DEPORTMENT AT A HOTEL, OR AT A LARGE BOARDING-HOUSE.
Now that there is so much travelling in the summer, (and indeed at all
seasons,) and so much living in public, to save the trouble and the
expense of keeping house in private, it may be well to offer some hints
on the propriety of manners that ought to be observed in places where
you are always exposed to the inspection and to the remarks of
strangers. These strangers, knowing you but slightly, or not at all,
will naturally draw their inferences for or against you from what they
see before their eyes; concluding that you are genteel or ungenteel,
patrician or plebeian, according to the coarseness or the polish of your
manners.
Yet strange to say, there are persons who indulge themselves in
astounding acts of rudeness, from the supposition that a hotel is only a
tavern, a sort of Liberty Hall, where every one has a right to “take
their ease in their inn,” if they pay for it. Have they no respect for
themselves?
It is usual for members of the same party to meet in the ladies’
drawing-room before they go in to breakfast, unless the party is large;
and then it is not expected that half a dozen persons should be kept
waiting for one or two late risers, or tardy dressers. When two or three
of the party find themselves ready in the parlour, it will be best for
them to proceed to the eating-room, and leave the others to follow at
their convenience, by twos or by threes,—always seeing that a young
lady, if a stranger, is not left to go in alone. Strangers at hotels can
have no particular seats at breakfast and tea, as at these two repasts,
they always come to table by instalments, and at no regular time. If a
large party enters all at once, and they are _determined_ to sit all
together, they may occasion much inconvenience to persons already
seated, or to the regular boarders, who have their allotted seats.
Neither is there any necessity or advantage in six, eight, or ten
people, who travel as one party, resolving to establish themselves at a
hotel-table all side by side, in a row; particularly when it causes
inconvenience to others. Certainly not more than three or four persons
ranged in a line can join in the same conversation, or attend to the
wants of their friends. Why then should they make any extraordinary
point of occupying chairs next to each other. It would be better to
divide their forces; and if they can, for half to sit on one side of the
table, and the other half directly opposite. Or they will find that if
the table is full, and they have to disperse still more widely, they had
best do so with a good grace, rather than make any disturbance on the
subject. When they quit the table to return to the drawing-room, they
may be very sure of all meeting again near the door.
Nine o’clock (or half-past) is the latest hour that any guest at a hotel
should come to breakfast; and few _Americans_ have so little
consideration as to detain the table and the servants till ten or
eleven.[9] At a boarding-house, the guests are very soon made to
understand that if they are late risers, they need expect nothing but
the cold leavings of the breakfast. At a hotel they find more
indulgence. You there choose from the bill of fare such dishes as you
may prefer, and they will be brought to you, after you have been
supplied with tea or coffee, and bread and butter to begin with. To each
person is allowed a separate dish or plate of the articles selected; and
it is understood to be for yourself alone, and that no other person has
a right to partake of it, or to meddle with it in any way. Yet even from
your own dish, never help yourself with the knife and fork or spoon you
are eating with; but always use a spare one, with which the waiter will
furnish you. Do not eat different sorts of relishes off the same plate.
At a hotel there is no scarcity of plates, or of servants to change
them. Always take butter with the butter-knife, and then do not forget
to return that knife to the butter-plate. Carefully avoid cutting bread
with your own knife, or taking salt with it from the salt-cellar. It
looks as if you had not been accustomed to butter-knives and
salt-spoons.
Ladies no longer eat salt-fish at a public table. The odour of it is now
considered extremely ungenteel, and it is always very disagreeable to
those who _do not_ eat it. If you breakfast alone, you can then indulge
in it.
Speak to the waiter in a distinct, but not in too loud a voice, and
always civilly. Thank him for any little extra attention he may show
you. If you do not like what he has brought you, or find that you cannot
eat it, make your objection in a low voice, so as not to be heard by the
neighbouring guests; and quietly desire him to bring you something else.
