Refrain from loud talking, or loud laughing. Young ladies truly genteel are never conspicuously noisy at a public table, or anywhere else. Still more carefully refrain from whispering, or exchanging significant glances. Whispers are always overheard, (even when the vulgar precaution is taken of screening your mouth with your hand,) and glances are always observed.[12] Joggings, nudgings, pinchings, sleeve-pullings, &c. are excessively unlady-like, and shamefully impudent when (as is often the case) the eye of the jogger is fixed upon the object of the jog. To put up an eye-gla.s.s at the face of a stranger, is very rude. So it is to make remarks in French.

When eating fish, first remove the bones carefully, and lay them on the edge of your plate. Then with your fork in your right hand, (the concave or hollow side held uppermost,) and a small piece of bread in your left, take up the flakes of fish. Servants, and all other persons, should be taught that the b.u.t.ter-sauce should not be _poured over_ the fish, but put on one side of the plate, that the eater may use it profusely or sparingly, according to taste, and be enabled to mix it conveniently with the sauce from the fish-castors. Pouring b.u.t.ter-sauce _over_ any thing is now ungenteel.

Do not attempt removing a cover from a dish, that you may help yourself before the rest of the company. Leave all that to the waiters. Tell them what you want in a distinct, but not in a loud, conspicuous voice. In asking a servant to bring you a thing, add not the useless and senseless words "_will_ you?" for instance, "Bring me the bread, will you?"--"Give me some water, will you?" Of course he will. Has he the option of refusing? How you would be startled were he to answer, "_I will not_."

It is well always to say, even to servants, "I will thank you for the bread,--or the water." If you are a stranger in the house, ask, at the beginning, the servant who waits on you to tell you his name. This may save you some inconvenience. Where servants are numerous, they should always go by their surnames, and be called Wilson, Jackson, Thomson, or whatever it may be. This will prevent the confusion arising from half a dozen Johns, or as many Williams.

If the waiters are attentive, and in sufficient number, you will have, at a _good_ hotel, little or no occasion to help yourself to any thing.

Do not, under any circ.u.mstances, reach across the table, or rise on your feet to get at any particular dish you may want. Trouble no one of the company; but wait till you see a servant at hand. No man who is a gentleman ever puts the ladies in requisition to help him at table.

It is not customary at hotels for ladies to be a.s.siduous in watching and supplying the plates of gentlemen. They can take care of themselves.

If in turning to speak to a waiter, you find him in the act of serving some one else, say, "_When you are at leisure_, I will thank you for some water,"--or whatever you may want.

It is selfish to be continually sending out of the room the man who waits near you, for the purpose of bringing extra things for yourself.

Try to be satisfied with what you find on the table, and recollect that you are depriving others of his services, while you are dispatching him back and forward on errands to the kitchen.

Many persons hold silver forks awkwardly, as if not accustomed to them.

It is fashionable to use your knife only while cutting up the food small enough to be eaten with the fork alone. While cutting, keep the fork in your left hand, the hollow or concave side downward, the fork in a very slanting position, and your fore-finger extended far down upon its handle. When you have done cutting up what you are going to eat, lay aside your knife, transfer the fork to your right hand, and take a small piece of bread in your left. If eating any thing soft, use your silver fork somewhat as a spoon, turning up the hollow side that the cavity may hold the food. If engaged in talking, do not, meanwhile, hold your fork bolt upright, but incline it downward, so as to be nearly on a level with your plate. Remember, always, to keep your own knife, fork, and spoon out of the dishes. It is an insult to the company, and a disgrace to yourself, to dip into a dish any thing that has been even for a moment in your mouth. To take b.u.t.ter or salt with your own knife is an abomination. There is always a b.u.t.ter-knife and a salt-spoon. It is nearly as bad to take a lump of sugar with your fingers.

In eating bread at dinner, break off little bits, instead of putting the whole piece to your mouth and biting at it.

No lady looks worse than when gnawing a bone, even of game or poultry.

