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Title: Etiquette

Author: Agnes H. Morton

Release Date: January 28, 2007 [EBook #20470]

Language: English

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ETIQUETTE

BY

AGNES H. MORTON


AUTHOR OF

"LETTER WRITING," "QUOTATIONS," &C.




  GOOD MANNERS FOR ALL
  PEOPLE, ESPECIALLY FOR
  THOSE "WHO DWELL
  WITHIN THE BROAD
  ZONE OF THE AVERAGE"


(REVISED EDITION)



PHILADELPHIA

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY

1919




Copyright, 1892, By the Penn Publishing Company




Contents


         INTRODUCTION

      I. ETHICS OF ETIQUETTE

     II. VISITING CARDS

           THE OFFICE OF THE VISITING CARD.  STYLE OF CARDS.
           THE ENGRAVING OF VISITING CARDS.--
             Cards for Men;
             Cards for Women;
             Cards for Young Women;
             After Marriage Cards.
           THE USE OF THE VISITING CARD.--
             Calling in Person;
             Card-leaving in Lieu of Personal Calls;
             Cases in which Personal Card-leaving is Required;
             Cards by Messenger or by Post;
             Card-leaving by Proxy.
           SOME FURTHER ILLUSTRATIONS OF CARD USAGE.


    III. CEREMONIOUS CARDS AND INVITATIONS.  ETIQUETTE OF REPLIES.
           THE "HIGH TEA," OR MUSICALE, ETC.
           WEDDING INVITATIONS.
           DINNER INVITATIONS.
           LUNCHEON AND BREAKFAST INVITATIONS.


     IV. THE CONDUCT OF A CHURCH WEDDING

      V. ENTERTAINING

     VI. AFTERNOON RECEPTIONS AND TEAS

    VII. THE DINNER SERVICE

           REQUISITES FOR THE DINING-TABLE.
           THE FORMAL ARRANGEMENT OF THE DINNER-TABLE.
           THE ARRIVAL OF GUESTS, MEANWHILE.
           THE ANNOUNCEMENT OF DINNER.
           THE SERVING OF THE DINNER.
           MISCELLANEOUS POINTS.
           DINNER-TABLE TALK.
           INFORMAL DINNERS.

   VIII. LUNCHEONS

     IX. SUPPERS

      X. BREAKFASTS

     XI. EVENING PARTIES

    XII. THE TWENTIETH CENTURY

   XIII. "THE STRANGER THAT IS WITHIN THY GATES"

    XIV. "MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME"

     XV. "AS THE TWIG IS BENT"

    XVI. SOCIAL YOUNG AMERICA

   XVII. THE AMERICAN CHAPERONE

  XVIII. GREETINGS.  RECOGNITIONS.  INTRODUCTIONS

    XIX. BEHAVIOR IN PUBLIC THOROUGHFARES

     XX. IN PUBLIC ASSEMBLIES

    XXI. BEARING AND SPEECH

   XXII. SELF-COMMAND

  XXIII. A FEW POINTS ON DRESS

   XXIV. PERSONAL HABITS

    XXV. SOCIAL CO-OPERATION

   XXVI. ON THE WING

  XXVII. ETIQUETTE OF GIFTS

 XXVIII. GALLANTRY AND COQUETRY

   XXIX. IN CONCLUSION




INTRODUCTION

As a rule, books of etiquette are written from the standpoint of the
ultra-fashionable circle.  They give large space to the details of
behavior on occasions of extreme conventionality, and describe minutely
the conduct proper on state occasions.  But the majority in every town
and village are people of moderate means and quiet habits of living, to
whom the extreme formalities of the world of fashion will always remain
something of an abstraction, and the knowledge of them is not of much
practical use except to the few who are reflective enough to infer
their own particular rule from any illustration of the general code.

Though it is interesting as a matter of information to know how a state
dinner is conducted, still, as a matter of fact, the dinners usually
given within this broad zone of "the average" are served without the
assistance of butler, footman, or florist; innocent of wines and minus
the more elaborate and expensive courses; and though served _à la
Russe_ the service is under the watchful supervision of the hostess
herself and executed by the more or less skillful hand of a demure
maid-servant.  Yet, in all essential points, the laws of etiquette
controlling the conduct of this simple dinner of the American democrat
are the same as those observed in the ceremonious banquet of the
ambitious aristocrat.  The degree of formality varies; the quality of
courtesy is unchanging.

Well-mannered people are those who are at all times thoughtfully
observant of _little_ proprieties Such people do not "forget their
manners" when away from home.  They eat at the hotel table as daintily
and with as polite regard for the comfort of their nearest neighbor as
though they were among critical acquaintances.  They never elbow
mercilessly through crowded theatre aisles, nor stand up in front of
others to see the pictures of a panorama, nor allow their children to
climb upon the car seats with muddy or rough-nailed shoes; nor do a
score of other things that every day are to be observed in public
places, the mortifying tell-tale marks of an _habitual_ ill-manners.

The importance of constant attention to points of etiquette cannot be
too earnestly emphasized.  The long lecture of instruction to the
little Ruggles', preparatory to their visit to the Birds, is a
comical--if burlesque--illustration of the emergency that sometimes
faces some people, that of suddenly preparing to "behave themselves" on
a great occasion.  Although the little Ruggles' were fired with
ambition to do themselves credit, their crude preparation was not equal
to the occasion.  The best of intentions could not at once take the
place of established custom.  One might as well hastily wrap himself in
a yard or two of uncut broadcloth expecting it to be transformed, by
instant miracle, into a coat.  The garment must be cut and fitted, and
adjusted and worn for a space of time before it can become the
well-fitting habit, worn with the easy grace of unconsciousness which
marks the habitually well-mannered.

In this brief volume I have endeavored to suggest some of the
fundamental laws of good behavior in every-day life.  It is hoped that
the conclusions reached, while not claiming to be either exhaustive or
infallible, may be useful as far as they go.  Where authorities differ
as to forms I have stated the rule which has the most widespread
sanction of good usage.




ETIQUETTE


ETHICS OF ETIQUETTE

Etiquette is the term applied to correct behavior in social life, and
refers to the manner of actions and the expression of a proper social
spirit through the medium of established forms and ceremonies.  Polite
usage recognizes certain minute distinctions between the mannerly and
the unmannerly ways of performing every act of life that affects the
comfort and happiness of others.

By one whose experience in life has been a hardening process tending in
the direction of a crystallized selfishness the rules of etiquette are
regarded with contempt and alluded to with a sneer.  No more
disheartening problem faces the social reformer than the question how
to overcome the bitter hostility to refined manners which marks the
ignorant "lower classes."  On the other hand, there is no more hopeful
sign of progress in civilization than the gradual softening of these
hard natures under the influence of social amenities.  The secret of
successful missionary work lies primarily, not in tracts, nor in
dogmas, nor in exhortations, but in the subtle attraction of a refined,
benevolent spirit, breathing its very self into the lives of those who
have hitherto known only the rasping, grasping selfishness of their
fellow-men, and to whom this new gospel of brotherly kindness and
deference is a marvelous revelation and inspiration.  The result of
such missionary work is a triumph of sanctified courtesy, a triumph not
unworthy the disciples of Him who "went about doing good" while
teaching and exemplifying the "golden rule" upon which all rules of
etiquette, however "worldly," are based.

Perhaps it may sometimes seem that there is little relation, possibly
even some antagonism, between the sincerity of perfect courtesy and the
proprieties of formal etiquette.  At times etiquette requires us to do
things that are not agreeable to our selfish impulses, and to say
things that are not literally true if our secret feelings were known.
But there is no instance wherein the laws of etiquette need transgress
the law of sincerity when the ultimate purpose of each action is to
develop and sustain social harmony.

Sometimes, for example, we invite people to visit us, and we pay visits
in return, when both occasions are, on the face of it, a bore.  Yet
there may be good reasons why we should sacrifice any mere impulse of
choice and exert ourselves to manifest a hospitable spirit toward
certain people who are most uncongenial to us.  Sometimes for the sake
of another who is dear to us, and who, in turn, is attached to these
same unattractive people, we make the third line of the triangle
cheerfully, and even gladly, no matter how onerous the task, how
distasteful the association forced upon us.  These are not happy
experiences, but they are tests of character that we are all liable to
meet and which prove a most excellent discipline if they are met with
discretion and patience.  Moreover, in the conscientious effort to be
agreeable to disagreeable people we are tacitly trying to persuade
ourselves that they are not so disagreeable after all, and indeed such
is our surprising discovery in many instances.  Let us hope that others
who exercise a similar forbearance toward ourselves are equally
flattering in the conclusions which they reach.

Etiquette requires that we shall treat all people with equal courtesy,
given the same conditions.  It has a tendency to ignore the
individuality of people.  We may not slight one man simply because we
do not like him, nor may we publicly exhibit extreme preference for the
one whom we do like.  In both cases the rebel against the restraints of
social mice shouts the charge of "insincerity."  Well, perhaps some of
the impulses of sincerity are better held in check; they are too
closely allied to the humoring of our cherished prejudices.  If "tact
consists in knowing what not to say," etiquette consists in knowing
what not to do in the direction of manifesting our impulsive likes and
dislikes.

Besides, etiquette is not so much a manifestation _toward others_ as it
is an exponent of _ourselves_.  We are courteous to others, first of
all, because such behavior only is consistent with our own claim to be
well-bred.

Bearing this in mind we can behave with serenity in the presence of our
most aggravating foe; his worst manifestation of himself fails to
provoke us to retort in kind.  We treat him politely, not because he
deserves it, but because we owe it to ourselves to be gentle-mannered.
Etiquette _begins at self_.  There is no worthy deference to others
that does not rest on the basis of self-respect.

  "To thine own self be true;
  And it must follow, as the night the day,
  Thou canst not then be false to any man."


It is a superficial judgment that descries nothing but insincerity in
the unvarying suavity of a well-bred manner; that regards the
conventional code of behavior as merely a device for rendering social
life artificial.  The _raison d'être_ is always to be found in the
established rules of etiquette; and probably the most exacting and
seemingly unnecessary of formalities has its foundation in some good
common sense principle not far removed in spirit from "the rule golden."

In short, manners and morals are twin shoots from the same root.  The
essentially well-bred man is he whose manners are the polite expression
of moral principle, magnanimity, and benevolence.




VISITING CARDS

THE OFFICE OF THE VISITING CARD

The personal, or visiting, card is the representative of the individual
whose name it bears.  It goes where he himself would be entitled to
appear, and in his absence it is equivalent to his presence.  It is his
"double," delegated to fill all social spaces which his
variously-occupied life would otherwise compel him to leave vacant.

Since the card is to be received as the equivalent of one's self, it is
important that it shall be discreetly sent upon its embassy.  In every
case where personal cards are correctly used the owner is accredited
with having performed _de facto_ whatever the card expresses for him,
be it a "call," a "regret," a "congratulation," an "apology," an
"introduction," a "farewell-taking," or whatever.

The rules guiding the uses of visiting cards are based upon this idea
of representation.  The deputy is on duty only in the absence of his
superior, so the card is usually superfluous when the owner himself is
present.

A card sent at a wrong time suggests the possibility that the owner
might blunder similarly in his personal appearing.  The neglect to send
a card at a proper time is equivalent to a _personal_ neglect.  The man
who comes himself and hands you his card also is apt to have too many
elbows at a dinner, too many feet at a ball.  He has about him a
suggestion of awkward superfluousness that is subtly consistent with
his duplicate announcement of himself.

For want of the much-needed genderless singular pronoun I have been
using the masculine form; but upon reflection I remember that it is the
women of society who have the most diverse responsibility in the
management of personal cards, their duties extending even to the care
and oversight of the cards of their socially careless and negligent
male relatives.  But no matter who attends to the proprieties, the
relation of the card to its owner is the same in all cases.  If his
card blunders, he gets the discredit of it.  If his card always
flutters gracefully into the salver at exactly the right time and
place, the glory is all his own, even though his tireless wife or
mother or sister has done all the hard thinking bestowed on the matter.
Happy the man allied by the ties of close kindred to a gifted society
woman, for lo! his cards shall never be found missing, wherever _he_
may stray.


STYLE OF CARDS

The prevailing shape of cards for women is nearly square (about 2 1/2 x
3 inches).  A fine dull-finished card-board of medium weight and
stiffness is used.

A man's card is smaller, and narrower proportionately; and is of
slightly heavier card-board.

The color is pearl white, not cream.  Tinted cards are not admissible.

The engraving is plain script, or elaborate text; as the fashion may
for the time decree.

The responsibility of furnishing the correct style of card rests with
the engraver, whose business it is to know the ruling fashion of the
day.  Any one may have an elegant card by intrusting the choice to a
first-class stationer.  But it is not half the battle to secure an
elegant card.  An elegant use of the card distinguishes the
well-informed in social usage.  This distinction shows when the
distribution of cards begins.



THE ENGRAVING OF VISITING CARDS

CARDS FOR MEN

If the surname is short, the full name may be engraved.  If the names
are long, and the space does not admit of their full extension, the
initials of given names may be used.  The former style is preferred,
when practicable.

