The Ladies' Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners. Leslie Eliza
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it is murmured over in so low a tone as to be unintelligible. And yet how often is this the case; for what reason it is difficult to divine. It is usual for the introducee to repeat the name of the introduced. This will prove that it has really been heard. For instance, if Mrs. Smith presents Miss Brook to Miss Miles, Miss Miles immediately says, "Miss Brook" – or better still – "Miss Brook, I am glad to meet you," or something similar. Miss Miles then begins a talk.
If you introduce yourself to a lady whom you wish to know, but who does not know you, address her by her name, express your desire to make her acquaintance, and then give her your card. Replying that it affords her pleasure to meet you, she will give you her hand, and commence a conversation, so as to put you quite at ease after your self-introduction.
In introducing members of your own family, always mention, audibly, the name. It is not sufficient to say "my father," or "my mother" – "my son," "my daughter" – "my brother," or "my sister." There may be more than one surname in the same family. But say, "my father, Mr. Warton," – "my daughter, Miss Wood" – or "my daughter-in-law, Mrs. Wood" – "my sister, Miss Mary Ramsay" – "my brother, Mr. James Ramsay," &c. It is best in all these things to be explicit. The eldest daughter is usually introduced by her surname only – as "Miss Bradford" – her younger sisters, as "Miss Maria Bradford" – "Miss Harriet Bradford."
In presenting a clergyman, put the word "Reverend" before his name – unless he is a bishop, and then, of course, the word "Bishop" suffices. The head of a college-department introduce as "Professor" – and it is to them only that the title properly belongs, though arrogated by all sorts of public exhibitors, mesmerists and jugglers included.
Where the company is large, the ladies of the house should have tact enough to avoid introducing and placing together persons who cannot possibly assimilate, or take pleasure in each other's society. The dull, and the silly, will be far happier with their compeers. To a woman of talent, and a good conversationist, it is a cruelty to put her unnecessarily in contact with stupid, or unmeaning people. She is wasted and thrown away upon such as are neither amusing nor amusable. Neither is it well to bring together a gay, lively woman of the world, and a solemn, serious, repulsive dame, who is a contemner of the world and all its enjoyments. There can be no conversation that is mutually agreeable, between a real lady of true delicacy and refinement, and a so-called lady whose behaviour and talk are coarse and vulgar, – or between a woman of highly cultivated mind, and one who is grossly ignorant of every thing connected with books, and who boasts of that ignorance. We have heard a lady of fashion say, "Thank God, I never read." The answer might well have been, "You need not tell us that."
In inviting but a small company, it is indispensable to the pleasure of all, that you ask none who are strikingly unsuitable to the rest – or whose presence will throw a damp on conversation. Especially avoid bringing into the same room, persons who are at notorious enmity with each other, even if, unhappily, they should be members of the same family. Those who are known as adversaries should be invited on different evenings.
Avoid giving invitations to bores. They will come without.
The word "bore" has an unpleasant and an inelegant sound. Still, we have not, as yet, found any substitute that so well expresses the meaning, – which, we opine, is a dull, tiresome man, or "a weariful woman," either inveterately silent, or inordinately talkative, but never saying any thing worth hearing, or worth remembering – people whom you receive unwillingly, and whom you take leave of with joy; and who, not having perception enough to know that their visits are always unwelcome, are the most sociable visiters imaginable, and the longest stayers.
In a conversation at Abbotsford, there chanced to be something said in reference to bores – those beings in whom "man delights not, nor woman neither." Sir Walter Scott asserted, humourously, that bores were always "good respectable people." "Otherwise," said he "there could be no bores. For if they were also scoundrels or brutes, we would keep no measures with them, but at once kick them out the house, and shut the door in their faces."
When you wish an introduction to a stranger lady, apply to your hostess, or to some of the family, or to one of the guests that is acquainted with that lady: you will then be led up and presented to her. Do not expect the stranger to be brought to you; it is your place to go to her.