Few _ladies_ do it. In fact, nothing should be sucked or gnawed in public; neither corn bitten off from the cob, nor melon nibbled from the rind.[13] It is very ungraceful to eat an orange at table, unless, having cut a bit off the top, you eat the inside with a tea-spoon--otherwise reserve it for the privacy of your own room. Always pare apples and peaches; and crack no nuts with your teeth. In eating cherries, put your half-closed hand before your mouth to receive the stones; then lay them on one side of your plate. To spit out the stones one at a time as you proceed with the cherries is very ungenteel. Get rid of plumb-stones in the same manner.

Do not eat incongruous and unsuitable things from the same plate, telling the waiter that "he need not change it, as it will do very well." The washing of a plate (more or less) is no object whatever in a large establishment, and it is expected that the guests will have clean ones very frequently.

It is an affectation of ultra-fashion to eat pie with a fork, and has a very awkward and inconvenient look. Cut it up first with your knife and fork both; then proceed to eat it with the fork in your right hand.

Much of this determined fork-exercise may be considered foolish. But it is fashionable.

If a lady wishes to eat lobster, let her request the waiter that attends her, to extract a portion of it from the sh.e.l.l, and bring it to her on a clean plate--also to place a castor near her.

Novices in lobster sometimes eat it simply with salt, or with vinegar only, or with black pepper. This betrays great ignorance of the article.

To prepare it according to the usual custom,--cut up, very small, the pieces of lobster, and on another plate make the dressing. First, mash together some hard-boiled yolk of egg, and some of the red coral of the lobster, with a little salt and cayenne. Mix in, with a fork, mustard to your taste; and then a liberal allowance of salad-oil, finishing with vinegar. Transfer the bits of lobster to the plate that has the dressing, and combine the whole with a fork. Lettuce salad is dressed in the same manner.

At a public table, a lady should never volunteer to dress salad for others of the company. Neither should she cut up a pie, and help it round. These things ought only to be done by a gentleman, or a servant.

If a gentleman with whom you are acquainted has dressed a salad, and offers the plate to you, take what you want, and immediately return to him the remainder; and do not pa.s.s it on to persons in your vicinity. It is _his_ privilege, and not _yours_ to offer it to others, as he has had the trouble of dressing it. And it is just that he should have a portion of it for himself, which will not be the case if you officiously hand it about to people around you. Leave it to him to dispose of as he pleases.

It was formerly considered ill-manners to refuse to take wine with a gentleman. Now that the fortunate increase of temperance has induced so many persons to abjure, entirely, the use of all liquors, it is no longer an offence to decline these invitations. If you have no conscientious scruples, and if you are acquainted with the gentleman, or have been introduced to him, (not else,) you may comply with his civility, and when both gla.s.ses are filled, look at him, bow your head, and taste the wine. If you are placed between a lady and gentleman who are taking wine together, lean back a little that they may see each other's faces. It is not customary, in America, for a lady to empty her gla.s.s,--or indeed, at a hotel, or boarding-house, to take wine with the same gentleman after the first day. Next time he asks, politely refuse, simply desiring him to excuse you. If he is a true gentleman, he will regard your refusal in its proper light, and not persist. We have often, at a public table, regretted to see ladies in the daily practice of taking wine with the same gentleman as often as invited. This "daily practice" is improper, indelicate, and we will say mean--for wine is expensive, and no lady should every day place herself under the same obligation to the same gentleman, even for a single gla.s.s. He will not respect her the more for doing so. On no consideration let any lady be persuaded to take _two_ gla.s.ses of champagne. It is more than the head of an _American_ female can bear. And she may rest a.s.sured that (though unconscious of it herself) all present will find her cheeks flushing, her eyes twinkling, her tongue unusually voluble, her talk loud and silly, and her laugh incessant. Champagne is very insidious; and two gla.s.ses may throw her into this pitiable condition.

If a stranger whom you do not know, and to whom you have had no introduction, takes the liberty of asking you to drink wine with him, refuse at once, positively and coldly, to prove that you consider it an unwarrantable freedom. And so it is.