In the absence of any special title properly accompanying the name--as
"Rev.," "Dr.," "Col.," etc.,--"Mr." is always prefixed.  Good form
requires this on an engraved card.  If in any emergency a man _writes_
his own name on a card he does _not_ prefix "Mr."

What titles may properly be used on a man's visiting-card?  The
distinctions made in the use of titles seem arbitrary unless some
reason can be discovered.

The rule should be, to omit from visiting-cards all titles that signify
_transient offices_, or _occupations not related to social life_; using
such titles only as indicate a rank or profession that is _for life_;
and which has become a part of the man's _identity_, or which is
distinctly allied to his _social conditions_.

To illustrate:--The rank of an officer in the army or the navy should
be indicated by title on his card, his connection with the service
being _for life_, and _a part of his identity_.  His personal card is
engraved thus: "General Schofield"--the title in full when only the
surname is used; or, "Gen. Winfield Scott," "Gen. W. S. Hancock"--the
title abbreviated when the given names, or their initials, are used.
The first style is appropriate to the Commander-in-chief, or the senior
officer; or in any case where no other officer of the same name and
rank is on the roster.

Officers on the retired list, and veteran officers of the late war who
rose from the volunteer ranks, retain their titles by courtesy.  And
very appropriately so, since the war record of many a gallant soldier
is inseparable from the man himself, in the minds of his
fellow-citizens.  He may have retired to private life again, but his
distinguished services have outlived the brief hour of action; and his
hero-worshiping countrymen will always recognize him in his most
salient character, "every inch a soldier."  It is quite impossible to
call him "Mr.," or at once to know who is meant if his card reads--for
instance--"Mr. Lucius Fairchild."  Nothing but the title of his
well-earned rank gives an adequate idea of the man.

The official cards of political officers and ambassadors, which bear
the title and office of the man--with or without his name--should be
used only on official or State occasions, and during the term of
office.  When the incumbent "steps down and out," this card is also
"relegated."  His friends may continue to greet him as "Governor," but
he no longer _uses_ the title himself.  In strictly social life, the
personal card of the ex-Governor is like that of any other private
citizen, subject to the same rules.

Similarly, professional or business cards that bear ever so slight an
advertisement of occupations are not allowable for social purposes.

The three "learned" professions, theology, medicine, and law, are
equally "for life."  But the occupation of the lawyer is distinctly
related to business matters, and not at all to social affairs.  His
title, or sub-title, _Esquire_, is properly ignored on his
visiting-card, and socially he is simply "Mr. John Livingstone."  On
the other hand, the callings of the clergyman and the physician
respectively, are closely allied to the social side of life, closely
identified with the man himself.  Therefore "Rev.," or "Dr." may with
propriety be considered as forming an inseparable compound with the
name.  The title is an important identifying mark, and its omission, by
the clergyman, at least, is not strictly dignified.  "Office hours" are
not announced on a physician's social card.

It is not good form to use _merely honorary titles_ on visiting-cards.
In most cases, a man should lay aside all pretension to special office
or rank, and appear in society simply as "Mr. John Brown," to take his
chances in the social world strictly on his own merits; assured that if
he has any merit, other people will discover it without an ostentatious
reminder of it in the shape of a pompous visiting-card.  Of course this
suggestion of democratic simplicity refers to the engraving of _one's
own card_; other people _address_ the man properly by his official or
honorary title, with all due respect for the worth which the world
recognizes--even though the wearer of such honors ignores his own claim
to high distinction.  "Blow your own trumpet, if you would hear it
sound," is a sharply sarcastic bit of advice, since only hopeless
mediocrity could ever profit by the injunction.  Real merit needs no
trumpeter.  Mrs. Grant could afford to call her husband "Mr." Grant, as
was her modest custom; because all the world knew that he was the
General of our armies, and the President of the republic.  It is some
"Mayor Puff," of Boomtown, who can hardly be persuaded by the engraver
from giving himself the satisfaction of incidentally announcing on his
visiting-cards the result of the last borough election.

A man's address may be engraved beneath his name at the lower right
corner, the street and number _only_ if in a city, or the name of a
country-seat if out of town; as, "The Leasowes."  Bachelors who belong
to a club may add the club address in the lower left corner; or, if
they live altogether at the club, this address occupies the lower right
corner.  An engraved address implies some permanency of location.
Those who are liable to frequent changes of address would better omit
this addition to the visiting-card, writing the address in any
emergency that requires it.

No _messages_ are _written_ on a man's card, and no penciling is
allowed, except as above, to give (or correct) the address, or in the
case of "_P. p. c._" cards, sent by post.


CARDS FOR WOMEN

The rules in regard to titles are simple and brief.

A woman's name should never appear on a visiting-card without either
"Mrs." or "Miss" prefixed.  The exception would be in the case of women
who have regularly graduated in theology or medicine.  Such are
entitled, like their brothers, to prefix "Rev." or "Dr." to their names.

A married woman's card is engraved with her husband's name, with the
prefix "Mrs."  No matter how "titled" the husband may be, his _titles_
do not appear on his wife's visiting-card.  The wife of the President
is not "Mrs. President Harrison," but "Mrs. Benjamin Harrison."  She is
the wife of the _man_, not the wife of his _office_ or his _rank_.

A widow may, if she prefers, retain the card engraved during her
husband's lifetime, unless by so doing she confuses her identity with
that of some other "Mrs. John Brown," whose husband is still living.
It is more strictly correct for a widow to resume her own given name,
and to have her card engraved "Mrs. Mary Brown," or, if she chooses to
indicate her own patronymic, "Mrs. Mary Dexter Brown."

An unmarried woman's card is engraved with her full name, or the
initials of given names, as she prefers, but always with the prefix
"Miss" (unless one of the professional titles referred to takes its
place).

The address may be engraved or written in the lower right corner.

If a society woman has a particular day for receiving calls, that fact
is announced in the lower left corner.  If this is engraved, it is
understood to be a fixed custom; if written, it may be a transient
arrangement.  If a weekly "at home" day is observed, the name of the
day is engraved, as "Tuesdays."  This means that during "calling hours"
on _any_ Tuesday the hostess will be found at home.  If hours are
limited, that is also indicated, as "from 4 to 6."  Further limitations
may be specified, as "Tuesdays in February," "Tuesdays until Lent,"
"Tuesdays after October," etc.  Any definite idea of time may be given
to meet the facts, the wording being made as terse as possible.  If the
regular "at home" day is Tuesday (unlimited), and the card is so
engraved, any of the special limitations may be penciled in to meet
special conditions.  Sometimes an informal invitation is thus conveyed;
as, by the addition, "Tea, 4 to 6," etc.

_Other penciling_.--Cards left or sent, before leaving town, have "_P.
p. c._"--(_Pour prendrè congé_)--penciled in the lower left corner.

A holiday, a birthday, a wedding anniversary, or other event in a
friend's life may be remembered by sending a card, upon which is
penciled "Greeting," "Congratulations," "Best wishes," or some similar
expression.  Such cards may be sent alone, or may accompany gifts.

Any brief message may be penciled on a woman's card, provided the
message is sufficiently personal to partake of the nature of a social
courtesy.  But the card message should not be sent when courtesy
requires the more explicit and respectful form of a _note_.


CARDS FOR YOUNG WOMEN

In strictly formal circles a young woman, during her first year in
society, pays no visits alone.  She accompanies her mother or chaperon.
She has no separate card, but her name is engraved, or may be written,
beneath that of her mother (or chaperon) on a card employed for these
joint visits.  After a year or so of social experience (the period
being governed by the youth or maturity of the debutante, or by the
exigency of making way for a younger sister to be chaperoned), the
young woman becomes an identity socially, and has her separate card,
subject to the general rules for women's cards, even though she
continues to pay her most formal visits in company with her mother.


AFTER MARRIAGE CARDS

During the first year after marriage cards engraved thus: "Mr. and Mrs.
Henry Bell Joyce," may be used by the couple in paying calls, or
returning wedding civilities.  Such cards are also used when jointly
sending presents at any time.  For general visiting, after the first
year, husband and wife have separate cards.


THE USE OF THE VISITING-CARD

A too profuse use of visiting-cards indicates crudity.  The trend of
fashion is toward restricting the quantity of paste-board, and
employing cards always when they are required, never when they are
superfluous.


CALLING IN PERSON

When one calls in person the name of the caller is given verbally to
the servant who opens the door.  The card is not usually sent up,
except by a stranger.  But sometimes there is difficulty in making the
servant understand the name or properly distinguish it from some other
similar name.  In this case to avoid mistakes the card is sent up.

If the hostess is not at home a card is left by the disappointed caller.

On the occasion of a _first_ call a card is left on the hall table, or
other place provided, _even though the caller has been received by the
hostess_.  This serves as a reminder that the acquaintance has been
duly and formally begun.

On the occasion of subsequent calls, when the hostess is at home, no
cards are employed, except, as before stated, to avert servants'
mistakes.  Such is the sensible dictum of good authorities, and one in
harmony with the idea that the personal card is the _representative_ of
its owner, not his _accompaniment_.

This idea is more pointedly illustrated in quiet neighborhoods, where
even the wealthy live simply of choice, and, like their neighbors of
moderate means, employ but one domestic, or, it may be, none.  In such
households often the guest is met at the door by a member of the
family, possibly the hostess herself.  The use of a visiting-card then
is plainly incongruous, not to say absurd.  The visitor who is paying a
"first call" under these informal conditions may find opportunity to
drop a card unobtrusively into the basket, if such receptacle be within
reach; but if this cannot be done without conspicuous effort the card
is better ignored, and its place as a remembrancer filled by the genial
impression which the visitor leaves, and of which an appreciative
hostess needs no card reminder.  Besides, people "living quietly" visit
so little, comparatively, that it is no severe tax on the memory to
recollect who has called, especially as the infrequency of calls gives
ample time for each one to make an individual impression.  This is not
possible when a steady stream of visitors is pouring in and out of a
drawing-room on a fashionable woman's "at home" day, scarcely giving
the hostess opportunity to gaze upon one face before another has
displaced it; so that at the end of the hour her memory recalls a
composite photograph.  Cards are her indispensable aids in resolving
this picture into its component elements.  But those who "live
quietly," receiving but few calls, have no such bewildering complexity
to deal with.

At the same time, these people thus quietly environed may represent the
most refined and cultivated circle.  They may know perfectly well what
formal etiquette would demand in the matter of cards if the conditions
were more formal.  The omission of cards whenever their use would be
forced, so far from indicating ignorance, is a proof of discrimination.

Personal calls are made in the following cases:

In returning a first visit, made in person.

After a dinner party to which one has been invited, whether the
invitation was accepted or not.

After any entertainment other than a dinner it is allowable to leave or
send cards instead of paying a personal call.  This is a wise rule in
cases where a hostess, has a long visiting list, and entertains
frequently.  To receive afterward personal visits from all of her
guests would be practically impossible.  The majority will express
their acknowledgments by card, leaving it to the most intimate friends
of the hostess to pay their respects in person.  But among quiet
people, where one "Tea" is the extent of a hostess' efforts for the
season, the personal call is desirable as showing greater respect and
friendliness.  Among congenial friends only the plea of a busy life can
make the card acknowledgment quite as graceful and acceptable as the
personal visit.  But if the guest is a comparative stranger, and, for
any reason, there is a wish not to extend the acquaintance, the sending
of a card meets all the requirements of etiquette, without committing
the sender to any further intimacy.

(The alternative for personal calls, is personal card-leaving; the next
point to be considered.)


CARD-LEAVING IS LIEU OF PERSONAL CALLS

When personal calls are not practicable, nor desirable, the leaving of
cards is accepted as an equivalent.

A few years ago, fashion demanded that all visiting-cards expressing or
acknowledging social civilities should be left in person; the
alternative in emergencies being to send them by the hand of a private
messenger, never through the post-office.  There was good excuse for
this fashion in our grandmother's day, when the post was a slow coach,
or a storm-stayed postillion; but the admirable system of our postal
service to-day leaves no excuse for the prejudice in favor of the
private messenger; and it is not surprising that fashion has yielded to
common sense in allowing that many of these cards of courtesy may, with
perfect propriety, be sent by post.

The following instances illustrate the present correct usage in regard
to these three ways of leaving cards.


CASES IN WHICH PERSONAL CARD-LEAVING IS REQUIRED

After a _first hospitality_, whether accepted or not.

Calls of condolence.

After-dinner calls by cards.

_Alternative_.--In such cases, when _personal_ card-leaving is
_impossible_, the card is sent by a private messenger, and an
explanation, or apology, is sent by _note_.

Cards of condolence may be sent by _post_ by friends at a distance; but
not by persons residing in the near vicinity.


CARDS BY MESSENGER, OR BY POST

In all cases where personal card-leaving is not imperative, cards may
be sent either by messenger or by post.

As the former is still regarded by many persons--especially elderly
people--as the only strictly polite medium of transfer, it is
considerate to send cards, invitations, etc., to such people by the
good old-fashioned messenger, rather than to shock unnecessarily a
crystallized sense of propriety by ruthless innovations.  But in
general it is more convenient and quite as neat and reliable to send by
post; and the fashion of so doing is now fully adopted by the younger
generation, and no longer subject to criticism.