It is usual at a hotel-table for each waiter to have charge of three or
four persons, and to attend to _their_ wants exclusively. If you are a
stranger, ask the waiter his name when he first comes to you; and unless
he is not at hand, and you see another standing idle, do not call on any
one else to attend you.
If the servants are coloured men, refrain from all conversation in their
presence that may grate harshly on their feelings, by reminding them of
their unfortunate African blood. Do not talk of them as “negroes,”[10]
or “darkies.” Avoid all discussions of abolition, (either for or
against,) when coloured people are by. Also, quote none of their
laughable sayings while they are present.
When the domestics are Irish, and you have occasion to reprove them for
their negligence, forgetfulness, or blunders, do so without any
reference to their country. If you find one who is disrespectful or
insolent, or who persists in asserting a falsehood, it is safest to make
no reply yourself, but to have the matter represented to the proprietor
of the house; desiring that another waiter may be allotted to you.
It is ungenteel to go to the breakfast-table in any costume approaching
to full dress. There must be no flowers or ribbons in the hair. A
morning-cap should be as simple as possible. The most genteel morning
dress is a close gown of some plain material, with long sleeves, which
in summer may be white muslin. A merino or cashmere wrapper, (grey,
brown, purple, or olive,) faced or trimmed with other merino of an
entirely different colour, such as crimson, scarlet, green, or blue, is
a becoming morning dress for winter. In summer, a white cambric-muslin
morning-robe is the handsomest breakfast attire, but one of gingham or
printed muslin the most convenient. The coloured dress may be made open
in front, with short loose sleeves and a pointed body. Beneath it a
white under-dress, having a chemisette front down to the belt, and long
white sleeves down to the wrist. This forms a very graceful morning
costume, the white skirt appearing where the coloured skirt opens.
The fashion of wearing black silk mittens at breakfast is now obsolete.
It was always inconvenient, and neither useful nor ornamental.
After breakfast, it is customary for the ladies to adjourn to the
drawing-room, where they converse, or read the papers, or receive early
visiters, while the chambermaids are putting the bedchambers in order.
Some who are not accustomed to hotels, go immediately from the
breakfast-table to their own apartment, sitting there among the flue and
dust during the whole process of bed-making and room-sweeping; afraid to
trust the chambermaid alone, lest she should steal something. This is
absurd. They should know that the chambermaids (being all considered
honest and responsible) are furnished with duplicate keys, by which they
can at any time unlock the chamber-doors, and let themselves in, when
the occupant is absent. Also, this palpable suspicion of their honesty
is an insult to the girls, and is always felt as such. It is sufficient
to lock the bureau, the wardrobe, and your trunks. When you go out,
(that is, out of the house,) _then_ lock the door of your room, lest
some one passing by, should have curiosity to stroll in and look about,
and meddle with what they see there.
Should you perceive that the dress of another lady is, by some accident,
out of order—for instance, that a hook or a button has become
unfastened; or that a string is visibly hanging out; a collar unpinned,
and falling off; the corner of a shawl dragging along the floor; a skirt
caught up; or a sleeve slipping down, immediately have the kindness to
apprize her of it in a low voice, and assist her in repairing the
mischance; and, if necessary, leave the room with her for that purpose.
We have seen a lady who, finding that a cluster of her false curls was
coming down, had the courage to say so to a gentleman with whom she was
conversing at a party. And going openly, and at once, to the nearest
mirror, she calmly adjusted her borrowed locks, and returned to her seat
with a good grace. Consequently, nobody laughed at the untoward
accident; as might perhaps have been the case, had she seemed
excessively confused and mortified, and awkwardly tried to hold on her
curls till she got out of the room.
If you do not wish to be encumbered by carrying the key in your pocket,
let it be left during your absence, with the clerk in the office, or
with the barkeeper; and send to him for it on your return. Desire the
servant who attends the door to show no person up to your room during
your absence. If visiters wish to wait for your return, it is best they
should do so in the parlour.