If you are helped to any thing whose appearance you do not like, or in which you are disappointed when you taste it, you, of course, at a hotel table, are not obliged to eat it. Merely leave it on your plate, without audibly giving the reason; and then, in a low voice, desire the waiter to bring you something else. It is well, while at table, to avoid any discussion of the demerits of the dishes. On the other hand, you may praise them as much as you please.

In refusing to be helped to any particular thing, never give as a reason that "you are afraid of it," or "that it will disagree with you." It is sufficient simply to _refuse_; and then no one has a right to ask why?

While at table, all allusions to dyspepsia, indigestion, or any other disorders of the stomach, are vulgar and disgusting. The word "stomach"

should never be uttered at any table, or indeed anywhere else, except to your physician, or in a private conversation with a female friend interested in your health. It is a disagreeable word, (and so are all its a.s.sociations,) and should never be mentioned in public to "ears polite." Also, make no remarks on what is eaten by persons near you, (except they are children, and under your own care,) such as its being unwholesome, indigestible, feverish, or in any way improper. It is no business of yours; and besides, you are not to judge of others by yourself. No two const.i.tutions are alike, and what is very bad for _you_, may be perfectly innoxious to others. If persons are with you in whom you are much interested, and over whom you have influence, and they seem inclined to eat what is bad for them, refrain from checking them in presence of strangers. Above all, do not open your eyes, and hold up your hands, and exclaim against their folly, and want of self-control, and predict their certain sufferings from that cause. But if you _must_ remonstrate, wait till you have quitted the table, and find yourself alone with the delinquent.

Never, while at table, (whether in public or private,) allow yourself to talk on painful or disgusting subjects. Avoid all discussions of sicknesses, sores, surgical operations, dreadful accidents, shocking cruelties, or horrible punishments. A love of such topics, evinces a coa.r.s.e and unfeminine mind. It is rude in gentlemen at any time to introduce them before ladies; and a polished man never does so. The conversation at table should be as cheerful and pleasant as possible.

Political and sectarian controversies ought to have no place there.

Shakspeare truly says, "Unquiet meals make ill digestion."

Avoid the discussion at table of private affairs; either your own, or those of other people. Remember that "servants have ears," and frequently much more quickness of comprehension and retentiveness of memory than is generally supposed. So have children.

Abstain from picking your teeth at table. Notwithstanding that custom has allowed this practice in Europe, (even in fashionable society,) it is still a very disagreeable one, and to delicate spectators absolutely sickening to behold. Delay it till you are alone, and till you can indulge in it without witnesses. We know that it is quite possible to go on through a long life, and to have clean teeth, without ever once having been _seen_ to pick them; and yet those teeth are really picked after every meal.

Should you chance to be extremely incommoded by some extraneous substance that has gotten between your teeth, you can remove it unperceived, by holding up your napkin or handkerchief before your mouth, so as effectually to conceal the process. When you take any thing out of your teeth, do not make the persons who are near you sick, by laying the disgusting particle on the side of your plate; but conceal it immediately. Still, nothing but "sheer necessity" can excuse any teeth-picking at table.

We have seen a young _lady_, at a very fashionable house in one of our great cities, pull a dish of stewed oysters close to her, and with a table-spoon fish out and eat the oysters one at a time; audibly sipping up their liquor from the said dish.

We have seen a young _gentleman_ lift his plate of soup in both hands, hold it to his mouth and drink, or rather lap it up. This was at no less a place than Niagara.

We have heard of a well-dressed stranger at a great hotel in Boston, who having used his own knife for the b.u.t.ter, flew into a violent pa.s.sion with the waiter for respectfully pointing out to him the silver b.u.t.ter-knife. Swearing that the knife he had been putting in his mouth was quite good enough, afterward, for any b.u.t.ter in the world, the _gentleman_ flung the silver knife across the table, and broke it against the wall. For this exploit he had to pay five dollars.

A man that habitually rises on his feet to reach across the table for a dish, and pulls it to himself, instead of desiring the waiter to bring it to him, is unworthy the appellation of a gentleman. Ladies, of course, cannot be guilty of this abomination; but it is true that they sometimes extend their arms entirely too far, in trying to get at something which a servant would bring them if asked to do so.

