Kitabı oku: «The Ladies' Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners», sayfa 12

CHAPTER XVI.
INCORRECT WORDS

Every one who sees much of the world must observe with pain and surprise various unaccountable instances of improper and incorrect words that sometimes disfigure the phraseology of females who have gone through a course of fashionable education, and mixed in what is really genteel society. These instances, it is true, are becoming every day more rare; but we regret that they should exist at all. Early impressions are hard to eradicate. Bad habits of speaking are formed in childhood: sometimes from the society of illiterate parents, but more frequently from that of nurses and servants; and if not corrected or shaken off in due time, will cling like burrs to the diction of women who are really ladies in every thing else. Such women will say "that there," and "this here" – "them girls" – "them boys" – "I don't want no more" – "I didn't hear nothing about it" – "I didn't see nobody there" – "I won't do so no more." And other similar violations of grammar; and grammar is never more palpably outraged than when two negatives are used for an affirmative. It is surely shorter and easier to say, "I want no more" – "I heard nothing about it" – "I saw nobody there" – "I will do so no more."

Another grammatical error, less glaring, but equally incorrect, is the too common practice of converting a certainty into an uncertainty by saying, "I have no doubt but he was there." As if his being there was your only doubt. You should say, "I have no doubt of his being there." "I have no doubt but that he wrote it," seems to signify that you do doubt his writing it, and that you are nearly sure he did not. The proper phrase is, "I have no doubt of his writing it." "I do not doubt but that she knew it long ago," implies that you do doubt her having known it. It should be, "I do not doubt her knowing it long ago." Leave out but, when you talk of doubting.

No word is proper that does not express the true meaning. For instance, it is not right to call a township a town. A township is a section of land that may consist entirely of forests and farms, and may not comprise even a small village or hamlet. A town resembles a city in being closely built up with streets of adjoining houses. Men cannot go fishing or hunting in a town, though they may in a township. We are surprised to find this misapplication of the word among some of the most distinguished of the New-England literati. Perhaps it explains Jonathan's perplexity in one of the old Yankee Doodle songs:

 
"He said he couldn't see the town,
There were so many houses."
 

We hope it is not necessary to caution our readers against the most provincial of Yankee provincialisms, such as, "I hadn't ought," or "I shouldn't ought" – or "It warn't," instead of "It was not" – or the exclamations, "Do tell!" or "I want to know," ejaculated as a token of surprise the moment after you have told, and made known. The common English habit, or rather a habit of the common English, of using continually the words "you know," and "you know," is very tiresome, particularly when they are talking of something that you cannot possibly be acquainted with. Check them by saying, "No, I do not know." They also make great use of the word "monstrous" – ugly as that word is. Do not imitate them in saying that you are "monstrous glad," or "monstrous sorry," or "monstrous tired," or that a young lady is "monstrous pretty." We have heard even "monstrous little."

We advise our New-England friends to eschew, both in speaking and writing, all Yankee phrases that do not convey the exact meaning of the words. For instance, to "turn out the tea," instead of to "pour it out." There can be no turn given, in this process, to the spout or handle of the tea-pot. On the contrary, it cannot pour well unless it is held straight. To "cut the eggs," instead of to beat them. The motion of beating eggs does not cut them. "Braiding eggs," is still worse. But we believe that this braiding is not the same as cutting. What is it?

Two young officers were travelling in the far West when they stopped to take supper at a small road-side tavern, kept by a very rough Yankee woman. The landlady, in a calico sun-bonnet, and bare feet, stood at the head of the table to pour out. She enquired of her guests, "if they chose long sweetening, or short sweetening in their coffee." The first officer, supposing that "long sweetening" meant a large portion of that article, chose it accordingly. What was his dismay when he saw their hostess dip her finger deep down into an earthen jar of honey that stood near her, and then stir it (the finger) round in the coffee. His companion, seeing this, preferred "short sweetening." Upon which the woman picked up a large lump of maple sugar that lay in a brown paper on the floor beside her, and biting off a piece, put it into his cup. Both the gentlemen dispensed with coffee that evening. This anecdote we heard from the sister of one of those officers.

"Emptyings" is not a good name for yeast. "Up chamber, up garret, down cellar," are all wrong. Why not say, "up in the chamber, up in the garret, down in the kitchen, down in the cellar" &c.? Why should a mirthful fit of laughter be called "a gale"? "Last evening we were all in such a gale!"

Snow and ice are not the same. Therefore a snowball should not be called an ice-ball, which latter might be a very dangerous missile.

Pincushions are pincushions, and not pin-balls, unless they are of a globular shape. If in the form of hearts, diamonds, &c., they are not balls.

When you are greatly fatigued, say so – and not that you are "almost beat out." When the Yankees are "beat out," the English are quite "knocked up." The English are "starved with cold" – Americans only starve with hunger. They may perish with cold; but unless hunger is added, they will not starve.