In going in and out, be careful to shut the parlour-doors after you,
except in summer. Young ladies are often very inconsiderate in this
respect, and cause much inconvenience, in cold weather, to those who do
not like to sit with a draught of keen air blowing upon them. Even if
you feel too warm yourself, it is rude to throw open a door, (much more
to raise a window-sash,) without first enquiring if other ladies have no
objection.
There is no impropriety in a lady commencing conversation with a
stranger of genteel appearance. You can easily take occasion to mention
your own name, and then, in return, she will communicate hers. But,
unless you are previously certain of her respectability, have little to
say to a woman who is travelling without a companion, and whose face is
painted, who wears a profusion of long curls about her neck, who has a
meretricious expression of eye, and who is over-dressed. It is safest to
avoid her. Also, you will derive no pleasure or advantage from making
acquaintance with females who are evidently coarse and vulgar, even if
you know that they are rich, live in a large house, and are of
respectable character. Young girls who are loud, noisy, bold, and
forward, (however fashionable they may be,) it is best also to avoid.
They will not want your society, as they are generally all the time
surrounded by “beaux,” or else rattling over the keys of the piano.
In a public parlour, it is selfish and unmannerly to sit down to the
instrument uninvited, and fall to playing or practising, without seeming
to consider the probability of your interrupting or annoying the rest of
the company, particularly when you see them all engaged in reading or in
conversation. If you want amusement, you had better read, or occupy
yourself with some light sewing or knitting-work.
If you have no book, you can ring the bell, and send to the reading-room
to borrow a file of newspapers; but in most hotels, there are books
belonging to the establishment, lying on a table in the ladies’ parlour.
Be sure not to carry any of these books up-stairs, as they are intended
solely for the drawing-room; and their removal from thence is
interdicted. Also, never carry away the Directory, the Atlas, the City
Guide, or any other book placed there for the convenience of strangers.
If you want pen and ink, or any sort of stationery, you can obtain it
immediately, by ringing for a servant to bring it you from the office.
In ringing the bell, one pull is sufficient; and always pull the cord
_downward_. If you jerk it out horizontally, and give successively
several hard pulls in that direction, the cord is very likely to break,
or the knob or tassel to come off in your hand. At the chief hotel in
one of the New England cities, we saw a printed paper with directions in
large type, pasted beside _every bell-pull in the house_; the directions
specifying minutely the proper mode of bell-ringing. Could it be that
this house was frequented by persons unaccustomed to bells?
To return to the too-prevalent evil of uninvited and ill-timed
piano-playing, (much of which does not deserve the name of music,) we
have always been at a loss to understand how a young stranger, (modest
and unobtrusive in other things,) could walk up to the instrument,
sometimes almost as soon as she arrives, and rattle “fast and furious”
over the keys, drowning the voices of ladies and gentlemen who were
talking, and therefore compelling them to cease their conversation; or
if they pursued it, obliging them to raise their tone painfully; or to
lose more than half, from the impossibility of hearing each other
distinctly. To read when piano-playing is going on, is to most persons
impossible. There are few readers who cannot so concentrate their
attention on their book, as not to be disturbed by any _talking_ that
may occur in their vicinity; and if talking _does_ withdraw their
attention from the book, it is best that they should read only when
alone in their apartment. But we have met with no one who could read in
the neighbourhood of a played piano.
If the music is really very good, and accompanied by a fine voice, it is
true that most readers will willingly close the book to listen. But if
the playing is barely tolerable, or decidedly bad, and if the singing is
weak and insipid, or harsh and screaming, or timeless and tasteless, who
can possibly wish to hear it; except perhaps a doating father, or an
injudicious mother, vain of her daughter because she is _hers_, and so
anxious to show her off, that she encourages the girl to display even
her deficiencies.