Some persons behave coa.r.s.ely at a public table because they are ignorant, and know no better. Some (far less excusable) are rude because they are too selfish to put any restraint on their inclinations, or to care for the convenience of others.

Some display, all the time, a vulgar determination to "get the full worth of their money." Some, who at a _private_ dinner-table would be the most polite people imaginable, lay aside their good manners in a _public_ dining-room; regarding a hotel as they would a tavern--a sort of Liberty Hall. And some are insolent by way of "showing their consequence,"--having, in reality, mixed so little with _true_ people of consequence, as not to be aware that persons of high station are, with few exceptions, entirely free from the a.s.sumption of undue importance.

Servants are often very shrewd observers, and they always say that real gentlefolks "never take airs." Neither they do.

When the finger-gla.s.ses are sent round, dip a clean corner of your napkin into the water, and wet round your lips with it, but omit the disgusting foreign fashion of taking water into your mouth, rinsing and gurgling it round, and then spitting it back into the gla.s.s. Wait till you can give your mouth a regular and efficient washing up-stairs. Dip your fingers into the gla.s.s, rub them with the slice of lemon, or the orange-leaf that may be floating on the surface, and then wipe them on the napkin. We have heard of a man who saw finger-gla.s.ses for the first time in his life, when dining at one of the New York hotels. A slice of lemon floating on the top, he took up the bowl and drank the water, exclaiming as he set it down--"Well! if this isn't the poorest lemonade I ever tasted!"

On quitting the table, it is not necessary to fold up your napkin.

Merely lay it on the table near your plate. The napkins will be immediately collected by the servants, carried to the laundry, and thrown at once into tubs of water, to take out the stains.

When dinner is over, and you see that nearly all the company, except two or three, have left the table, it is not well to be one of that two or three, and to remain to an indefinite period, loitering over the last pickings of a plate of nuts--nut-picking being always a tedious business. The waiters are, by this time, very tired of standing, and they (like all other people) are ent.i.tled to some consideration of their comfort. Even the attraction of a beau drinking his wine beside her, ought not to induce a young lady to outstay all the company, with the pretext of being pa.s.sionately fond of nuts. She may indulge this pa.s.sion at any time by keeping a bag of them in her own room.

The English travellers who visit America are often right in their remarks on many of our customs. And instead of resenting these remarks, we might profit by them, and reform.

For instance, it is true that the generality of Americans eat too fast, for their own health, and the comfort of those about them; masticating their food very slightly, and not allowing themselves time enough to enjoy their meals. The French, however, eat faster still, and can dispatch a surprising quant.i.ty of food in less time than any people in the civilized world. If we pattern after either nation in the customs of the table, the _genteel_ English are far better models than most of their neighbours across the Channel. But the best cla.s.s of Americans are unsurpa.s.sed in the essentials of all these observances. The English attach too much importance to ceremonies merely conventional, and for which there seems no motive but the ever-changing decrees of fashion.

Yet, on going to England, let every American lady take care to make herself acquainted with these ceremonies; for her ignorance of them will find no quarter there--and she need not flatter herself that it will be pa.s.sed over unnoticed.

In most hotels it is not customary to have hot cakes or any warm dishes on the tea-table, except in cold weather. We think, in a summer afternoon, they can be easily dispensed with, and that ladies might be satisfied with sweet cakes, fruit, preserves, and other things more delicate, and more suited to the hour, than the hot preparations they sometimes call for; and which, by not seeing them on the table, they may be a.s.sured do not come within scope of the tea-arrangements. It is expecting too much to suppose the cook will be willing to mix batter-cakes and bake them, or to scorch over the fire with broiling or stewing relishes, in a warm summer evening--or even to make toast, except for an invalid. Also, every one should know that a substantial meal (including tea and coffee) can generally be had at the nine o'clock supper-table. In houses where there is no nine o'clock supper, the tea-table is set out with greater profusion and variety.