In stating what _may_ be done, in the way of escaping personal tasks,
we are merely marking the bounds of propriety in one direction.  On the
other hand, in most cases, those who choose may make personal calls
instead of those several formal card-leavings.  When good form allows
alternatives, each one must judge for himself which form of expression
is most appropriate in any given case.  Frank cordiality, amounting to
informality, may be in the best taste in some oases; whereas, in other
instances, only the most conventional and reserved expression of
respect is either agreeable or discreet.  In the latter case, let your
card speak _for_ you, and at "long range"--the longer the better.


CARD-LEAVING BY PROXY

One of the peculiar permissions of "good form" is that which allows a
man to delegate the distribution of his visiting-cards to a near female
relative, whenever it becomes impracticable for him to attend to the
matter personally.  Only the women of his own household, or a relative
with whom he habitually pays visits, can thus represent a man by proxy.

In this country, where most society men--certainly the better
element--are "business men," whose days are filled with earnest work
and crowned with the achievements of industry, it is not to be expected
that men of affairs will always be ready to respond to social
invitations, or to pay all the calls of civility which fashion decrees
shall be paid during the hours usually devoted to business.  In theory,
each man and woman in society is supposed to attend to his or her own
social duties.  _While it is expected that a man will make all
reasonable effort to do this, and that he will not altogether neglect
it_, still, so long as he occasionally appears personally, with a
genial demeanor that proves the sincerity of his "good intentions," it
will be accepted in good part if, in a large number of instances, his
card, instead of himself, appears, brought by another hand.  But let
men remember that the "good excuse" must be obvious.  Any suspicion of
indifference robs the proxy card-leaving of all effect as a compliment.

In case a man is legitimately prevented, by business cares, from paying
calls or leaving his cards in person, it is proper for his wife or
mother or sister, or other near relative, to leave or send his card
with her own.  When a woman calls upon another woman she leaves her
husband's card.  If the hostess is married, a second card is left for
the host.  She may leave the cards of a son, a brother, or other
relative, if such responsibility rests upon her.  This formality should
be observed when paying the first call of the season.

While every well-informed woman should know that it is her place to
leave her husband's cards for him, it is a fact that many women,
otherwise attentive to social forms, habitually neglect this particular
duty.  The result is that the man who has not time to pay visits
becomes a social nonentity, and society, in some circles, is simply a
"world of women."  Why does the husband, thus neglected, get out of
going to the occasional party whenever he can, and when he does allow
himself to be dragged thither, why does he sulk, leaning against a
chilly mantel-piece, eying his fragile coffee cup with disdain, and
enacting the _rôle_ of martyr generally, until he can persuade his wife
to go home again?  Why, indeed; but because he feels out of place.  His
rare and incidental appearance is a journey into a far country, of
which he has little knowledge, and in which he has no interest.  But
when a man goes--ever so seldom--where he knows that his card
_habitually_ goes, he feels that he is on familiar ground, and he will
go in person, of choice, oftener than he otherwise would.

Some men, unaccustomed to exact social observances, would ridicule the
idea at first, if their wives should announce the intention of leaving
their husband's cards for them.  But, however much a man might demur, a
lurking vanity would develop into complacent satisfaction, as he became
aware of the increasing geniality of the social atmosphere about him;
and the pleasing glow would take the ultimate form of gratitude to his
wife.

That the permission to leave cards by proxy is often abused by selfish
and indolent men is no doubt true.  But the social advantage which it
gives to a large class of men who are neither selfish nor indolent more
than counterbalances any disadvantages, and saves to "society" a solid
element that might be entirely given over to business, if it were not
for judicious feminine co-operation in the distribution of
visiting-cards.

"Solid" men would go "into society" far more frequently and with
greater alacrity if they felt assured that the way had been smoothly
paved with their own visiting-cards, well laid in place by the deft
fingers of their skillful women folk, who have left no flaw in the
mosaic of social proprieties.


SOME FURTHER ILLUSTRATIONS OF CARD USAGE

When a married, or elderly woman tacitly invites a man to call on her
by telling him what are her "at home" days or hours, it is obligatory
upon him to acknowledge the courtesy.  If unable to call personally he
should explain that fact and express regret, and should be particular
to send a card on her next receiving day during the hours that she has
mentioned.  It is a special courtesy to send also a card for her
husband, if he is a venerable man, or if, by reason of ill health, he
is usually at home.

A woman older, or busier, or occupying some position of acknowledged
distinction, may send her card, indicating her receiving days and
hours, to a younger or less occupied woman.  This is accepted as a
call, and an invitation to return the same.  If the recipient chooses
she may respond in person.  If she does not care to establish a calling
acquaintance she may respond by sending one of her own cards on the
receiving day.  In case opportunity occurs for explanation some polite
reason may be given for not adding to one's visiting list; but unless
one has the tact to do this without snobbishness, it were better to
keep silence.

Cards of introduction are simply visiting-cards upon which the owner
writes, above his own name, "Introducing Mr. ----."  The card is
inclosed in an unsealed envelope, addressed to the person to whom the
introduction is to be made, and with the words "Introducing Mr. ----,"
written in the lower left corner.  It is a delicate matter to refuse a
card or letter of introduction, but it is a far more delicate matter to
take the _liberty_ to give one.  If one is in doubt about the readiness
of the third party to receive the person introduced it is better to
find some polite excuse for declining to be the medium of the
introduction.  Fortunately, if the blunder is made of introducing
uncongenial people they can easily drift apart again without rudeness
on the part of either.

When any one is invited to a church wedding and cannot attend it is
proper to send, on the day of the marriage, a card or cards to those
who issued the invitations; one card, if one parent, or a guardian,
invites; if the invitation is sent in the names of both parents, a card
for each, inclosed in an envelope and addressed to both.  If the
invited guest attends the wedding he leaves or sends cards within a
week, similarly addressed.  A personal call is allowable if intimacy
warrants it.  Those friends of the groom who are not acquainted with
the bride's family should merely send cards.

When a man wishes to make the acquaintance of another man he may call
and send in his card.  This may or may not be accompanied with some
explanatory message.  If the man on whom the call is made does not wish
to receive the caller he will express some polite reason for declining,
or suggest another time for receiving the visitor.  Usually a man will
receive another man who makes polite overtures; but if the host does
not wish to continue the acquaintance he will not return the call in
person, but simply send his card by post.  This distant rejoinder
practically ends the brief acquaintance without any discourteous
rebuff.  It is one of the mistakes of the vulgar to be rude and gruff
in order to repel an undesired acquaintance.  In reality, nothing
freezes out a bore more effectually than the icy calm of dignified
courtesy.  There are exquisitely polite ways of sending every
undesirable person to limbo.  The perfect self-command of the well-bred
man enables him to do this to perfection, but without giving offense.
Moreover, as most people worth seeking are men and women of earnest
lives and crowded occupations, no one need feel personally chagrined by
the failure to establish a coveted acquaintance with some gifted man or
woman.

Cards of condolence are left as soon as possible after learning of the
affliction.  If in town, cards are left in person or sent by a
messenger with a message.  If out of town a card is sent by the first
post.  Nothing is written upon these cards.

A visiting card, with "Congratulations" written upon it, is sent to
felicitate a friend upon any happy event in which friends may
sympathize.  Such cards are sent by messenger or by post.  If a card is
left in person with a kind message, nothing is written upon the card.

When a man calls and sees his hostess, but not the host, he should
leave a card for the latter.  If the hostess is not at home, two cards
should be left.

When a man entertains formally, each man invited, whether he accepts or
not, should acknowledge the courtesy within a week.  He may call in
person, or leave a card, or send a card by mail, or write a note of
thanks, whichever he prefers.  This is one of the important formalities
between men, and the neglect of it argues either ignorance or insolence.

When a man calls upon a woman while she is the guest of a family with
whom he is not acquainted, he inquires for both his friend and her
hostess, and, as he is a stranger in the house, he sends up a card for
each (instead of announcing himself _verbally_, as at the house of a
friend).  If the hostess receives him on this occasion, but extends no
further hospitality, he has no claim upon her recognition beyond the
hour.  If the hostess subsequently offers him any hospitality during
the time his friend is her guest he must call upon her; but if he
defers this until after the departure of the guest, he must leave a
card for the hostess without intruding a personal call, unless he has
been distinctly invited to continue the acquaintance.  If the man who
pays the call does not wish to continue the acquaintance with his
friend's hostess, after she has offered him hospitality, he must at
least call and leave a card for her, with a polite inquiry for her
health.  This is obligatory; but nothing further is required.

A visiting card is employed in sending informal invitations to a tea or
afternoon reception.  The care of the hostess is used, and in addition
to the name of the regular receiving day the special date, as "January
19," and some other specific words, as "Tea, 4 to 6," are written in
the lower left corner.  (In this informal _written_ message _numbers_
are indicate by _figures_, where _formal_ invitations require the
_words_ to be written in full.)  This card is accepted by the
recipients as equivalent to a call paid by the sender, and they respond
in person at the time indicated, leaving cards with the servant as they
enter, and also, on their departure, leaving the cards of such male
members of their respective families as have been invited, but are
unable to attend.  As few men can leave business at this hour these
occasions become prominent illustrations of "proxy" card-leaving.  If
any one invited cannot be present (and in case of a man no female
relative is there authorized to represent him) a card must be sent by
post or messenger on the receiving day.

After a change of residence, or after a prolonged absence from home,
cards of the entire family are sent to notify an acquaintance of their
re-establishment and of their readiness to resume the social
interchange.

It is customary for the younger society men to pay a round of calls
after returning from the usual summer "outing," or to leave cards in
lieu of a call.

When leaving for a long absence, or when parting from transient, but
agreeable acquaintances, as companion tourists, etc., when time does
not admit of farewell calls, visiting-cards are sent by post with "P.
p. c." (_Pour prendrè congé_--to take leave) written upon them.  This
is equivalent to saying, "If ever we meet again we will meet on the
footing of friends, not strangers."  It is a pleasant way of showing
appreciation of the pleasure afforded by another's society, and the
formality should not be neglected by one who would be esteemed
thoughtfully polite and kind.

Only people who cling to old-fashioned customs still fold over the
right side of a visiting-card to show that the card was left _in
person_, and also fold over the _left side_ to show that the call was
intended for _all_ the women of the household.  This custom is
practically obsolete.  Another fashion that has had its day was that of
leaving a separate card for each of the women of the household.  Now,
_one_ card answers the purpose, the inquiry accompanying it indicates
whether the call was intended for one or for all of the family.  In
case a _guest_ of the household is included in the call a separate card
is left for her.




CEREMONIOUS CARDS AND INVITATIONS.  ETIQUETTE OF REPLIESs

THE "HIGH TEA," MUSICALE, ETC.

These occasions are more formal than the ordinary afternoon tea.
Special cards are engraved, and if any special entertainment is
provided, the fact may be indicated by the words, "Music," or
"Miscellaneous Program" (when readings and music are interspersed).
Or, the announcement may be omitted, and the program furnish a pleasant
surprise for the guests.  But when "Dancing" is the recreation provided
for, it must appear on the card, so that guests may prepare for it.
The card for a "_musicale_" or similar occasion, is simply engraved:

       MRS. JOHN LIVINGSTONE
             At Home
   Wednesday, October fifth, from
       four to seven o'clock.
  Dancing.           119 Park Ave.


FOR A PARTY OR RECEPTION GIVEN IN HONOR OF ANOTHER, the invitations may
be engraved with a blank space left for the name of the invited guest;
or, the form may be filled out, and the name of the guest appear on the
envelope only.  It may read:

    MR. AND MRS. DEXTER HOLMES
      request the pleasure of
    .........................'s
    company on Tuesday evening
    June sixth, at nine o'clock,
              to meet
        Rev. John D. Loring.
    R.S.V.P.         29 Rice St.

or, the wording may be "request the pleasure of your company," etc.
The former has the rhetorical advantage of uniformity, the third person
being used throughout; and it also indicates a personal recognition of
each guest; but the latter form presents a neater appearance.

As to the use of "R.S.V.P.," or any of the phrases now preferred by
many, as, "Please reply;" "The favor of an answer is requested," etc.,
this may be said: some authorities claim that _all_ invitations should
be _answered_; and that therefore these _requests_ for a reply are a
reflection on the good manners of the people invited.  But such is not
the popular understanding.  All invitations that are _plainly limited
to a certain number of guests_, as dinners, card parties, and certain
exclusive receptions, should be answered at once, in order that
vacancies may be filled.  Whether the invitation is accompanied with
the request for a reply or not, all thoughtful people will recognize
the propriety.  But on many occasions where numbers are not necessarily
limited, only the hostess can say whether the reply is urgent or not;
since it is a question of her personal convenience, the limits of
house-room, or some other individual matter.  As no one class of
entertainments is given always under the same conditions, it is well to
allow the hostess to choose whether she will add or omit the request
for a reply to her invitations.

Meanwhile, the punctilious may reply to every invitation of a strictly
social character, and even if the host or hostess did not expect it,
such reply can give no offense; whereas, the _neglect_ of a _necessary_
reply might prove very awkward and annoying.

A private ball is only a more elaborate form of a dancing party.  The
invitations are phrased in the same language, but the hour is usually
not earlier than 9.30 P. M.