We believe that our beloved America is not yet the land of music; and
that (with many exceptions) her children are generally not furnished
with much capacity for it. If there was a true feeling for music, there
would be more genius for that charming art, and there would be more
composers of original airs, the number of which, in our country, is
smaller than in any civilized nation in the world. It is true we have
many excellent musicians, and many very good singers, but still, music
is not the grand forte of Jonathan. Pity it were,—for he has “a nobler
and a manlier one.”
Now as “there is a time for all things,” we persist in saying that the
time and place for school-girls to hear their own music, or to prove
that it is not worth hearing, is not in the drawing-room of a hotel, or
in the presence of a company that can have no desire to hear them. What
would be thought of a young lady, who in a public room, should suddenly
come forward and “speak a speech;” or suddenly rise up, and commence,
“loud and high,” a reading of poetry, or recite a French fable, or
repeat the multiplication table, or favour the company with a
spontaneous _pas seul_. And yet we do not perceive that any of these
feats would be a much greater evidence of deficiency in diffidence, (to
call it by no bolder name,) than the practice of rattling, uninvited and
unseasonably, over the keys of a piano. A really good musician is rarely
obtrusive with her music, seldom playing unless she is asked; and then,
of course, complying at once.[11]
We repeat that no lady should play or sing in company, unless she knows
herself to be universally considered a good singer or player, and
capable of something more than the mere series of lessons she has learnt
from her music teacher. Also, some punishment should be devised for a
young girl who cannot play, yet has the folly and assurance to seat
herself at the piano of a public parlour, and annoy the company by an
hour of tinking and tanking with one finger only. Yet this we have seen;
and her mother present all the time.
The gratuitous exhibition of bad music is said by Europeans to be one of
the peculiar characteristics of American young ladies. Let them then
“reform it altogether.”
Bring no large sewing into the ladies’ drawing-room, and nothing that
will produce clippings or litter. Whenever you have occasion to write
more than a few lines, do it in your own apartment. It is well to have
always there a small writing-case of your own, with paper, pens, ink,
wafers, sealing-wax, envelopes, post-office stamps, &c. There are very
neat little writing-cases, (to be purchased at the best stationers,)
that are fitted with receptacles for all the above articles, excepting
paper; the whole occupying no more space in your travelling satchel than
a needle-book. The ink is so secured, that there is no danger of its
spilling. You may even carry these writing-cases in your pocket as
conveniently as a card-case. As writing-paper should not be folded or
rolled in packing, lay it flat in a small port-folio, and put it into
your trunk. You will find great convenience, when from home, to have
with you a little assortment of writing materials.
Except in cases of illness, it is well to decline invitations to visit
ladies in their own apartments, unless you are very intimately
acquainted with them, or have some particular business. Too much
sociability may induce communications too confidential; and subsequent
events may prove this confidence to be misplaced. Among the ladies
staying at a hotel, there is always more harmony, when they all content
themselves with meeting at table, or in the public drawing-room. Young
ladies should not encourage daily morning visits from young men boarding
at the same house, particularly if these visits are long. In our
country, nearly every young man is obliged, in some way, to get his own
living; and few can afford to idle away their mornings in loitering
about parlours, and talking flirtation. A youth who passes his time in
this manner, is a beau not worth having. A man that deserves to be
called a _good match_ has something else to do with his mornings. Ladies
at hotels should be specially careful not to make acquaintance with
gentlemen of whom they know nothing. If a man of notoriously dissipated
or immoral character, presumes to request an introduction to a lady who
is aware of his bad reputation, let her at once reply that not
considering the acquaintance desirable, she must be excused for
declining it. It is better thus to keep off an objectionable man, (even
with the certainty of offending him,) than weakly to subject yourself to
the annoyance and discredit (perhaps, still worse) of allowing him to
boast of his intimacy with you.
