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Manners and Social Usages

M >> Mrs. John M. E. W. Sherwood >> Manners and Social Usages




Then the limitations of a dinner can be considered. It is not kind
to keep guests more than an hour, or two hours at the most, at
table. French dinners rarely exceed an hour. English dinners are too
long and too heavy, although the conversation is apt to be
brilliant. At a simple dinner one can make it short.

It is better to serve coffee in the drawing-room, although if the
host and hostess are agreed on this point, and the ladies can stand
smoke, it is served at table, and the gentlemen light their
cigarettes. In some houses smoking is forbidden in the dining-room.

The practice of the ladies retiring first is an English one, and the
French consider it barbarous. Whether we are growing more French or
not, we seem to be beginning to do away with the separation after
dinner.

It is the custom at informal dinners for the lady to help the soup
and for the gentleman to carve; therefore the important dishes are
put on the table. But the servants who wait should be taught to have
sidetables and sideboards so well placed that anything can be
removed immediately after it is finished. A screen is a very useful
adjunct in a dining-room.

Inefficient servants have a disagreeable habit of running in and out
of the dining-room in search of something that should have been in
readiness; therefore the lady of the house had better see beforehand
that French rolls are placed under every napkin, and a silver basket
full of them ready in reserve. Also large slices of fresh soft bread
should be on the side table, as every one does not like hard bread,
and should be offered a choice.

The powdered sugar, the butter, the caster, the olives, the
relishes, should all be thought of and placed where each can be
readily found. Servants should be taught to be noiseless, and to
avoid a hurried manner. In placing anything on or taking anything
off a table a servant should never reach across a person seated at
table for that purpose. However hurried the servant may be, or
however near at hand the article, she should be taught to walk
quietly to the left hand of each guest to remove things, while she
should pass everything in the same manner, giving the guest the
option of using his right hand with which to help himself. Servants
should have a silver or plated knife-tray to remove the gravy-spoon
and carving knife and fork before removing the platter. All the
silver should be thus removed; it makes a table much neater.
Servants should be taught to put a plate and spoon and fork at every
place before each course.

After the meats and before the pie, pudding, or ices, the table
should be carefully cleared of everything but fruit and flowers--all
plates, glasses, carafes, salt-cellars, knives and forks, and
whatever pertains to the dinner should be removed, and the table-
cloth well cleared with brush or crumb-scraper on a silver waiter,
and then the plates, glasses, spoons, and forks laid at each plate
for the dessert. If this is done every day, it adds to a common
dinner, and trains the waitress to her work.

The dinner, the dishes, and the plates should all be hot. The
ordinary plate-warmer is now superseded by something far better, in
which a hot brick is introduced. The most _recherch‚_ dinner is
spoiled if hot mutton is put on a cold plate. The silver dishes
should be heated by hot water in the kitchen, the hot dinner plates
must be forthcoming from the plate-warmer, nor must the roasts or
_entr‚es_ be allowed to cool on their way from the kitchen to the
dining-room. A servant should have a thumb napkin with which to hand
the hot dishes, and a clean towel behind the screen with which to
wipe the platters which have been sent up on the dumb-waiter. On
these trifles depend the excellence of the simple dinner.

CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE SMALL-TALK OF SOCIETY.

One of the cleverest questions asked lately is, "What shall I talk
about at a dinner-party?" Now if there is a woman in the world who
does not know what to talk about, is it not a very difficult thing
to tell her? One can almost as well answer such a question as, "What
shall I see out of my eyes?"

Yet our young lady is not the first person who has dilated of late
years upon the "decay of conversation," nor the only one who has
sometimes felt the heaviness of silence descend upon her at a modern
dinner. No doubt this same great and unanswerable question has been
asked by many a traveller who, for the first time, has sat next an
Englishman of good family (perhaps even with a handle to his name),
who has answered all remarks by the proverbial but unsympathetic
"Oh!" Indeed, it is to be feared that it is a fashion for young men
nowadays to appear listless, to conceal what ideas they may happen
to have, to try to appear stupid, if they are not so, throwing all
the burden of the conversation on the lively, vivacious, good-
humored girl, or the more accomplished married woman, who may be the
next neighbor. Women's wits are proverbially quick, they talk
readily, they read and think more than the average young man of
fashion is prone to do; the result is a quick and a ready tongue.
Yet the art of keeping up a flow of agreeable and incessant small-
talk, not too heavy, not pretentious or egotistical, not scandalous,
and not commonplace, is an art that is rare, and hardly to be prized
too highly.