The same form of invitation can be adapted to almost any reception,
party or other social entertainment, with such variations in the
phrasing as suit the circumstances.

It may be said that it is unnecessary to give explicit directions about
invitations, inasmuch as the engraver is the one ultimately responsible
for the accuracy of these things.  But on occasions when small numbers
are invited--but undiminished formality is observed--the formal
invitation is requisite, yet the engraved card is a needless expense.
In such cases one may have cards _written_ in due form.  But, for
written invitations of this formal character, it is imperative that the
paper shall be of superior quality, and the penmanship neat, and
_thoroughly stylish_ in effect.


CARDS OF INVITATION TO A WEDDING are issued in the name of the bride's
parents, or, if she is an orphan, by her guardian, or some relative or
friend who gives her the wedding.  All expenses are paid by the bride's
family.

It is not etiquette for the groom to bear any of the expense, except
the fee to the clergy man; nor to furnish anything for his own wedding,
except the ring and the bouquet for the bride, presents for the
brides-maids and best man, and some little token for the ushers.

The hostess (who invites) requests the groom to furnish her with two
lists of names--one list of those of his friends whom he wishes to be
present to witness the ceremony, and another list of those whom he
would like to see at the reception also.  These, with similar lists of
the bride's friends, make up the number of guests to be invited.
Wedding invitations are usually sent out two weeks before the day fixed
for the ceremony.  The invitation is engraved and printed upon a note
sheet, in handsome plain script, the lines broken to give distinction
to the several ideas, and the wording made as terse as possible.  The
formula is nearly unvarying:

                MR. AND MRS. GEORGE LATHROP
            request the pleasure of your company
              (or the honor of your presence)
             at the marriage of their daughter,
                      MARY ADELAIDE,
                            to
                 MR. WILLIAM HENRY BISHOP,
                  at St. Philip's Church,
  On Wednesday evening, October twelfth, at seven o'clock.


If the marriage is to be solemnized at home the date follows the names
in succession, and the place of residence is given last.  The
invitation may vary, "the wedding reception of their daughter," etc.
Or, accompanying the church wedding invitation may be a square card
bearing the lines: "Reception from half-past seven until nine o'clock,"
with place of residence on the line below.

Also, to avoid a crowd at the church, a smaller card is sometimes sent
with the invitations bearing, for example, the words: "Please present
this card at St. Philip's Church, Wednesday evening, October twelfth,
at seven o'clock."  This card of admission is also given to
dependents--the domestics of the family or such persons as may be
entitled to the kind notice, but who are not, strictly speaking,
invited guests.  The number of such cards should never be greater than
the comfortable capacity of the church, lest their original purpose be
defeated.

In case the ceremony is private the immediate family and chosen friends
are invited verbally.  It is then optional whether or not a formal
announcement shall be made to a wider circle of friends by sending out
engraved cards the day after the ceremony.  These are, like the
invitations, printed on note sheets, and are phrased briefly, as

        MR. AND MRS. GEORGE LATHROP
  announce the marriage of their daughter,
             MARY ADELAIDE,
                   to
         MR. WILLIAM HENRY BISHOP,
    Wednesday evening, October twelfth,
           St. Philip's Church.


"At Home" cards sometimes accompany this announcement, or they may be
sent out later by the young couple themselves, if a long wedding trip
intervenes.

The private wedding and after announcement is often the most
suitable--in fact, the only appropriate method to adopt when a bride is
comparatively alone in the world, or has no near relatives to take
charge of wedding formalities.  In such a case the announcement is
worded: "Mr. William Henry Bishop and Miss Mary Adelaide Lathrop,
married, Wednesday, October twelfth, 149 Willow St."  If no other place
is given this is understood to be the place where to address cards of
congratulation.  If the young couple are to receive later, in a new
home, that address, with date of the "at home," is also given, thus,
"At home, after November fifteenth, 1129 Lake St."  If the change of
residence is to another town, the name of the town is also given.

For the proper style of "displaying" the phrases of an invitation or
announcement one may apply to a first-class stationer.  Plain script
and the finest white paper are always correct.  Any show of
ornamentation is out of taste.

When the circle of acquaintances is very large and invitations must be
limited to a certain number, the announcement cards may be sent to
others.

A wedding invitation, unless it includes a wedding breakfast, limited
in number, requires no reply.  Cards sent afterward are all that is
necessary.  These cards, and whatever congratulations are sent, are
addressed to the ones in whose name the invitation or announcement was
sent out--usually the parents of the bride.  A congratulatory note to
the bride is always in order among intimate friends, _but this bears no
relation to a response to the invitation_.


WEDDING ANNIVERSARY INVITATIONS are simply, "Mr. and Mrs. George
Lathrop, at home," etc., with date and residence.  They are printed on
cards or note sheets, preferably the latter, and the character of the
occasion is indicated by a monogram at the top of the page, in the
centre, flanked by the two annual dates, as "1837 [monogram] 1887."  If
for a golden wedding this heading is lettered in gold; if for a silver
wedding, in silver, the invitation being, as usual, printed in black
ink.  It is good form to engrave "No presents" in the lower left
corner, if such is the wish of "the bride and groom."


DINNER CARDS OF INVITATION may have this form:

       MR. AND MRS. GEORGE LATHROP
           request the pleasure
  Of ....................................
      company at dinner on Thursday,
    ................ at seven o'clock.
             95 Willow Street.


The above form may be engraved for perennial use by a host or hostess
who frequently give dinners, and always on the same day of the week.
Blanks are left to be filled in with the name of the invited guest and
the exact date.  Or for a single occasion the form may be without any
blank spaces, and the phrasing read, "Request the pleasure of your
company."

A dinner given in honor of some distinguished guest requires an
invitation card specially engraved.  This form is most deferential:

               To meet
          GENERAL LA FAYETTE,
      MR. AND MRS. GEORGE LATHROP
          request the honor
  of ........................ company
               at dinner
        on Wednesday, May tenth,
            at eight o'clock.
            95 Willow Street.


If the honored guest is esteemed on the score of personal friendship
rather than public distinction his name will be given last, instead of
first, on the card, the phrasing of the invitation remaining the same.

Invitations to dinner should be answered at once, and no one should
accept if there is the least doubt about being able to be present.
Only the most serious detentions suddenly arising will excuse a failure
to keep a dinner engagement once made.  If such contingency does occur
at the eleventh hour an explanation and apology should be sent to the
host or hostess without delay in order to give opportunity for securing
"the fourteenth man."


FOR A FORMAL LUNCHEON OR BREAKFAST the invitation cards are similar in
form to dinner cards.  But since the manner of serving, the numbers
invited, etc., are not so definitely fixed it is proper to add R.S.V.P.
on cards that especially call for a reply in the judgment of the
hostess.  Otherwise many people with vague ideas of the "informality"
of these occasions might omit to send replies.




THE CONDUCT OF A CHURCH WEDDING

The sexton should be duly informed what preparations to make at the
church; the awning at the entrance, the ribbon barrier across the
aisle, the floral decorations, etc., by whomever arranged and executed
are under the supervision of this functionary, who is responsible for
having everything in order.

It is no longer good form for a bride to be late at her own wedding.
Now, when the invitation says "seven o'clock" it is expected that the
ceremony will begin at that hour precisely, accidents aside.

The organist is engaged by some one interested in making the
arrangements, and is supposed to be in his place for a half-hour or so
before the hour of the ceremony; and while the guests are assembling he
discourses music appropriate to the occasion--a rambling, meditative
_pot-pourri_ of sweet and pathetic sentimental songs being a popular
and effective choice.  In churches having a vested choir it is possible
to secure very beautiful effects in the musical adjuncts, the
processional adding greatly to the grace and dignity of the ceremonial.

The sexton, or his deputy, stands at the door, salver in hand, to
receive the admission cards as people enter the church.  The invited
guests are met at the foot of the centre aisle by the ushers.  An usher
offers his arm to a lady and conducts her to a seat, the friends of the
bride being seated at the left and the friends of the groom at the
right of the middle aisle.  When, as often happens, the groom is "from
a distance," and few of his far-away acquaintances can be present, this
separation of guests is not observed.

At the appointed hour, the clergyman appears at the altar rail; the
groom, accompanied by his best man, emerges from the vestry, and takes
his place at the right, awaiting the arrival of the bride.  At this
instant, the organist stops dreaming, wakes up, and starts boldly into
the wedding march, as the bridal party move up the aisle, in the
following order: First, the ushers, in pairs, then the bridesmaids,
also in pairs.  Sometimes a little "maid of honor," carrying flowers,
precedes the bride.  The bride, leaning on the arm of her father, comes
last.  The ushers and the bridesmaids separate as they reach the altar,
and go to the right and to the left.  At the altar the groom receives
the bride from her father's hand.  The latter steps back a few paces,
but remains near enough to "give away the bride."  When this point in
the ceremony has been passed, the father quietly joins the mother in
the front pew.

If the processional has been the "Lohengrin" march, it is thought by
many to be very effective for the organist, all through the ceremony,
to continue on the swell organ a dreamy _sotto voce_ improvisation, in
the course of which a varied reiteration of "Faithful and true" serves
as an affecting expression of the sentiment of the hour.  The most
enjoyable tears are shed by the emotional under this inspiration.  But
other people prefer the solemn stillness, broken only by the voice of
the priest and the responses of the high contracting parties.  It is a
matter of taste and feeling; and those interested are at liberty to
indulge either fancy.

The bride stands at the left of the groom during the ceremony; and also
takes his left arm at the close.  When the ceremony is concluded, the
officiating clergyman congratulates the couple, but does not kiss the
bride as formerly.  In the Episcopal Church, and any other churches
where it is the duty of the contracting parties to sign the parish
register, the clergyman, the newly wedded pair, and their witnesses,
now retire to the sacristry for this purpose.  On their return to the
chancel, the organ peals forth the Wedding March; the bride and groom
lead the bridal party in returning down the aisle, the bridesmaids and
ushers following in due order, and after them the nearest relatives;
and all, entering their carriages, are driven at once to the home of
the bride's parents.

After a morning, or "high noon" wedding, a "breakfast" is usually
served.  If the ceremony has been a nuptial mass, in the Catholic or
High Church ritual, the bridal party have--presumably--observed the
fast, before the mass; therefore, the "breakfast" is really a
breakfast.  However, the term is popularly used by non-ritualists, when
the ceremony bears no relation to the mass; and regardless of the fact
that the real breakfast has been taken at the usual hour.

A bride may wear full dress at any hour, day or evening; but
_decolleté_ dress is not good form at a church wedding, nor is it
allowed in the Catholic church.  White is the preferred color for a
young bride.  A widow-bride, on the contrary, should choose some other
color; and she wears neither veil nor orange-blossoms.

Details of fashion vary so constantly that specific directions cannot
be given with any assumption of final authority.  A fashionable modiste
should be consulted in the emergency.

The dress worn by a guest at a wedding may be as rich as desired, but
should not have a bridal appearance.  Sometimes a recent bride wears
her own wedding gown at a friend's wedding; but it is in better taste
not to do so, nor in any other way to invite comparisons.  The bride
should be permitted to be the conspicuous figure at her own wedding,
and while her friends may pay her the compliment of wearing handsome
toilettes on that occasion, still, other women should dress just a
little less elaborately, rather than commit the solecism of
"out-dressing the bride."  Fortunately, one may show all delicate
consideration in this matter, and yet be beautifully and becomingly
dressed.




THE ETHICS OF HOSPITALITY

Hospitality shares what it has.  It does not attempt to _give_ what it
_has not_.  The finest hospitality is that which welcomes you to the
fireside and permits you to look upon the picture of a home-life so
little disturbed by your coming that you are at once made to feel
yourself a part of the little symphony--the rare bit of color just
needed to complete the harmonic combination.  With this flattering fact
impressed upon your glowing memory you will hardly be able to recall
the material adjuncts of the occasion.  It is a sign of a gross nature
to measure hospitality by the loaves and fishes, forgetting the miracle
that goes with them.  And it is equally a mistake for a host to be
afraid to offer humble entertainment when richer offers are beyond his
means.  To a refined perception "the life is more than the meat," and
the personality of the host, not the condition of his larder, decides
whether or not it is an honor to be his guest.  Delightful though it be
to be able to afford one's guest a rare and beautiful entertainment,
one must dismiss the idea that a graceful and acceptable hospitality
depends on material things.  Sir Launfal, sharing his crust with the
beggar at the gate, was still Sir Launfal.  The impoverished hostess
may preside at her frugal board with the spirit and the manner of a
queen, whereas the coarse-fibred vulgarian vainly heaps his platters
with choicest game and rarest fruit, the while he serves the banquet
like the churl that he is.

Whatever your entertainment, rich or poor, remember, first of all, to
give _yourself_ to your guest; then, if he is appreciative, he will not
criticise your simple dinner, nor grumble at the flavor of your wine.
One of the wits of the day has gravely reported that at a banquet in
the Athens of America, "the _menu_ consisted of two baked beans and
readings from Emerson."  Despite its grotesque exaggeration, the _mot_
contains the kernel of a dignified truth: that material things are of
secondary importance on all social occasions worthy of the name.