In conversing with gentlemen at hotels, (and all other places,) try not
to fall into the too common practice of talking to him nothing but
nonsense. It is a problem difficult to solve, that so many ladies of
good abilities and cultivated minds, and who always with their own sex
talk like intelligent, sensible women, should, as soon as they get into
conversation with a gentleman, seem immediately to take leave of
rationality, and demean themselves like utter fools—giving way at once
to something they call _excitement_, now the fashionable word for almost
every feeling that is wrong.
We grieve to see a charming, modest, refined young lady, almost the
moment a gentleman begins to talk to her, changing her whole demeanour,
and quickly becoming bold, forward, noisy, and nonsensical; chattering
at the top of her voice about nothing; and keeping up a continual laugh
about nothing. Does she suppose he cannot understand her if she talks
sense,—or does she think he will like her the better for regaling him
with nothing but folly? She is, in all probability, egregiously
mistaken, unless the gentleman is himself a simpleton.
Let it not be supposed that we have any objection to that sprightliness
which is one of the most agreeable characteristics of youth. On the
contrary, we are glad to see vivacity in women of all ages; and if they
have a sprinkling of wit and humour, so much the better. But we wish
them to do themselves justice; and not, when conversing with men, run
wild, because it _is_ with men; and give themselves up to all manner of
folly, such as would be pointless, vapid, and insipid, if it was not
seasoned with causeless laughter, and with eyes keeping time to the
tongue, rolling about in perpetual motion at nothing. We do not wish
ladies in conversing, even with men of sense, to confine themselves
always to grave discussions on important subjects. On the contrary, gay
and lively conversation is always pleasant, when well-timed. But those
who have not a talent for wit and humour, had best not attempt it.
Again, in listening to a woman of real wit, you will see that it is her
hearers who laugh, and not herself.
Persons who have no turn for humour, and little perception of it, are
apt to mistake mere coarseness for that amusing gift; and in trying to
be diverting, often become vulgar—a word not too severe for things that
are sometimes said and written by very good people who wish to be funny,
and do not know how. For instance, there is no wit, but there is
shocking ungentility, in a lady to speak of taking a “snooze” instead of
a nap,—in calling pantaloons “pants,” or gentlemen “gents,”—in saying of
a man whose dress is getting old that he looks “seedy,”—and in alluding
to an amusing anecdote, or a diverting incident, to say that it is
“rich.” All slang words are detestable from the lips of ladies.
We are always sorry to hear a young lady use such a word as “polking”
when she tells of having been engaged in a certain dance too fashionable
not long since; but happily, now it is fast going out, and almost
banished from the best society. To her honour be it remembered, Queen
Victoria has prohibited the polka being danced in her presence. How can
a genteel girl bring herself to say, “Last night I was polking with Mr.
Bell,” or “Mr. Cope came and asked me to polk with him.” Its coarse and
ill-sounding name is worthy of the dance.
If you own a lap-dog or poodle, recollect that however charming it may
be to yourself, others may regard it as an annoyance; therefore, try to
do without it when you are in the parlour of a house that is not your
own, and when the company present does not consist entirely of your own
family. All but their infatuated mistresses soon become very tired of
the society of these animals. Poodles are generally peevish, whining,
and snappish, prone to get under chairs and bite at feet, and to writhe
about the skirts of dresses. Their faces often look old, withered,
cross, and blear-eyed, seeming as if constantly troubled by the hair
that dangles uncomfortably in their eyes; and they are seldom healthy.
They have none of the honest, grateful, affectionate character common to
dogs of larger growth. Though they often inspire their mistress with a
love that becomes such a mania as to weaken her affection for all other
things, they seldom make friends of any one else. We include what is
called a King Charles’s dog in the same category. For instance Jip—whose
character is as true to nature, and as admirably drawn as that of Dora
herself.