It has been well said that there is a great difference between a
brilliant conversationalist and a ready small-talker. The former is
apt to be feared, and to produce a silence around him. We all
remember Macaulay and "his brilliant flashes of silence." We all
know that there are talkers so distinguished that you must not ask
both of them to dinner on the same day lest they silence each other,
while we know others who bring to us just an average amount of tact,
facility of expression, geniality, and a pleasant gift at a
quotation, a bit of repartee; such a person we call a ready small-
talker, a "most agreeable person," one who frightens nobody and who
has a great popularity. Such a one has plenty of small change, very
useful, and more easy to handle than the very large cheek of the
conversationalist, who is a millionaire as to his memory, learning,
and power of rhetoric, but who cannot and will not indulge in small-
talk. We respect the one; we like the other. The first point to be
considered, if one has no inspiration in regard to small-talk, would
seem to be this; try to consider what subject would most interest
the person next to you. There are people who have no other talent,
whom we never call clever, but who do possess this instinct, and who
can talk most sympathetically, while knowing scarcely anything about
the individual addressed. There are others who are deficient in this
gift, who can only say "Really" and "Indeed." These "Really" and
"Indeed" and "Oh" people are the despair of the dinner-giver. The
gay, chatty, light-hearted people who can glide into a conversation
easily, are the best of dinner-table companions, even if they do
sometimes talk too much about the weather and such commonplaces.

It is a good plan for a shy young person, who has no confidence in
her own powers of conversation, to fortify herself with several
topics of general interest, such as the last new novel, the last
opera, the best and newest gallery of pictures, or the flower in
fashion; and to invent a formula, if words are wanting in her
organization, as to how these subjects should be introduced and
handled. Many ideas will occur to her, and she can silently arrange
them. Then she may keep these as a reserve force, using them only
when the conversation drops, or she is unexpectedly brought to the
necessity of keeping up the ball alone. Some people use this power
rather unfairly, leading the conversation up to the point where they
wish to enter; but these are not the people who need help--they can
take care of themselves. After talking awhile in a perfunctory
manner, many a shy young person has been astonished by a sudden rush
of brilliant ideas, and finds herself talking naturally and well
without effort. It is like the launching of a ship; certain blocks
of shyness and habits of mental reserve are knocked away, and the
brave frigate _Small-Talk_ takes the water like a thing of life.

It demands much tact and cleverness to touch upon the ordinary
events of the day at a mixed dinner, because, in the first place,
nothing should be said which can hurt any one's feelings, politics,
religion, and the stock market being generally ruled out; nor should
one talk about that which everybody knows, for such small-talk is
impertinent and irritating. No one wishes to be told that which he
already understands better, perhaps, than we do. Nor are matters of
too private a nature, such as one's health, or one's servants, or
one's disappointments, still less one's good deeds, to be talked
about.

Commonplace people also sometimes try society very much by their own
inane and wholly useless criticisms. Supposing we take up music, it
is far more agreeable to hear a person say, "How do you like
Nilsson?" than to hear him say, "I like Nilsson, and I have these
reasons for liking her." Let that come afterwards. When a person
really qualified to discuss artists, or literary people, or artistic
points, talks sensibly and in a chatty, easy way about them, it is
the perfection of conversation; but when one wholly and utterly
incompetent to do so lays down the law on such subjects he or she
becomes a bore. But if the young person who does not know how to
talk treats these questions interrogatively, ten chances to one,
unless she is seated next an imbecile, she will get some very good
and light small-talk out of her next neighbor. She may give a modest
personal opinion, or narrate her own sensations at the opera, if she
can do so without egotism, and she should always show a desire to be
answered. If music and literature fail, let her try the subjects of
dancing, polo-playing, and lawn-tennis. A very good story was told
of a bright New York girl and a very haw-haw-stupid Englishman at a
Newport dinner. The Englishman had said "Oh," and "Really," and
"Quite so," to everything which this bright girl had asked him, when
finally, very tired and very angry, she said, "Were you ever thrown
in the hunting-field, and was your head hurt?" The man turned and
gazed admiringly. "Now you've got me," was the reply. And he talked
all the rest of the dinner of his croppers. Perhaps it may not be
necessary or useful often to unlock so rich a _r‚pertoire_ as this;
but it was a very welcome relief to this young lady not to do all
the talking during three hours.