The most expensive entertainment given by any one should be merely an
incidental illustration of his already recognized financial means.  It
should never be so beyond his usual ability as to arouse among his
neighbors the wonder, how he could afford it?  When people who are
known to have only a moderate income give "spreads" disproportionate to
their daily mode of living, the thoughtful observer instinctively
questions their taste and good sense.  Usually such ostentatious
display brings more or less derision on the ones who are foolish enough
to spend more money to make their neighbors stare for a day than they
use to make themselves comfortable for a year.  No matter how elaborate
the entertainment the guests should not be allowed to suspect that
their host has exhausted his resources, or that he might not be able to
do this same thing at any time that he chose.

As already suggested, the character of the entertainment in a private
house should never be such as to involve a total departure from the
habitual customs of the household.  It is granted that provision must
be made on a grander scale for larger numbers; the _quantity_ of things
will necessarily be augmented, and mere bulk wears a certain air of the
imposing, and when to this is added the vital element--the magnetism of
a brilliant company--the participant will seem to breathe a rarified
atmosphere, and to an extent to be exalted above the level of everyday
life.  Yet that level should not be lost to sight nor cease to be the
basis of measurement.  The quality of elegant serving and mannerly
eating should be just what is every day observed at the family dinner
of the same household.  The guest should get a correct idea of the home
atmosphere of the house, even though it be slightly congealed by the
formality and reserve which the presence of strangers naturally
inspires.

When people assume to entertain socially they should not give a false
showing of themselves or of their means.  The proudest spirit
acknowledges the limitations of poverty with dignified truthfulness; it
is the moral coward who seeks to hide these limitations by a greater
display than his circumstances warrant.  And he reaps as he sows.  His
"entertainments" fill an idle hour for the class of visitors who
gravitate mainly to the supper-room, while the giver of the feast,
under the tension of this social effort, suffers a weariness of the
spirit as well as of the flesh, and gives a sigh of relief when the
door closes upon the last guest, and the pitiful farce is declared
"over."  We wonder "Why do they thus spend their strength for that
which profiteth not?"  Surely, few things in the course of a misspent
life are less profitable than such over-strained efforts at showy
entertainment.  The "banquet hall deserted" presents on the following
day a grim reminder of the petty economies that for weeks hence must
secretly be contrived in order to restore the balance of an overdrawn
bank account.  The folly of _living_ beyond one's means may have this
extenuating feature, that it is often an error due to generous, though
indiscreet impulse, or to inexperience; but the folly of spending money
lavishly on a few ostentatious "spreads" that are "beyond one's means"
has no redeeming points.  The deception seldom long deceives.  It is a
social blunder, the effect of which is to depreciate rather than to
enhance the social importance of the family thus entertaining.

It will be understood that this refers to cases when the motive of
extravagance is to gratify vanity.  It does not mean to imply that the
Christmas dinner, or the birthday party, or the wedding anniversary may
not be a time when all the energies of a poor and usually frugal
household may be concentrated to prepare for one occasion of feasting
and rejoicing.  The Cratchetts may have their roast goose; even the
Micawbers may be indulged in their occasional banquet.  And the
carefully planned birthday party may be all the more gratefully
appreciated by the honored one when it is known that every choice
provision for the occasion represents some thoughtful contriving and
some self-sacrifice prompted by affection.  Such occasions are
"red-letter days" in the homes of people of limited means; and pathos
is never more delicately suggested than when the poor man forgets his
poverty in the wealth of a home-gathering and a feast of remembrance.
"Let not a stranger intermeddle with their joy."

In the two cases the financial conditions may seem to be parallel, but
in essential spirit there is no resemblance.  What is done from
sentiment and affection is above commercial measurement.  What is done
for the sake of ostentation is, by its own act, made a legitimate
object of popular criticism.

Another point of good taste in entertaining is that one who is
wealthier than others of his social circle should not conspicuously
outshine his neighbors by giving them a kind and degree of
entertainment which will make their return of civilities seem poor and
mean by comparison.  Unless the rich man is so greatly beyond others in
the scale of wealth that comparisons cease to be odious, it is more
considerate for him to keep within the degree of expense and display
possible to the average of his associates.

There is still another reason why the very rich should be chary of
giving magnificent entertainments.

The dazzled community, gazing spell-bound upon the spectacle of a
flower-decked mansion, brilliant with colored lights and echoing to
bewildering strains of music, is apt to forget, in this aggregation of
the energies of florist, caterer, and band-master, the one man who is
supposed to be, but is not, the author of this occasion.

George (descanting on the glories of the "crush of the season")--"The
music--the champagne--the----"

Montague--"Ah! yes; and how did 'mine host' bear himself?"

George--"The host! (ruefully).  B'Jove!  I forgot to hunt him up!"


Unfortunately, mine host had allowed his surroundings to belittle
himself.  Many a brilliant "social event" might properly be chronicled
under the head-line: "Total Eclipse of the Host!" so insignificant does
the man become when he carries his standards of social entertaining in
his pocket-book instead of in his brains.

However, one need not be very rich in order to make this same mistake.
It is made every time that social life ceases to be social, and becomes
merely a contest of rival displays.  This folly is observed in small
villages quite as often as in the metropolis.  In contrast, how
refreshing it is to cross the threshold of a refined and cultivated
home, and find awaiting us a cordial welcome and a genuine hospitality,
so true to its author's personality and environment that whether water
or wine be offered we know not, grateful that our host gives us his
best, whatever it is, and, best of all, gives himself.




AFTERNOON RECEPTIONS AND TEAS

Fashions in entertaining have changed within the memory of "those now
living."  Once, large parties were given, hundreds of invitations were
issued, a house was crowded from veranda to attic, and the occasion was
one of the few notable social events of the season.  Then came the
fashion--partly for exclusiveness, partly for novelty, largely for
convenience--of giving during the season several small parties or
receptions, which in the aggregate might include all of one's visiting
list.  The disadvantage of this plan, as an exclusive method of solving
the problem of social entertaining, was that slights were liable to
occur, and were sure to be bitterly felt and resented.  Yet, what was a
hostess to do?  To go back to the old-time crowded party, superadding
the increased luxury of modern entertaining, would be to re-establish
an inconvenient and expensive fashion.  But some way must be devised to
bring one's friends together, in larger numbers, and with more prompt
and direct expression of hospitality and good fellowship than could be
conveyed by the slow and stately process of a series of dinners.

"Necessity is the mother of invention."  Someone, probably having
reflected upon the easy social character of the English five o'clock
tea, solved the problem for the American hostess by instituting the
afternoon reception, which, somewhere between the hours of four and
six, summons a host of friends to cross one's threshold and meet
informally, chatting for a while over a sociable cup of tea, each group
giving place to others, none crowding, all at ease, every one the
recipient of a gracious welcome from the hostess, who by the
hospitality thus offered has tacitly placed each guest on her visiting
list for the season.

The afternoon reception is much the same affair, whether it be a tea
merely, or a _musicale_, or a literary occasion.  If merely a
reception, conversation and the desultory chat of society, the drifting
about and the greeting of friends, and incidentally the cup of tea and
its dainty accessories, fill a half-hour or so very pleasantly; and
though inconsequent so far as any plan or motive is concerned, such
meeting and mingling may have all the desired effect as a promoter of
social pleasure and harmony.

When a _musicale_ is given at these afternoon hours, usually it is in
honor of some brilliant amateur, a pianist or singer, or, if the
program is miscellaneous, a gifted elocutionist.  Or, it is an occasion
when some lion of the professional stage has been captured, either
socially or professionally, and the hostess gives to her less fortunate
friends an opportunity to see and hear at close range the celebrity
usually visible only through opera-glasses and beyond the foot-lights.
Or, some lady of well-known musical taste may be the patron of some
newly-arrived professor of music; and she invites her musical friends
to meet him, with the benevolent purpose to give him a profitable
introduction to a promising class of patrons.

When under any of these or similar conditions a formal program is
arranged, the hour is fixed, and is stated on the invitation card; as
"Music at 4."  The guests should be prompt at the hour, so that no
interruption or confusion shall occur.  When the reception is merely
social, guests come and leave at any time within the hours specified on
the invitation card; as, "Tea, 4 to 6."

When admitted to the house each one hands a card to the servant in
waiting.  The guest repairs to the dressing-room to lay aside outer
wraps, and attend to any detail of the toilet which wind or accident
may have disarranged.  Upon entering the parlor each guest is greeted
by the hostess, who stands near the door, surrounded by her aids.  If
her husband's name appears on the card of invitation, he, also, is in
the receiving group, contributing, in so far as a man humbly may, to
the success of the occasion.  The aids, besides assisting in receiving
the guests, are attentive to entertaining; and they see that no shy
person is overlooked in the invitation to partake of refreshments.

The tea is served in the same room when the guests are few, and in
another room of the suite if the reception is large.  Usually a single
table is set, with coffee or chocolate at one end, and tea at the
other, served by young ladies, friends of the hostess.  To be invited
to preside at the coffee urn, or to manipulate the swinging tea-kettle,
is accounted a high compliment.

Besides the tea, the refreshments, which are served from the table, may
be very thin slices of bread and butter, or wafers, or similar trifles;
but if the occasion approaches the nature of a formal reception, a more
elaborate preparation is made; _bouillon_, oysters, salads, ice-cream
and cakes, delicate rolls and bon-bons may be offered.  The gradations
by which the frugal tea passes into the superabundant supper are not
easily classified.  Each hostess will judge how much or how little
prominence to give to these provisions for the inner man.  Usually,
however, very simple refreshments, daintily served, are all that is
desirable, as the guests go home to their dinners.

If a guest is a comparative stranger to others present, she is at
liberty to address any one in a chatty, agreeable way, without
introduction.  Also, if any one observes another guest who seems to be
alone and neglected, it is a graceful and kind overture to open a
pleasant conversation.

One should not linger too long at an afternoon tea.  Three-quarters of
an hour is a happy medium.

Allied to the afternoon tea are various phases of informal daytime
entertaining.  For example, there is the "shower" for a bride-elect
("linen," "culinary," or what you will).  A friend of the bride-to-be
invites a coterie of girl friends to meet the guest of honor, giving
each girl time to provide some beautiful or useful gift, the
presentations to be made with amusing ceremonies.

The "thimble bee," a favorite diversion of the quiet matronly set, each
one bringing her own bit of needlework to while away an hour or so in
pleasant conversation.  One of the number may read aloud, with pauses
for comment at will.  The thimble bee is a modern version of the good
old-fashioned "spend the afternoon and take tea."  Both the shower and
the thimble bee may be given in the forenoon, if preferred.




THE DINNER SERVICE

REQUISITES FOR THE DINING-TABLE

_Table-Linen, etc._--Table-cloths of white damask, double or single, as
fine as the owner's purse admits, are used for the dinner-table, with
large square white napkins to correspond.

The table should first be covered with a mat of double-faced cotton
flannel wide enough to fall six inches below the edge of the table, all
around.  This under mat greatly improves the appearance of the
table-cloth, which can be laid much more smoothly over this soft
foundation.  Besides, the mat protects the table from too close contact
with hot dishes.  Small table mats for the purpose of protecting the
cloth are not fashionable at present, though many careful housekeepers
retain them rather than risk injury to fine table linen.

Carving-cloths are used when carving is done at the table, but are not
needed when dinner is served _à la Russe_.

Napkin rings are discarded by many who hold that a napkin should be
used but once, and must be re-laundried before reappearing on the table.

Practically, such a fastidious use of table linen would exhaust most
linen supplies, and overcrowd the laundry.  The neat use of a napkin
renders this extreme nicety superfluous as a rule of home dining, Care
should certainly be taken to remove all soiled table linen.  Nothing is
more disgusting than a dirty napkin, but the snowy linen that comes
spotless through one using may, with propriety, be retained in the ring
to be used several times.  This, of course, refers to every-day dining
at home.  On formal occasions no napkin rings appear on the table; the
napkins are always fresh, and used for that time only.  At the close of
the dinner they are left carelessly on the table; not rolled or folded
in any orderly shape.

Small fringed napkins of different colors are used with a dessert of
fruits.  Fancy doylies of fine linen embroidered with silk are
sometimes brought in with the finger-bowls; but these are not for
utility, the dinner napkin doing service, while the embroidered "fancy"
adds a dainty bit of effect to the table decoration.

_China, Glassware, Cutlery, Silverware, etc._--Chinaware for the dinner
service should be of good quality.  Fashions in china decoration are
not fixed; the fancy of the hour is constantly changing, but a matched
set is eminently proper for the dinner table, leaving the "harlequin"
china for luncheons and teas.  In the latter style the aim is to have
no two pieces alike in decoration, or at least, to permit an unlimited
variety; a fashion that is very convenient when large quantities of
dishes are liable to be needed.  But for a dinner served in orderly
sequence, the orderly correspondence of a handsome "set" seems more in
keeping.  But even with this, the harlequin idea may come in with the
dessert; fruit plates, ice-cream sets, after-dinner coffees, etc., may
display any number of fantasies in shape and coloring.

Artistic glassware is a very handsome feature of table furnishing.
Carafes and goblets for water are always needed at dinner; wine
glasses, possibly; and the serving of fruits and bon-bons gives
opportunity to display the most brilliant cut-glass, or its
comparatively inexpensive substitutes, which are scarcely less pretty
in effect.  Fine glass is infinitely more elegant than common
plated-ware, and though more liable to breakage is less trouble to keep
in order.