Should a visiter come in to see one of the boarders who may be sitting
near you, change your place, and take a seat in a distant part of the
room. It is ill-manners to remain, and listen to the conversation. It is
best for the visited lady to meet her friend as soon as she sees her
enter the room, and conduct her to a sofa or ottoman where they can
enjoy their talk without danger of being overheard. After the visiter is
gone, do not enquire her name of the friend she has just called on.
It is _not_ well to call at the same time on two ladies both living at
the same house, (so as to make one visit suffice for both,) unless they
are intimate friends of each other, or unless your stay in the city will
be very short. If one is taciturn, and the other conversable, she that
is silent may imagine herself neglected, by the dialogue being chiefly
between those who can talk fluently, as it certainly will be, if the
third person only speaks when spoken to, and replies in monosyllables.
It is better to make a separate visit to each lady, on different days.
There is another way, and a very good one. For instance, should Mrs.
Canning wish to call on Mrs. Austin and Miss Lovel, both inmates of the
same house, let her, when shown into the parlour, send up her name to
Mrs. Austin first. When that lady comes down, and she and her friend
have conversed about as long as the usual term of a morning call, Mrs.
Canning will rise to depart, and when Mrs. Austin has seen her to the
parlour door, Mrs. C. may say, “I will detain you no longer,” or “I will
encroach no longer on your time, but I am going now to send up for Miss
Lovel.”
Mrs. Austin then takes her leave, and goes up-stairs, (_her_ part of the
visit being over;) while Mrs. Canning returns to her seat in the
parlour, having first rung the bell, and sent for Miss Lovel.
In this manner, two distinct visits may be politely made to two ladies
living in the same hotel—and it is very customary.
Any lady that lives at a hotel can in some degree make a return for the
civilities received from private families, by occasionally inviting a
friend to dine or take tea with her. These dinners or teas are of course
always charged in her bill. If she expects a friend, she will previously
send to apprize the head-waiter that she wishes him to reserve a seat
next to her own, for a lady. She should give her arm to her guest, in
going to the table.
If a friend chances to call, whom she really wishes to stay and dine or
drink tea with her, she should ask her guest to take off her bonnet as
soon as she comes in; giving her the invitation at once, and not
delaying it till the visiter is about taking her leave.
Even in a private house, such extemporaneous invitations (which if
evidently sincere, are always gratifying, whether accepted or not)
should be given _immediately_, as soon as the hostess meets her guest.
There will then be time to order any improvement in the table
arrangements that may be deemed necessary.
We often have occasion to repeat, that whatever is done at all, should
be done well.
If, while in the parlour of the hotel, you wish to know if a person you
are desirous of seeing is staying at the house, the easiest way to
obtain the information, is not to enquire round of the ladies present,
but to ring the bell, and desire the waiter to go and ask at the office.
You can then send a message accordingly. It should be a card with a
message pencilled on it.
By sending to the office you may learn where all the public places in
the city and its environs are to be found. Also, where the churches are
situated.
You may be sure that the most fashionable shops are in the main street.
At any stationer’s, you can buy a small pocket-map of the city, folded
in a little morocco case. This will be an almost indispensable aid in
finding your way. In Philadelphia, the arrangement of the long streets
that run east and west from the Delaware to the Schuylkill, has given
occasion to the old rhyme of
Market, Arch, Race and Vine,
Chestnut, Walnut, Spruce and Pine.
If when about to ascend the stairs, you find that a gentleman is going
up at the same time, draw back and make a sign for him to precede you.
He will bow, and pass on before you. When coming down, do the same, that
the gentleman may descend in advance of you.
A very polished man will not wait for a signal from the lady, but will
bow and run up-stairs, passing her as a thing of course.
Do not idly detain a parlour newspaper on your lap, for half an hour or
more, after you have done reading it. As soon as you have read all you
want, replace it on the table, or transfer it to another lady, who may
wish to read it, and who may have been waiting anxiously to see you lay
it out of your hand. You have no right to monopolize any thing that is
intended for the convenience of the whole company.