After a first introduction there is, no doubt, some difficulty in
starting a conversation. The weather, the newspaper, the last
accident, the little dog, the bric-…-brac, the love of horses, etc.,
are good and unfailing resources, except that very few people have
the readiness to remember this wealth of subjects at once. To
recollect a thing apropos of the moment is the gift of ready-witted
people alone, and how many remember, hours after, a circumstance
which would have told at that particular moment of embarrassment
when one stood twiddling his hat, and another twisted her
handkerchief. The French call "_l'esprit d'escalier_"--the "wit of
the staircase"--the gift of remembering the good thing you might
have said in the drawing-room, just too late, as you go up-stairs.
However, two new people generally overcome this moment of
embarrassment, and then some simple offer of service, such as, "Can
I get you a chair?" "Is that window too cold?" "Can I bring you some
tea?" occurs, and then the small-talk follows.

The only curious part of this subject is that so little skill is
shown by the average talker in weaving facts and incidents into his
treatment of subjects of everyday character, and that he brings so
little intelligence to bear on his discussion of them. It is not
given to every one to be brilliant and amusing, but, with a little
thought, passing events may always give rise to pleasant
conversation. We have lately been visited by a succession of
brilliant sunsets, concerning which there have been various
theories. This has been a charming subject for conversation, yet at
the average dinner we have heard but few persons mention this
interesting topic. Perhaps one is afraid to start a conversation
upon celestial scenery at a modern dinner. The things may seem too
remote, yet it would not be a bad idea.

Gossip may promote small-talk among those who are very intimate and
who live in a narrow circle. But how profoundly uninteresting is it
to an outsider!--how useless to the real man or woman of the world!
That is, unless it is literary, musical, artistic gossip. Scandal
ruins conversation, and should never be included even in a
definition of small-talk. Polite, humorous, vivacious, speculative,
dry, sarcastic, epigrammatic, intellectual, and practical people all
meet around a dinner-table, and much agreeable small-talk should be
the result. It is unfortunately true that there is sometimes a
failure in this respect. Let a hostess remember one thing: there is
no chance for vivacity of intellect if her room is too warm; her
flowers and her guests will wilt together. There are those also who
prefer her good dishes to talking, and the old gentleman in _Punch_
who rebuked his lively neighbor for talking while there were "such
_entr‚es_ coming in" has his counterparts among ourselves.

Some shy talkers have a sort of empirical way of starting a subject
with a question like this: "Do you know the meaning and derivation
of the term 'bric-…-brac?'" "Do you believe in ghosts?" "What do you
think of a ladies' club?" "Do you believe in chance?" "Is there more
talent displayed in learning the violin than in playing a first-rate
game of chess?" etc.

These are intellectual conundrums, and may be repeated indefinitely
where the person questioned is disposed to answer. With a flow of
good spirits and the feeling of case which comes from a knowledge of
society, such questions often bring out what Margaret Fuller called
"good talk."

But if your neighbor says "Oh," "Really," "Indeed," "I don't know,"
then the best way is to be purely practical, and talk of the chairs
and tables, and the existing order of things, the length of trains,
or the shortness of the dresses of the young ladies at the last
ball, the prevailing idea that "ice-water is unhealthy," and other
such extremely easy ideas. The sound of one's own voice is generally
very sweet in one's own ears; let every lady try to cultivate a
pleasant voice for those of other people, and also an agreeable and
accurate pronunciation. The veriest nothings sound well when thus
spoken. The best way to learn how to talk is, of course, to learn
how to think: from full wells one brings up buckets full of clear
water, but there can be small-talk without much thought. The fact
remains that brilliant thinkers and scholars are not always good
talkers, and there is no harm in the cultivation of the art of
conversation, no harm in a little "cramming," if a person is afraid
that language is not his strong point. The merest trifle generally
suffices to start the flow of small-talk, and the person who can use
this agreeable weapon of society is always popular and very much
courted.

CHAPTER XXXIX. GARDEN-PARTIES.