If you are requested by a female friend to introduce her to a distinguished gentleman, a public character, be not so ungenerous as to go immediately and conspicuously to inform him of the fact. But spare her delicacy, by deferring the ceremony for a while; and then take an opportunity of saying to him, "I shall be glad to make you acquainted with my friend Miss Morris. Come with me, and I will introduce you." When the introduction has thus taken place, you may with propriety leave them together to entertain each other for awhile; particularly if both parties are capable of doing so. And then, after a quarter of an hour's conversation, let the lady release the gentleman from further attendance, by bowing to him, and turning to some other acquaintance who may not be far off. She can leave him much more easily than he can leave her, and it will be better to do so in proper time, than to detain him too long. It is generally in his power to return to her before the close of the evening, and if he is pleased with her society, he will probably make an opportunity of doing so.
If he is what is called a lion, consideration for the rest of the company should admonish her not to monopolize him. But lions usually know how to get away adroitly. By-the-bye, she must not talk to him of his professional celebrity, or ask him at once for his autograph.
We saw no less a person than Charles Dickens compelled, at a large party, to devote the whole evening to writing autographs for a multitude of young ladies – many of whom, not satisfied with obtaining one of his signatures for themselves, desired half a dozen others for "absent friends." All conversation ceased with the first requisition for an autograph. He had no chance of saying any thing. We were a little ashamed of our fair townswomen.
Should it fall to your lot to introduce any of the English nobility, take care (before hand) to inform yourself exactly what their titles really are. Americans are liable to make sad blunders in these things. It may be well to know that a duke is the highest title of British nobility, and that his wife is a duchess. His eldest son is a marquis as long as his father lives, on whose demise the marquis becomes a duke. The wife of a marquis is a marchioness. There are a few marquises whose fathers were not dukes. The younger sons are termed Lord Henry, Lord Charles, Lord John, &c. The daughters Lady Caroline, Lady Augusta, Lady Julia. The family name is generally quite different from the title. Thus, the name of the Duke of Richmond is Lenox – that of the Duke of Rutland, Manners. The family name of the Duke of Norfolk (who ranks first of the English nobility) is Howard. The present Duke of Northumberland's name is Algernon Percy. Arthur Wellesley was that of the great Duke of Wellington. His eldest son was Marquis of Douro, and his second son Lord Charles Wellesley. The children of a marquis are called Lord Frederick, or Lord Henry, and Lady Louisa, or Lady Harriet.
The next title is viscount, as Viscount Palmerston. The next is earl, whose wife is a countess, and the children may be Lord Georges and Lady Marys.
After the viscounts come the barons, whose children are denominated the Honourable Miss, or Mr. John Singleton Copley, (whose father was Copley, the celebrated American painter,) is now Baron Lyndhurst. His eldest daughter is the Hon. Miss Copley. In common parlance, barons are always termed lords. Some few have two titles – as Lord Say and Sele – Lord Brougham and Vaux. After William the Fourth had suddenly dissolved the parliament that held out so long against passing the reform bill, and the king, appointing a new cabinet, had placed Lord Brougham at the head of the ministry, a ridiculous comic song came out at one of the minor theatres, implying that now his majesty has swept out the whole parliament, "he takes up his broom and valks," (Brougham and Vaux.)
When the widow of a nobleman marries a man who has no title, she always retains hers. Thus when the widow of the Earl of Mansfield married Colonel Greville, (a nephew of the Earl of Warwick,) – on their door-plate the names were – "The Countess Dowager of Mansfield, and the Hon. Colonel Greville," – a rather long inscription. A nobleman's daughter marrying a commoner, retains her original title of Lady, but takes his surname – thus, Lady Charlotte Campbell, whose father was Duke of Argyle, became, on her marriage with Dr. Bury, a clergyman, Lady Charlotte Bury. It will be understood that if