The best dinner-knife is of steel, of good quality, with handle of
ivory, ebony, or silver.  Silver-plated knives are much used; they do
not discolor so readily as steel, and are easily kept polished.  They
answer the purpose for luncheon, but they rarely have edge enough to be
really serviceable at dinner or breakfast.

Many people who own solid silverware store it away in bank vaults and
use its _fac simile_ in quadruple plate, and thus escape the constant
dread of a possible burglar.  For the sense of security that it gives,
one may value the finest quality of plated ware, but it should be
inconspicuous in style and not too profuse in quantity, since its
utility, rather than its commercial value, should be suggested.  Any
ostentation in the use of plated ware is vulgar.  But one may take a
pride and satisfaction in the possession of solid silver.  Every
ambitious housekeeper will devise ways of securing, little by little,
if not all at once, a neat collection of solid spoons and forks.  The
simplest table takes on dignity when graced with these "sterling"
accompaniments.  The fancy for collecting "souvenir" spoons, one at a
time, suggests a way to secure a valuable lot of spoons without feeling
the burden of the expense.  Yet, on the other hand, these spoons are
much more expensive than equally good plain silver, the extra price
being paid for the "idea;" but the expenditure is worth while to those
who value historical associations.  One may find in the silver-basket
salient reminders of all important epochs in our national life, a sort
of primer of United States history, to say nothing of the innumerable
"souvenirs" of Europe.  Its subtle testimony to the intelligent taste
of its owner gives the souvenir collection its chief "touch of
elegance."

The towering "castor," once the central glory of the dinner table, is
out of style.  The condiments are left on the sideboard, and handed
from there in case any dish requires them, the supposition being that,
as a rule, the several dishes are properly seasoned before they are
served.  Individual salt-cellars are placed on the table, and may be
accompanied with salt spoons; if these are omitted, it is understood
that the salt-cellar is emptied and refilled each time that it is used.
On the family dinner-table the condiment line is not so severely drawn;
vinegar in cut-glass cruets, mustard in Satsuma pots, and individual
"peppers"--in silver, china, or glass, and of quaint designs--are
convenient and allowable.

A table covered with white damask, overlaid with sparkling china and
cut-glass, and reflecting the white light of polished silver, is a
pretty but lifeless sight.  Add one magic touch--the centre-piece of
flowers--and the crystallized beauty wakes to organic life.

In arranging the modern dinner-table, when the service is to be _à la
Russe_, floral decorations are almost indispensable.  Without something
attractive for the eye to rest upon, the desert stretch of linen looks
like the white ghost of famine mocking the feast.

The shape of the table, the available space, and the nature of the
occasion decide the quantity and distribution of the flowers.  It is a
matter in which wide latitude is given to individual taste and
ingenuity, original designs and odd conceits being always in order,
subject only to the law of appropriateness.

For a square or extra wide table a large centre-piece, either round or
oblong, is usually chosen, with endless varieties in its component
arrangement.  It may be low and flat, like a floral mat, in the middle
of the table, or it may be a lofty _epergne_, or an inter-lacing of
delicate vine-wreathed arches, or a single basket of feathery
maidenhair fern--in fact, anything that is pretty and which the
inspiration of the moment may suggest.  In early autumn, in country
homes or in suburban villas, nothing is more effective than masses of
golden-rod and purple asters, gathered by the hostess or her guests
during their afternoon drive, and all the more satisfactory because of
the pleasure taken in their impromptu arrangement.  Wild flowers should
be neatly trimmed and symmetrically grouped to avoid a ragged or weedy
appearance.

Fortunately, even quite elaborate floral decorations need not be
expensive.  Nature has bestowed some of her choicest touches upon the
lilies of the field, and an artistic eye discerns their possibilities.
At the same time, art in floriculture has produced marvels, and those
who can afford it may revel in mammoth roses and rare orchids, lilies
of the valley in November, and red clovers in January, if it please
them to pay the florist's bill for the same.

For narrow "extension" tables, slender vases ranged at intervals may be
the most convenient disposition of the flowers; or, if the ends of the
table are not occupied, a broad, low basket may stand at each end, with
a tall, slender vase in the middle of the table.

On choice occasions a handsome centre-piece may be, for example, a
large bowl of La France roses, with small bundles of the same (groups
of three are pretty), tied with ribbon of the same hue, laid by each
plate.  Any other single flower may be disposed similarly, or variety
may rule, and no two floral "favors" be alike, in which case it is a
delicate compliment to give to each guest a flower known to be a
favorite, or one that seems especially appropriate--a lily to Lilian, a
daisy to Marguerite, etc.  These little marks of thoughtfulness never
fail to be appreciated, and add much to the grace of entertaining.

An elaborate centre-piece may stand upon a rich velvet mat, or on a
flat mirror provided for the purpose.  The latter is a clever idea for
a centre-piece of pond-lilies or other aquatic plants, simulating a
miniature lake, its edges fringed with moss or ferns.


THE FORMAL ARRANGEMENT OF THE DINNER-TABLE

The mat is first adjusted upon the table, and the table-cloth smoothly
and evenly laid over it.  The cloth should fall about half-way to the
floor all around.

The floral accessories are then put in place; and also the fruits and
bon-bons, which may be commingled with the flowers in working out a
decorative design, or they may be placed, in ornamental dishes, at the
four corners of a wide table, to balance the flowers in the centre; or,
they may be arranged along the middle of a long table.  For fruit,
silver-gilt baskets, or _epergnes_ of glass are especially pretty.  The
fruit may later constitute a part of the dessert, or may be merely
ornamental in its office.  Carafes containing iced water are placed
here and there on the table, at convenient points.

The next step is the laying of the covers; a cover signifying the place
prepared for one person.  For a dinner in courses a cover consists of a
small plate (on which to set the oyster plate), two large knives, three
large forks (for the roast, the game, and _entrées_), one small knife
and fork (for the fish), one tablespoon (for the soup), one
oyster-fork.  The knives and forks are laid at the right and left of
the plate, the oyster-fork and the spoon being conveniently to hand.  A
glass goblet for water is set at the right, about eight inches from the
edge of the table; if wine is to be served the requisite glasses are
grouped about the water goblet.

The napkin is folded square, with one fold turned back to inclose a
thick piece of bread; or, the napkin may be folded into a triangle that
will stand upright, holding the bread within its folds.  This is the
only way in which bread is put on the dinner-table, though a plate of
bread is on the sideboard to be handed to those who require a second
piece.  It is entirely proper to ask for it, when desired.  Butter is
not usually placed on the dinner-table, but is handed from the
sideboard if the _menu_ includes dishes that require it; as, sweet
corn, sweet potatoes, etc.  Small butter-plates are included in the
"cover" in such cases.

The oysters, which form the initial course, are usually on the table
before the guests take their places.  A majolica plate, containing four
or six of the bivalves with a bit of lemon in the midst, is placed at
each cover; or, oyster cocktails may be served.  The soup tureen and
plates are brought in to the side table.  All is now in readiness.


THE ARRIVAL OF GUESTS--MEANWHILE

While these preparations have been going on in the dining-room, the
guests have been assembling in the drawing-room.  It is proper to
arrive from five to fifteen minutes before the hour mentioned in the
invitation, allowing time to pay respects to the host and hostess,
without haste of manner, before the dinner is announced.

A gentleman wears a dress suit at dinner.  A lady wears a handsome
gown, "dinner dress" being "full dress;" differing, however, from the
evening party or reception gown in the kind of fabrics used.  The most
filmy gauzes are suitable for a ball costume; while dinner dress--for
any but very young ladies--is usually of more substantial
materials--rich silk or velvet softened in effect with choice lace, or
made brilliant with jet trimmings.

When the dinner party is strictly formal, and the company evenly
matched in pairs, the following order is observed:

Each gentleman finds in the hall, as he enters, a card bearing his name
and the name of the lady whom he is to take out; also, a small
_boutonnière_, which he pins on his coat.  If the lady is a stranger,
he asks to be presented to her, and establishes an easy conversation
before moving toward the dining-room.


THE ANNOUNCEMENT OF DINNER

When dinner is ready the fact is made known to the hostess by the
butler, or maid-servant, who comes to the door and quietly says "Dinner
is served."  A bell is never rung for dinner, nor for any other formal
meal.

The host leads the way, taking out the lady who is given the place of
first consideration; the most distinguished woman, the greatest
stranger, the most elderly--whatever the basis of distinction.  Other
couples follow in the order assigned to them, each gentleman seating
the lady on his right.  The hostess comes last, with the most
distinguished male guest.  If there is a footman, or more than one, the
chairs are deftly placed for each guest; but if only a maid is in
waiting, each gentleman arranges his own and his partner's chairs as
quietly as possible.

As soon as the company are seated, each one removes the bread; and the
napkin, partially unfolded, is laid across the lap.  It is not tucked
in at the neck or the vest front, or otherwise disposed as a
feeding-bib.  It is a towel, for wiping the lips and fingers in
emergencies, but should be used unobtrusively--not flourished like a
flag of truce.


THE SERVING OF THE DINNER

The servant is ready to hand from the side-board any condiments desired
for the oysters, which are promptly disposed of.  It may be remarked at
the outset, that everything at table is handed at the left, _except
wine_, which is offered at the right.  Ladies are served first.

After the oyster-plates are removed, the soup is served from the side
table--a half ladleful to each plate being considered the correct
quantity.  The rule regarding soup is double, you must, and you must
not.  You must accept it (whether you eat it or merely pretend to), but
you must not ask for a second helping, since to do so would prolong a
course that is merely an "appetizer" preparatory to the substantials.

The soup-plates are removed, and the fish immediately appears, served
on plates with mashed potatoes or salad, or sometimes both, in which
case a separate dish is provided for the salad.  The _entrées_ follow
the fish, hot plates being provided, as required.  Dishes containing
the _entrées_ should have a large spoon and fork laid upon them, and
should be held low, so that the guest may help himself easily.

Again the dishes are removed.  Here we may pause to remark that the
prompt and orderly removal of the dishes after each successive course
is a salient feature of skillful waiting.  The accomplished waiter
never betrays haste or nervousness, but his every movement "tells," and
that, too, without clatter, or the dropping of small articles, or the
dripping of sauces.  The plates, etc., vanish from the table--whither,
we observe not.  The waiter in the dining-room must have the
co-operation of the servant behind the scenes, to receive and convey
the relays of dishes to the kitchen.  However it is managed, and it
_must be managed_, the nearer the operation can appear to be a "magic
transformation," the better.

To return; the roast is the next course.  The carving is done at the
side table.  Guests are consulted as to their preference for "rare" or
"well-done;" and the meat, in thin slices, is served on hot plates,
with vegetables at discretion on the same plate, separate vegetable
dishes--except for salads--not being used on private dinner tables.
Certain vegetables, as sweet corn on the cob, may be regarded as a
course by themselves, being too clumsy to be disposed of conveniently
on a plate with other things.

The game course is next in order (if it is included, as it generally is
in an elaborate dinner).  Celery is an appropriate accompaniment of the
game course.  The salad is sometimes served with the game; otherwise it
follows as a course by itself.

The salad marks the end of the heavy courses.  The crumb tray is
brought, and the table-cloth is cleared of all stray fragments.  A
rolled napkin makes a quiet brush for this purpose, especially on a
finely polished damask cloth.

The dessert is now in order.  Finger-bowls and doylies are brought in
on the dessert-plates.  Each person at once removes the bowl and doyley
to make ready for whatever is to be put on the plate.

Ices, sweets (pastry and confections), cheese, follow in course; and,
finally, the fruits and bon-bons.  Strong coffee is served last of all,
in small cups.  Fashion decrees _café noir_, and few lovers of cream
care to rebel on so formal an occasion as a dinner; but when the
formality is not too rigid, the little cream jug may be smuggled in for
those who prefer _café au lait_.

Water is the staple drink of the American dinner-table.  A palatable
table water, like Apollinaris, well iced, is an elegant substitute for
wine when habit or conscience forbids the latter.

When wine is served with the different courses at dinner, the
appropriate use is as follows: with soup, sherry; with the fish,
chablis, hock, or sauterne; with the roast, claret and champagne; after
the game course, Madeira and port; with the dessert, sherry, claret, or
Burgundy.  After dinner are served champagne and other sparkling wines,
just off the ice, and served without decanting, a napkin being wrapped
around the wet bottle.