At hotels, the interval between dinner and tea is usually short; the tea-hour being early, that the guests may have ample time to prepare for going to places of amus.e.m.e.nt. Yet there are ladies who, though spending all the evening at home, will remain sitting idly in the parlour till eight o'clock, (or later still,) keeping the table standing and servants waiting in attendance, that they may have a better appet.i.te, and be able to make a heartier meal at their tea. This is selfish and inconsiderate, particularly as they might easily wait a little longer, and take their tea or coffee at the supper-table. Their appet.i.tes would then be still better. The servants certainly require rest, and should be exempt from all attendance in the ladies' eating-room, for an hour or two in the evening.

No lady can remain long in the drawing-room talking to a gentleman after all the rest have retired for the night, without subjecting herself to remarks which it would greatly annoy her to hear--whether merited or not. Neither is it well for her to be seen continually sitting at the same window with the same gentleman.

Ladies and gentlemen who wish to hold private dialogues, should not for that purpose monopolize a centre-table; thereby preventing persons who wish to read from availing themselves of the light of the chandelier above it. Lovers who have proper consideration, (a rare occurrence,) always sit as far as possible from the rest of the company, and so they should--unless they can bring themselves to join in general conversation. That is, if the lovership is real. In many cases the semblance is only a.s.sumed to produce effect, and the talk has really nothing secret or mysterious about it, and might just as well be uttered audibly.

In making acquaintance with a stranger at a hotel, there is no impropriety (but quite the contrary) in enquiring of her from what place she comes. In introducing yourself give your name _audibly_; or what is still better, if you have a card about you, present that; and she should do the same in return. Before you enter into conversation on any subject connected with religion, it will be well to ask her to what church she belongs. This knowledge will guard you from indulging, inadvertently, in sectarian remarks which may be displeasing to her, besides producing a controversy which may be carried too far, and produce ill-feeling between the parties. We have known the mere question, "Have you been to church to-day?" when asked of a stranger at a Sunday dinner-table, bring on a dialogue of great asperity, and very annoying to the hearers. As it cannot possibly concern yourself whether the strangers at a hotel have been to church or not, or what church they have visited, omit catechising them at table on this or any other religious subject. We have never known a clergyman guilty of this solecism in good sense and good manners.

When you give a gratuity to a servant--for instance, to the man who waits on you at table, or he that attends your room, or to the chambermaid or the errand-boy--give it at no regular time, but whenever you think proper, or find it convenient. It is injudicious to allow them to suppose that they are to do you no particular service without being immediately paid for it. It renders them mercenary, rapacious, and neglectful of other boarders who are less profuse; not reflecting that the servants are hired to wait on the company, and are paid wages for doing so, by the proprietor of the establishment, and that it is therefore their duty to him, and to his guests, to exert themselves so to give satisfaction. Still, it is right and customary to pay them extra for conveying your baggage up and down stairs when you are departing from the house or returning to it. Carrying heavy baggage is very hard work even for strong men. If you are a permanent boarder, and from ill-health require extra attendance, it is well to give a certain sum monthly to each of the servants who wait upon you; and then they will not expect any thing more, except on extraordinary occasions. And to each of them, separately, give the money with your own hand. In short, whatever you give to any one, (servants or others,) it is safest, when convenient, to bestow it in person. There will then be no mistakes, no forgettings, and no temptation to embezzlement.

If you live in Philadelphia, you will find it very convenient, in most cases, to send messages by a note with a stamp on it, put into the city-post. There is a mail-bag and a letter-box at all hotels, and at most of the large boarding-houses. The errand-boy of the hotel carries parcels, and takes such messages as require an _immediate_ answer. For a distance of any consequence, he will expect from twelve to twenty-five cents. For little errands in the immediate neighbourhood, less will suffice. When a servant brings you small change, do not tell him to keep it. It is giving him the bad habit of expecting it always; and at times when you may have occasion, yourself, for that very change. It is the worst way of feeing them. On leaving the house, and at Christmas, it is customary to give a fee rather larger than usual, to the servants who have been your attendants. But as we have said before, give it with your own hands.