has been neglected for half-a-dozen dances. But it has to be borne, and
eventually it brings its own reward. The “duty” dance is a hard thing,
and good manners involve a considerable amount of self-denial; but
repetition soon makes it comparatively easy, and invitations of an
agreeable kind pour in on the young man who shows himself willing to
practise those peculiar forms of selflessness, opportunities for which
so frequently arise in society.
[Sidenote: Self-denial not unrewarded.]
It is probably in imitation of this surface equanimity that the wooden
stare has been adopted so universally by our golden youth.
[Sidenote: The wooden stare.]
This is useful for wearing at one’s club or in the stall of a theatre,
and it at once stamps the proprietor of the stare as being “in it.” The
fashion is not confined to England. It reigns in New York, and even in
far Australia there is a select coterie of golden or gilded youth who
are beginning to learn how to abstract every atom of expression from the
countenance, and to look on vacantly or seem to do so. As yet, there is
no considerable expertness achieved in the matter in Antipodean circles,
but in New York a very fair impression of imbecility is conveyed in the
look of the ultra-fashionable young man. There are various other
important matters on which a transatlantic authority has been
instructing the youth of his generation. The one involving the most
serious responsibility is connected with carrying a cane or stick, as it
is better form to call it.
[Sidenote: Transatlantic etiquette.]
It must be left at home when going to business, to church, or to make
calls. The idea of the latter prohibition is that, if a call is made on
a lady cane in hand, the inference would be that the caller is on
sufficiently intimate terms to look in on her casually at any time.
There is certainly subtlety in this view. It is well that the novice
should be made aware that the lowest depth of vulgarity is touched by
carrying an umbrella in a case. It is also an important item of
information that the gloves and cane must be carried in the same hand.
To do otherwise is seriously to err in social forms. Our instructor
declares that to attend oratorios and philharmonic concerts is
thoroughly bad form, indicating a tendency to be pedantic. It is much
better to go to a horse show. It is by no means considered correct to
shake hands. The proper way is to take hold of the fingers of one’s
acquaintance at the second joints, and bestow upon them one or two
decisive little jerks, as though testing their strength. “No, I thank
you,” is a form of words no longer heard in good society, having some
time since been replaced by “No, thanks.” No man with any claim to
social position would consent to pronounce the “g” at the end of the
present participle of verbs. “Comin’ and goin’” are the correct forms
just now. “Don’t you know” is ridiculously correct. Men of perception do
not care to be more accurate than others of their set. “Don’t-chi-know”
is more customary, and the pronunciation marks the man as riding on the
topmost crest of the social wave. There must be a staccato sound about
the phrase, which alternates pleasantly with the languid drawl. The
latter is still in favour, and accompanies admirably the studied lack of
animation in the expression and general wooden look of the face.
To revert for a moment to the cane, or walking-stick.
[Sidenote: The stick.]
There is much to be deduced from the manner in which it is carried. The
correct style is to hold it at an angle of forty-five degrees, with the
ferule uppermost and forward. This is the sort of thing that no man
could possibly discover for himself. The natural man would incline to
carry his stick in such fashion as would tend to direct its point to the
ground. This unsophisticated mode would at once reveal him as
uninitiated in the minor morals of good manners. The latest mode of
arranging the male hair, as practised in New York, and possibly nearer
home as well, is worth noting.
[Sidenote: The hair.]
First it is made thoroughly wet, then brushed and parted, after which
the head is swathed with linen bands, which are kept on until the hair
is thoroughly dry. This method produces the plastered appearance which
is now recognised as good form. Though cordiality of manner is rapidly
becoming obsolete, and is utterly condemned by all who have studied the
subject, yet it is a recognised fact that amiability has now superseded
sarcasm, and the up-to-date young man practises a careless superficial
benevolence of pronouncing every woman charming and every man a good
fellow.
[Sidenote: Amiability.]
The scathing, satiric wit of the last century was as the nadir to this
zenith of appreciative recognition of the best that is in every human
being.
It is pleasant to be able to add to all this minute detail about little
superficialities that the young man of to-day is a vast improvement on
his predecessors in very many ways. Swearing is out of fashion. Getting
intoxicated is decidedly “low,” and those who disgrace themselves in
this way are soon cut by their acquaintance. Some twenty years since
things were very different.
[Sidenote: The rowdyism of twenty years ago.]
To get tipsy was regarded as a proof of manliness. To wrench off
door-knockers and play similar senseless pranks was considered a form of
wit, and the heroes of such performances were looked on with admiring
eyes by their companions.
In many ways a higher standard now reigns.
[Sidenote: A higher moral standard now reigns.]
The pictures of ballet dancers that used once to adorn a young man’s
rooms have given place to others of a higher class. Dissolute and
unprincipled men get the cold shoulder from others of their set, and
vice, thank Heaven, is thoroughly out of fashion. There is still plenty
of folly. It is inseparable from youth. But in matters of more moment
there has been immense improvement going steadily on for many years.
There are young men who mistake arrogance of manners for
self-possession, and who conduct themselves, when in society with lifted
chin and a haughty air that may accord very well with their own estimate
of themselves, but seem rather out of place to onlookers. Such a man
invites comparisons between his social deserts and his implied
conviction of superiority.
[Sidenote: Arrogance of manners.]