Many of our correspondents ask us, "What shall we order for a
garden-party?" We must answer that the first thing to order is a
fine day. In these fortunate days the morning revelations of Old
Probabilities give us an almost exact knowledge of what of rain or
sunshine the future has in store.

A rain or tornado which starts from Alaska, where the weather is
made nowadays, will almost certainly be here on the third day; so
the hostess who is willing to send a hasty bidding can perhaps avoid
rain. It is the custom, however, to send invitations for these
garden-parties a fortnight before they are to occur. At Newport they
are arranged weeks beforehand, and if the weather is bad the
entertainment takes place in-doors.

When invitations are given to a suburban place to which people are
expected to go by rail or any public means of conveyance, a card
should also be sent stating the hours at which trains leave, which
train or boat to take, and any other information that may add to the
comfort of the guest. These invitations are engraved, and printed on
note-paper, which should be perfectly plain, or bear the family
crest in water-mark only, and read somewhat as follows:

_Mr. and Mrs. Edwin Smith request the pleasure of Mr. and Mrs.
Conway Brown's company on Tuesday, the thirtieth of July, at four
o'clock.

Garden Party. Yonkers, New York._

Then, on the card enclosed, might be printed,

_Carriages will meet the 3.30 train from Grand Central Depot._

If the invitation is to a country place not easy of access, still
more explicit directions should be given.

The garden-party proper is always held entirely in the open air. In
England the refreshments are served under a _marquee_ in the
grounds, and in that inclement clime no one seems to think it a
hardship if a shower of rain comes down, and ruins fine silks and
beautiful bonnets. But in our fine sunshiny land we are very much
afraid of rain, and our malarious soil is not considered always
safe, so that the thoughtful hostess often has her table in-doors,
piazzas filled with chairs, Turkey rugs laid down on the grass, and
every preparation made that the elderly and timid and rheumatic may
enjoy the garden-party without endangering their health.

A hostess should see that her lawn-tennis ground is in order, the
croquet laid out, and the archery tools all in place, so that her
guests may amuse themselves with these different games. Sometimes
balls and races are added to these amusements, and often a platform
is laid for dancing, if the turf be not sufficiently dry. A band of
musicians is essential to a very elegant and successful garden-
party, and a varied selection of music, grave and gay, should be
rendered. Although at a dinner-party there is reason to fear that an
orchestra may be a nuisance, at a garden-party the open air and
space are sufficient guarantees against this danger.

If the hostess wishes her entertainment to be served out-of-doors,
of course all the dishes must be cold. Salads, cold birds, and ham,
tongue, and _pƒt‚ de foie gras_, cold _pƒt‚s_, and salmon dressed
with a green sauce, jellies, Charlottes, ices, cakes, punch, and
champagne, are the proper things to offer. A cup of hot tea should
be always ready in the house for those who desire it.

At a garden-party proper the hostess receives out on the lawn,
wearing her hat or bonnet, and takes it for granted that the party
will be entirely out-of-doors. The carriages, however, drive up to
the door, and the ladies can go up-stairs and deposit their wraps
and brush off the dust, if they wish. A servant should be in
attendance to show the guests to that part of the grounds in which
the lady is receiving.

At Newport these parties are generally conducted on the principle of
an afternoon tea, and after the mistress of the house has received
her guests, they wander through the grounds, and, when weary, return
to the house for refreshment. _Pƒt‚ de foie gras_, sandwiches, cold
birds, plates of delicious jellied tongue, lobster salad, and
sometimes hot cakes and hot broiled chicken, are served at these
high teas. Coffee and tea and wine are also offered, but these are
at mixed entertainments which have grown out of the somewhat unusual
hours observed at Newport in the season.

There is a sort of public garden-party in this country which
prevails on semi-official occasions, such as the laying of a
foundation-stone for a public building, the birthday of a prominent
individual, a Sunday-school festival, or an entertainment given to a
public functionary. These are banquets, and for them the invitations
are somewhat general, and should be officially issued. For the
private garden-party it is proper for a lady to ask for an
invitation for a friend, as there is always plenty of room; but it
should also be observed that where this request is not answered
affirmatively, offence should not be taken. It is sometimes very
difficult for a lady to understand why her request for an invitation
to her friend is refused; but she should never take the refusal as a
discourtesy to herself. There may be reasons which cannot be
explained.