While wine may be accounted indispensable by many, the growing
sentiment in favor of its total banishment from the dinner-table has
this effect on the etiquette of the case, that the neglect to provide
wine for even a very formal dinner is not now the breach of good form
which it would have been held to be some years ago.  Such neglect has
been sanctioned by the example of acknowledged social leaders; and when
it is the exponent of a temperance principle it has the respect of
every diner-out, whatever his private choice in the matter.  No
_gentleman_ will grumble at the absence of wine at his host's table.
It is good form for a host to serve or _not_ serve wine, as he chooses;
it is very bad form for his guest to comment on his choice.  When any
one who is conscientiously opposed to wine-drinking, or for any reason
abstains, is present at a dinner where wine is served, he declines it
by simply laying his hand on the rim of his glass as the butler
approaches.  No words are necessary.  Apollinaris will take the place
of stronger waters, and no embarrassment follows to either host or
guest.  As to the moral involved, a silent example may be quite as
influential as an aggressive exhibition of one's principles.  Questions
of manners and morals are constantly elbowing one another, and it is a
nice point to decide when and how far duty requires one to defy
conventionality.  It is safe to say that only in extreme cases is this
ever necessary, or even permissible.  The hostess who simply _does not
offer wine to any guest under any circumstances_, is using her
influence effectively and courteously, especially when she supplies the
deficiency with delicious coffee and cocoa, fragrant tea, and, best and
_rarest_ of all, crystal clear, sparkling cold water.  By pointing out
a "more excellent way," she is adding to her faith _virtue_.


MISCELLANEOUS POINTS

Extra knives and forks are brought in with any course that requires
them.  The preliminary lay-out is usually meant to provide all that the
scheme of the dinner will call for; but one must have a goodly supply
of silver and cutlery to avoid altogether the necessity for having some
of it washed and returned to the table during the progress of the
dinner.  It is very desirable to be amply equipped, as it facilitates
the prompt and orderly serving of the courses.

Fruit-knives are required, and ice-spoons, orange-spoons, and other
unique conceits in silver utensils may be provided with the dessert, if
one happens to own them; otherwise, plain forks and spoons do duty as
required.  The fork bears the chief burden of responsibility, being
used for everything solid or semi-solid, leaving the spoon to the
limited realm of soft custards and fruits that are so juicy as to elude
the tines of the fork.

The knife is held in hand as little as possible, being used only when
cutting is actually necessary, the fork easily separating most
vegetables, etc.  In the fish course, however, the knife is used to
assist in removing the troublesome small bones.

In holding the knife the fingers should not touch the blade, except
that the forefinger rests upon the upper edge not far below the shank
when the cutting requires some firmness of pressure.  The dinner knife
should be sharp enough to perform its office without too much muscular
effort, or the possible accident of a duck's wing flying unexpectedly
"from cover" under the ill-directed stress of a despairing carver's
hand.  I have seen the component parts of a fricasseed chicken leave
the table, not _untouched_--oh! no; every one had been _sawing_ at it
for a half-hour--but uneaten it certainly was, for obvious reasons.
The cutlery was pretty, but practically unequal to even spring chicken.

The fork is held with the tines curving downward, that position giving
greater security to the morsel, and is raised laterally, the points
being turned, as it reaches the mouth, just enough to deposit the
morsel between the slightly-parted lips.  During this easy movement the
elbow scarcely moves from its position at the side, a fact gratefully
appreciated by one's next neighbor.  What is more awkward than the arm
projected, holding the fork pointing backward at a right angle to the
lips, the mouth opening wide like an automatic railway gate to an
approaching locomotive--the labored and ostentatious way in which food
is sometimes transported to its destination?  Nor, once in the mouth,
is it lost to sight forever.  Other people, seated opposite, are
compelled to witness it in successive stages of the grinding process,
as exhibited by the constant opening and shutting of the mouth during
mastication, or laughing and talking with the mouth full--faults of
heedless people of energetic but not refined manners.

Liquids are sipped from the side of the spoon, without noise or
suction.  In serving vegetables the tablespoon is inserted laterally,
not "point first."

Celery is held in the fingers, asparagus also, unless the stalks are
too tender.  Green corn may be eaten from the cob, a good set of
natural teeth being the prime requisite.  It may be a perfectly
graceful performance if daintily managed.

The management of fruits in the dessert is another test of dainty
skill.  Oranges may be eaten in different ways.  Very juicy fruit may
be cut in halves across the sections and scooped out with a spoon.  The
drier "seedless" oranges are better peeled and separated.  With a fruit
knife, remove the tough skin of each peg, leaving enough dry fiber to
hold it by, in conveying it to the mouth.  Practice enables one easily
to "make way with" an orange.  Bananas are cut in two, the skin
removed; the fruit is held in the fingers, or--preferably--eaten with a
fork.  Juicy pears and peaches may be managed in the same way, at
discretion, the rule being that the fingers should touch as little as
possible fruits that are decidedly mushy.

The finger-bowl stands ready to repair all damages of the nature
suggested.  The fingers are dipped in the water and gently rinsed, and
then passed lightly over the lips, and both mouth and fingers are wiped
upon the napkin.

At a signal from the hostess, the ladies rise and return to the
drawing-room.  The gentlemen follow immediately, or remain a short time
for another glass of wine, when such is the provision of the host.


DINNER-TABLE TALK

The conversation at the dinner-table should be general, unless the
company is large, and the table too long to admit of it.  But in any
case, each one is responsible first of all for keeping up a pleasant
chat with his or her partner, and not allowing that one to be neglected
while attention is riveted on some aggressively brilliant talker at the
other end of the table.  No matter how uninteresting one's partner may
be, one must be thoughtful and entertaining; and such kind attention
may win the life-long gratitude of a timid _débutante_, or the equally
unsophisticated country cousin.

Dinner-table talk should be affable.  The host and hostess must be
alert to turn the conversation from channels that threaten to lead to
antagonisms of opinion; and each guest should feel that it is more
important just now to make other people happy than to gratify his
impulse to "floor" them on the tariff question.  In short, at dinner,
as under most social conditions, the watchword ever in mind should be,
"Not to myself alone."


INFORMAL DINNERS

The informal dinner, daily served in thousands of refined American
homes, is a much less pretentious affair than the name "dinner"
technically implies.  In most cases the service is but partially _à la
Russe_, most courses, and all the _entrées_, being set on the table,
the serving and "helping" being done by some member of the family; the
presence of a waitress being sometimes dispensed with except at
transition points; as, when the table is cleared before the dessert.
This formality is the most decided dinner feature of the meal, which
throughout its progress has been conducted more like a luncheon.  Yet,
in all essential points of mannerliness, the family dinner is governed
by the same rules that control the formal banquet.

It is perhaps needless to remark that the _diner à la Russe_ in its
perfection cannot be carried out without a number of competent
servants.  These may be hired when some special occasion warrants extra
preparations for due formality.  But for customary "entertaining,"
those who "live quietly," with possibly but one domestic to assist with
the dinner, will show good sense in not attempting anything more
imposing than they are able to compass successfully.  The "family
dinner" has a dignity of its own when in keeping with all the
conditions; and though its _menu_ may be simple, its service
unpretentious, it may be the gracious exponent of a hospitality "fit
for a king."

At the informal dinner it is customary to seat the guests in the order
in which they enter the dining-room, without assigning any place of
distinction; all the places at table being held of equal honor--comfort
and convenience being the things chiefly considered.




LUNCHEONS

The most elastic word in the whole vocabulary of entertaining is the
term _luncheon_.  It is applied to a mid-day meal occurring any time
between 11 A. M. and 3 P. M., and may mean anything, from a brilliant
_à la Russe_ banquet, to the hastily gathered together fragments left
from yesterday's dinner.

It may describe an hour of absolute leisure, and the most delightful
conversational interchange, or it may signify the five minutes' grab
from the side-board between the games of a closely-contested amateur
tennis tournament.

In general, we may say that the most formal of luncheons, resembling
the dinner in the main features of its serving, has these points of
distinction; the number of guests is irregular, usually uncertain, they
go to the table singly; they come dressed in any way that the hour of
the day, or their recent occupations warrant--men dropping in dressed
for business or sporting, and ladies in promenade costumes, with
bonnets or hats; the hour is not rigidly fixed,--luncheon, being
largely of cold dishes, is not spoiled by a half-hour's tardiness--a
late comer is greeted as cordially as the first arrival; and "the more
the merrier" seems to be the motto of the hostess who keeps "open
house" at luncheon time.

The formal luncheons for which engraved invitations are issued, are
usually "ladies' luncheons;" and the formality of the serving is
equalled by the elegance of the toilets.  Men have little leisure for
day-time entertainments, except during the brief outing at some summer
resort, where the easy-going lunch is the ruling fashion.

The _menu_ of the cold luncheon may present great variety, and provide
for many guests with little trouble.  For a smaller, or more definite,
number a hot luncheon may be prepared--a tender steak with mashed
potatoes and asparagus, or something equally simple--and a dessert of
cakes, ice-cream, and fruits; in all respects a little "informal
dinner."

The large buffet luncheon, like the four o'clock tea, gives opportunity
for displaying all the pretty china that one owns.  Flowers and fruits
may decorate the table or tables, and the most artistic effects may be
secured by a little attention to blending and grouping.  A hostess _who
knows how_ can make her rooms look like a festal bower for these
occasions without much money outlay; and if she also is clever in the
compounding of made dishes and salads, she can give luncheons that are
remembered as the epitome of good style, albeit the bills for the same
were surprisingly small.  Such a gifted woman enjoys a sense of
exultation that is unknown to her richer sister, who merely fills out a
cheque for the cost and leaves all else to the caterer, as one must,
when the luncheon is given at a club or tea room.

In general, the buffet luncheon is much the same on all occasions, when
entertaining large companies at home.  The difference is not so much in
the way of serving, as in the kind of refreshments proffered.  The tea
may be a light affair, if you will; merely a bit and a sip for good
fellowship.  But the luncheon is one of the solid meals of the day,
requiring something substantial.  Such sustaining things as chicken
salad, appetizing sandwiches, bouillon (hot or jellied), cold sliced
ham, with relishes, as celery, olives, seasonable fruits, etc., satisfy
the normal hunger at noontime; and delicious cakes and ices with coffee
make a festal finale.  Almost any attractive luncheon dish may be
included, preferably things that are not hurt by standing; as the
luncheon service for a large party fills an hour or two.  For this
reason, coffee is the most manageable beverage to serve.

The refreshments are arranged on the dining-table.  A fine table-cloth
may be used; or handsome doylies if the table itself is of handsome
finish.  The salad bowl is set on one side, the platters of sandwiches,
etc., on the other; with the coffee urn at one end, the ices at the
other, if there is room; otherwise, the cake and ices are served from a
side table.  Another side table is desirable, to hold the stacks of
dishes and napkins.

As the hostess must give her entire attention to receiving her guests,
she intrusts the oversight of the dining-room to several matrons, who
are aided by a bevy of the younger girls (the young men also, at an
evening party).  At the proper time these young people pass the napkins
and plates (usually with the salad already served) to the guests
scattered around the rooms.  Other things are promptly brought, the
coffee being served immediately after, by another set of helpers.
Since all cannot be seated, small tables placed here and there in the
suite of rooms will give the standing ones a chance to set a coffee cup
down now and then.  Candy in tiny reception sticks may be passed with
the cake; or bonbon dishes may be set in unexpected places about the
rooms, where any one who discovers them may nibble at will.

The family waitress, with extra help if needed, should be in attendance
near the dining-room exit, to receive the used dishes and remove them
at once from the scene.  This is a nice point; for a congestion of
dishes in the dining-room spoils the effect of an otherwise
well-managed service.  The maid will also keep the stack of plates,
etc., replenished; and she will carry back and forth from the pantry
the salad bowl and platters for replenishing.

Cutlery is limited to a fork for the salad, a spoon for the coffee, and
a fork or spoon for the ice cream.  The ices may be in fancy individual
shapes, if one chooses to take that much trouble; but the brick,
brought in ready sliced for serving, is always suitable, and easier to
manage.

Much of this is so generally understood that further details seem
superfluous.  The least experienced hostess need not be overanxious
about small points, if the general order is observed; for luncheon
guests are a genial crowd, and nobody notices little mishaps.  I am
assuming that your guests are all very nice people, in sympathy with
you, and aiding you to the extent of their ability to make things
pleasant.  Those who have this sincere disposition need no instruction
in behavior.  Each one's conduct will be guided by her own instinctive
sense of propriety.  One who is habitually polite is not likely to make
any blunders at a luncheon, since there are no rigid conventionalities
to be infringed.

If the luncheon hour is much past noon, the guests should be careful
not to remain too long after, as they might thus be detaining the
hostess from later afternoon engagements.




SUPPERS

A supper is a late evening meal, and may be an entertainment by itself,
or be served in connection with some social event.  A supper is
understood to consist prevailingly of hot dishes, which distinguishes
the supper from the collation--which might be served on similar
occasions--and which is mainly of cold dishes.  The distinction is not
absolute, however.

A formal supper, or banquet, is served _à la Russe_, and resembles the
dinner in its general conduct; but instead of the heavy roast and
vegetables, the game is the conspicuous course, and various
preparations of oysters, lobster, terrapin, etc., crowd the _menu_
card, with salads of all kinds.  Nine o'clock is a fashionable hour for
the sit-down supper.  The supper served at a dance or a reception is
timed to suit the leading features of the evening.  The _menu_ for
these "crush" suppers covers the ground of the hot supper and the cold
collation combined, and there are few things within the range of dainty
cookery that are not permissible.

The most "social" and enjoyable suppers--with the doctor's
permission--are those that are served an home after the hostess and her
guests have returned from the theatre or opera, lecture or concert.
Tiny biscuit, sandwiches, fried oysters, chicken salad, and golden
coffee, with ice-cream and some superior cake, served like a luncheon,
make a supper easily arranged, and one which winds up a pleasant
evening in a very satisfactory way.