Ladies always wear bonnets at a garden-party, and the sensible
fashion of short dresses has hitherto prevailed; but it is rumored
that a recent edict of the Princess of Wales against short dresses
at her garden-parties will find followers on this side of the water,
notably at Newport, which out-Herods Herod in its respect to English
fashions.

Indeed, a long dress is very pretty on the grass and under the
trees. At Buckingham Palace a garden-party given to the Viceroy of
Egypt several years ago presented a very Watteau-like picture.
Worth's handsomest dresses were freely displayed, and the lovely
grounds and old trees at the back of the palace were in fine full
dress for the occasion.

In fact, England is the land for garden-parties, with its turf of
velvet softness, its flowing lime-trees, its splendid old oaks, and
its finished landscape gardening. There are but few places as yet in
America which afford the clipped-box avenues, the arcades of
blossoming rose-vines, the pleached alleys, the finely kept and
perfect gravel-walks, or, Better than all, the quiet, old-fashioned
gardens, down which the ladies may walk, rivals of the flowers.

But there are some such places; and a green lawn, a few trees, a
good prospect, a fine day, and something to eat, are really all the
absolute requirements for a garden-party. In the neighborhood of New
York very charming garden-parties have been given: at the Brooklyn
Navy-yard and the camp of the soldier, at the head-quarters of the
officers of marines, and at the ever-lovely Governor's Island.

Up the Hudson, out at Orange (with its multitudinous pretty
settlements), all along the coast of Long Island, the garden-party
is almost imperatively necessary. The owner of a fine place is
expected to allow the unfortunates who must stay in town at least
one sniff of his roses and new-mown hay.

Lawn-tennis has had a great share in making the garden-party
popular; and in remote country places ladies should learn how to
give these parties, and, with very little trouble, make the most of
our fine climate. There is no doubt that a little awkwardness is to
be overcome in the beginning, for no one knows exactly what to do.
Deprived of the friendly shelter of a house, guests wander forlornly
about; but a graceful and ready hostess will soon suggest that a
croquet or lawn-tennis party be formed, or that a contest at archery
be entered upon, or that even a card-party is in order, or that a
game of checkers can be played under the trees.

Servants should be taught to preserve the proprieties of the feast,
if the meal be served under the trees. There should be no piles of
dishes, knives, forks, or spoons, visible on the green grass;
baskets should be in readiness to carry off everything as soon as
used. There should be a sufficient quantity of glass and china in
use, and plenty of napkins, so that there need be no delay. The
lemonade and punch bowls should be replenished from the dining-room
as soon as they show signs of depletion, and a set of neat maid-
servants can be advantageously employed in watching the table, and
seeing that the cups, spoons, plates, wine-glasses, and forks are in
sufficient quantity and clean. If tea is served, maid-servants are
better than men, as they are careful that the tea is hot, and the
spoons, cream, and sugar forthcoming. Fruit is an agreeable addition
to a garden-party entertainment, and pines, melons, peaches, grapes,
strawberries, are all served in their season. Pains should be taken
to have these fruits of the very best that can be obtained.

Claret-cup, champagne-cup, and soda-water, brandy and shandy-gaff,
are provided on a separate table for the gentlemen; Apollinaris
water, and the various aerated waters so fashionable now, are also
provided. Although gentlemen help themselves, it is necessary to
have a servant in attendance to remove the wine-glasses, tumblers,
and goblets as they are used, and to replenish the decanters and
pitchers as they are emptied, and to supply fresh glasses. Many
hospitable hosts offer their guests old Madeira, sherry, and port.

The decanters are placed on the regular luncheon-table, and glasses
of wine are carried by servants, on silver trays, to the ladies who
are sitting on the piazzas and under the trees. Small thin tumblers
are used for the claret and champagne cup, which should be held in
silver or glass pitchers.

If strawberries and cream are served, a small napkin should be put
between the saucer and plate, and a dessert spoon and fork handed
with each plate.

The servants who carry about refreshments from the tent or the table
where they are served should be warned to be very careful in this
part of the service, as many a fine gown has been spoiled, by a dish
of strawberries and cream or a glass of punch or lemonade being
overturned, through a servant's want of care.

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