BREAKFASTS

A formal breakfast has little distinctive character.  It differs very
slightly from an early luncheon, except that the viands are more
distinctly breakfast dishes; as, toast, hot muffins, omelettes and other
preparations of eggs, delicate farinaceous foods, _café au lait_, etc.
If it is the veritable breaking of the fast the guests must be very late
risers indeed, as 11 o'clock, or even 12, noon, is a fashionable hour for
this so-called breakfast, which is a phase of social entertaining
reserved for the "leisure class," or only at odd intervals possible to
people of active pursuits.  The morning hours are precious to the hurried
man of business, and the care-environed housekeeper; and "promptness and
dispatch" is the motto of the breakfast table in most houses.

The _real_ breakfast of everyday life is the meal where we least expect
to meet guests--unless it be some one who is staying at the house.  It is
a rare thing for a friend to "drop in" to breakfast, and to invite him to
do so is perhaps the rarest expression of hospitality, and will probably
remain so, while we remain a nation of brain and hand workers.

During the summer vacation, when we pause for a breathing spell, no more
charming hospitality can be offered than a dainty breakfast, especially
in the country.  It may be the preliminary to an all-day house party, or
a picnic excursion; or the breakfast may be the goal of an early morning
drive by carriage or motor, and the hour may be early or late, just as
you please; for is not vacation a period of emancipation from the tyranny
of the clock?  But let not the hour be too early, for tired people are
heavy sleepers; yet not too late either, lest the heat of the sun may
have become too suggestive of the approaching noon-tide; late enough for
weary eyelids to unclose willingly, early enough for the fresh dewy odor
still to cling to the vines on the porch.

The conventional breakfast in town is given very seldom as compared with
dinners and luncheons.  It is peculiarly a holiday hospitality, reserved
until the men are at leisure; for breakfast without the man of the house
would be Hamlet with the prince left out.

There is another significant distinction: the guests are chosen from the
inner circle.  When, on Christmas morning, Mr. and Mrs. A.  entertain Mr.
and Mrs. B. and Mr. and Mrs. C. at breakfast, we infer at once their
intimate friendship and congenial companionship.  One may lunch
impersonally with comparative strangers; one may dine formally touching
elbows with one's dearest foe but one does not of choice breakfast with
any one but a friend, or a friend of a friend--graciously accepted on
trust.  Breakfast is the most intimate breaking of bread; not even the
festive elaboration can make the friendly breakfast seem like anything
but "playing at" formality.  The service is essentially the same as it
usually is in that household, except that the children are not at the
table.  The more homelike it is, the better; for home atmosphere is
revealed as at no other meal, and on no other occasion can a visitor be
made to feel so entirely "one of the family."

The guests remain but a short time after a breakfast, chatting in a
leisurely way, but leaving rather promptly.


The problem of the family breakfast is complicated by the modern stress
of business life.  In suburban towns the typical "commuter" must flee
away with little ceremony; for the 7:08 will not wait, and the 7:10 is a
way train.  In most families breakfast is on the European plan, so to
speak.  For this very reason, perhaps, the occasional holiday breakfast
is the more attractive.  With no train to "catch," no boat to "make," no
office hours to "keep," no demon of driving work to lash one to the
treadmill, how delightful to be able to breakfast with the serenity of
the genial "Autocrat" himself; and how very odd it seems to find oneself
sociably disposed at this unwonted hour!  May it not convey the gentle
admonition that we might be more social every day, if we only thought so?

Psychologically, the breakfast is peculiar.  It is the first commingling
of the day; and whether it be the late holiday feast, or the usual family
gathering, it sets the pace for the twenty-four hours.  A cheerful start
in the morning may give an optimistic momentum for all-day hill-climbing;
or, one may slip dejectedly down hill if leaden-weighted with a "morning
grouch" (one's own, or somebody else's).  Even fellow "boarders" might
reflect on this, with profit.  Preoccupied with our own affairs, we
forget to be mutually considerate.  We habitually wake to rush and worry,
taking social recreation chiefly at the close of day, when too weary to
appreciate it.  Might it not sometimes be well to get ourselves into a
good humor the first thing in the morning, and then work afterward?  Few
people are of such a happy, self-contained disposition that they do not
need the sustaining influence of other cheerful spirits.  Most of us
would have more of sunshine in our hearts if the first business of the
morning had been to put ourselves in harmony with our fellow-creatures
socially.  And if we cannot do this every day, nor even often, according
to our ideal, we at least doubly appreciate the rare occasions when it
has been possible, and we feel impulsively grateful to the hostess whose
thoughtful kindness has made our holiday so bright at its dawning.  Other
ways of entertaining may be more imposing; none are more delightful.  Bid
whom you will to dine with you, but ask me to _breakfast_.




EVENING PARTIES

This general term includes a variety of social entertainments, and
suggests all degrees of formality, from the stately reception to the
"surprise party."  With a range so varied, classification is not
readily made.  Some features are always present: a host and hostess
always receive; a guest always first pays his respects to his
entertainers, and then mingles agreeably with the throng.  He makes
himself useful in any way that tact and courtesy suggest.  Supper is
served, usually the buffet collation.  It is more formal, and less
confusing, if the guests go to the dining-room--convenient numbers at a
time--instead of being served in the parlors, as at a luncheon.  On
formal occasions professional readers and musicians are often engaged
as entertainers.  Sometimes the amusement is furnished by clever
amateurs among the guests, who may read, sing, or whistle, or what not.
In a circle where all are well acquainted, some of the pleasantest
evening parties are those to the success of which each one contributes
his mite, cheerfully singing in the chorus when nature has denied him a
solo voice, and not allowing any dark jealousy of superior gifts to
deprive the harmony of his one little note.

Invitations to these informal parties are cordial and personal in tone.
If the guest is expected to make preparation, in costume or to fill
some part on the programme, that fact is briefly stated.  For practical
suggestions, consult "Parlor Games," adding any novel features that you
can devise.  A hostess with original ideas for entertainments is always
successful and popular.  Elderly people as well as the young enjoy
these parties; and they are a safe resource for mixed companies, when a
form of entertainment must be chosen that will please all and offend
none.

Children's parties, usually afternoon affairs, are often merely
childish "good times"; but again, they are conducted in close imitation
of an evening party for adults, and thus made a means of education in
the social ceremonial.  When sensibly managed, the children's party
affords a fine opportunity for training the little people in polite
manners.

When the children are almost grown up, but not "out," pleasant little
parties for "the younger set" are given by the mothers, to accustom the
"buds" to conventionalities, and prepare the débutantes and their young
brothers to take their place gracefully in the larger social world.
These younger-set parties are like a grown-up party, except that they
are conspicuously chaperoned, and all responsibility is assumed by the
mothers and godmothers.

The two extreme phases of the evening party are the conventional ball,
and the rural "sociable."

The special requirements for a ball are good music, and large
well-ventilated rooms, from which all superfluous furniture has been
removed.  For music, an orchestra of four or six pieces may be
sufficient.  For space, we must make the best of what we have, if the
ball is given at home.  This is practicable only where the rooms are
reasonably spacious.  Nowadays, a ball in a private house is rare, for
hotels, clubs, and first class caterers furnish charming ballrooms for
rental to exclusive patrons.

But whether in her own house or in a hired ballroom, the hostess is for
the time "at home"; and the general conduct of the ball is the same in
both cases.  Decorations, floral and otherwise, are important; and a
supper, served either during the progress, or at the close of the
dance--or both--is an indispensable feature.

The guests arrive at the hour designated, not earlier than nine
o'clock.  The hostess is stationed at some point near the entrance of
the drawing-room, where she remains during the evening to receive the
guests, who must pay their respects to her, first of all.  A gentleman
will also lose no time in finding his host, and paying him the courtesy
of a deferential greeting.

As the hostess cannot delegate her special duty of receiving, she has
usually several aids, young matrons, who keep a watchful eye upon the
dancing throng, and see to it that partners are not lacking for those
who might otherwise be overlooked; and in any way that the emergency
may suggest, or tact devise, they radiate the hospitality from its
centre--the hostess.

A gentleman in American society does not ask a lady to dance until he
has been introduced to her.  He may seek an introduction for this
purpose, or the hostess may request him to be introduced.  In either
case, the lady and the gentleman both cheerfully acquiesce.  A lady
usually accepts the invitation to dance, unless the dance is already
engaged.  She should be careful to inspect her tablets; and not promise
the same dance to two different partners, an awkward accident that
sometimes happens to a heedless belle.  After a dance, a gentleman
promenades with his partner, chats with her for awhile, and, finally,
with a graceful bow, leaves her once more in the care of her chaperone.

If a man has made an engagement to take a particular lady out to
supper, he must not forget himself and linger talking to another lady
until supper is fairly announced, since etiquette then requires him to
take out the lady with whom he is at the moment talking.  He should
seek the one he has chosen, some moments before, and leave the other
lady free to receive other invitations to supper.

Any gentleman who observes a lady who is not being served with
refreshments, should courteously offer to bring her something.  If he
is a total stranger he will attempt no conversation beyond the
civilities of the case; but these he will cordially though
unobtrusively offer.  The young man who does these little things with
the gentle grace of a knight errant, may not know that he is simply
charming, from a woman's standpoint; but the fact remains.

A ball, proper, is a strictly formal affair.  A dancing party, while
observing similar regulations on the dancing floor, may be, in the
social intervals between dances, as informal as a village "sociable."
That is to say, as informal as the sociable ever _ought_ to be;
possibly not as informal as the sociable sometimes _is_.  People who
have "grown up" together, as villagers often have, are apt to consider
a life-long acquaintance the proper basis for unlimited off-hand
familiarity.  To a certain extent, and in a certain sense, such
acquaintance, being second in intimacy only to near relationship, does
warrant a cordial and trustful informality.  The cautious reserve that
marks one's conduct toward a recent acquaintance might justly be
resented by a tried and trusted friend of one's youth.  But even
relationship does not warrant undignified behavior, or rude liberties
of speech or action.  The boy and girl who went to school together grow
up to be the young man and woman of society; and while the memory of
school days is a bond of hearty friendliness between them, it is not
necessary that they should evince their mutual regard by a
free-and-easy demeanor.

Country sociables, attended largely by the younger members of families
long acquainted and associated, are apt to be rather rollicking, not to
say "rough and tumble," affairs, where practical jokes and unmerciful
"guying" are the characteristic wit, and such smart tricks as bumping
an unsuspecting comrade's head against the wall are applauded with
shrieks of admiring laughter.  The onlookers may be excused for their
tacit countenance of the rudeness, since some element of drollery--that
might have been wit, under better conditions--compels a smile, in spite
of a dignified disapproval of the performance.  A young student, unused
to such scenes, standing a little apart from such a group once remarked
judicially to a lady near him, "I do not care for such _dare-devil
sociability_."  Nor would other young people cherish it as their ideal
of a "good time" if they could learn how much more charming altogether
it is to exchange the delicate courtesies that make up refined social
companionship.  The difference in social culture is what distinguishes
the vulgar wag from the urban wit.  The crude humor of the former,
often marred by coarseness, is like ore in which the dross greatly
out-weighs the pure metal.  The brilliant _mots_ of the latter, refined
by the processes of culture, are like the gold nuggets separated from
their base surroundings.

How to eliminate the "dare-devil" from the sociability of country life,
without substituting an artificial stiffness, is the problem for every
thoughtful and refined man and woman in rural circles.  How to "be
kindly affectioned one to another, in brotherly love, in honor
preferring one another"--perhaps that would furnish the keynote of it
all, alike for the citizen and the rustic.




THE TWENTIETH CENTURY

The preceding chapters describe established customs in home
entertaining.  Such rules remain in force for the home conditions.

But who can live in this electric-motor age without noting the gradual
variation in "the ways of doing things"--changes that are directly
traceable to the influence of modern inventions?  The trolley lines
have brought large areas within the city limits; the swift automobile
has reduced miles to furlongs.  Town and country are intermingled as
never before, and each is sensibly modified by the other.  By its very
name, the "Town and Country" club recognizes this new community of
interests.  Its members, living even twenty miles away, outdo
Sheridan's ride, in arriving at the club on time for luncheon, golf, or
dinner.

Which brings to mind this fact: that to-day a large part of formal
entertaining in cities is no longer _at home_.  Elaborate dinners,
teas, and luncheons are given at one's club, or at _cafés_, exclusive
"tea rooms," and in the elegantly appointed private dining-rooms now
provided by the best hotels.  After-theatre suppers are almost
invariably taken at a fashionable restaurant--doubtless greatly to the
relief of both the hostess and her housemaids.  While cooperative
housekeeping is still an undeveloped scheme, things seem to be trending
that way.

The multiplication of huge apartment houses (and diminutive apartments)
is the other prime factor in the case.  While the hotel dinner may have
come into fashion first as the dire necessity of the "cliff dwellers,"
its convenience appeals to many householders who formerly would not
have dreamed of offering their guests the hospitality of a _café_.
Many conservative people still deplore the innovation; but fashion
approves, and the custom grows.

Entertaining at one's club is governed by the rules of that particular
club.  When entertaining at tea rooms, or _cafés_, one has simply to
arrange w