It is wrong to say that certain articles of food are healthy or unhealthy. Wholesome and unwholesome are the right words. A pig may be healthy or unhealthy while alive; but after he is killed and becomes pork, he can enjoy no health, and suffer no sickness.

If you have been accustomed to pronounce the word "does" as "doos," get rid of the custom as soon as you can. Also, give up saying "pint" for "point," "jint" for "joint," "anint" for "anoint," &c. Above all, cease saying "featur, creatur, natur, and raptur."

In New England it is not uncommon to hear the word "ugly" applied to a bad temper. We have heard, "He will never do for president, because he is so ugly." On our observing that we had always considered the gentleman in question, as rather a handsome man, it was explained that he was considered ugly in disposition.

A British traveller, walking one day in a suburb of Boston, saw a woman out on a door-step whipping a screaming child. "Good woman," said the stranger, "why do you whip that boy so severely?" She answered, "I will whip him, because he is so ugly." The Englishman walked on; but put down in his journal that "American mothers are so cruel as to beat their children, merely because they are not handsome."

No genteel Bostonian should call Faneuil Hall, "Old Funnel," or talk of the "Quinsey market," instead of Quincy, or speak of "Bacon street," or "Bacon Hill." That place was so called from a beacon, or signal-pole with a light at the top, and never was particularly celebrated for the pickling and smoking of pork.

The word "slump," or "slumped," has too coarse a sound to be used by a lady.

When you have exchanged one article for another, say so, and not that you have "traded it."

Do not say, "I should admire to read that book," "I should admire to hear that song," "I should admire to see the president." Substitute, "I should like to read that book," "I should like to hear that song," "I should like to see the president."

Using the word "love" instead of "like" is not peculiar to the ladies of any section of the Union. But they may assure themselves it is wrong to talk of loving any thing that is eatable. They may like terrapins, oysters, chicken-salad, or ice-cream; but they need not love terrapins or oysters, or love chicken-salad.

We remember, in the farce of Modern Antiques, laughing at an awkward servant-girl bringing in a dish of salad to a supper-table, before the company had assembled, and, after taking a large bite, turning her foolish face toward the audience, and saying, "I loves beet-root."

Even if you are a provincial New-Yorker, give up calling the door-step or porch by the ancient Dutch name of "stoop," (stoep,) and do not talk of going out on the stoop, or sitting in the stoop. When a load of wood or coal is put down at your door, say not that it is "dumped." Never speak of visiting friends that "live to Brooklyn," or "live to Newark." They live at those places, not to them. The word "muss" sounds badly, when a young lady says, "her scarf is mussed," or her collar is "mussed" – or that her bureau drawers are all in a muss. The English synonyme, "mess," has rather a better sound. Be it also remembered that a stool is not a bench. A bench holds several people, a stool but one.

When you mean that an article of dress (a bonnet or a cap) is neat and pretty, do not say that it is cunning. An inanimate object cannot be cunning. To be cunning requires some mind. We are sorry to say that we have heard females who, when they intend to be witty, talk of taking a snooze, (which means a nap,) and speak of a comic anecdote as being "rich," and of a man in faded clothes as looking "seedy." We have heard Philadelphia ladies speak of a "great big" house, or a "great big" ship; and there are still some who expect what has already come to pass – as, "I expect it rained somewhere last night" – "I expect she arrived yesterday" – "I expect he went to Baltimore." In all these cases the proper term is "I suppose," and not "I expect."

The word "mayhap" (instead of perhaps) is a positive vulgarism. It is of English origin, but is only used in England by very low people – and by English writers, never.

We have little tolerance for young ladies, who, having in reality neither wit nor humour, set up for both, and having nothing of the right stock to go upon, substitute coarseness and impertinence, (not to say impudence,) and try to excite laughter, and attract the attention of gentlemen, by talking slang. Where do they get it? How do they pick it up? From low newspapers, or from vulgar books? Surely not from low companions?

We have heard one of these ladies, when her collar chanced to be pinned awry, say that it was put on drunk – also that her bonnet was drunk, meaning crooked on her head. When disconcerted, she was "floored." When submitting to do a thing unwillingly, "she was brought to the scratch." Sometimes "she did things on the sly." She talked of a certain great vocalist "singing like a beast." She believed it very smart and piquant to use these vile expressions. It is true, when at parties, she always had half a dozen gentlemen about her; their curiosity being excited as to what she would say next. And yet she was a woman of many good qualities; and one who boasted of having always "lived in society."

We think that gentlemen lose a particle of their respect for young ladies who allow their names to be abbreviated into such cognomens as Kate, Madge, Bess, Nell, &c. Surely it is more lady-like to be called Catharine, Margaret, Eliza, or Ellen. We have heard the beautiful name Virginia degraded into Jinny; and Harriet called Hatty, or even Hadge.

A very silly practice has been introduced of writing Sally, Sallie – Fanny, Fannie – Mary, Marie – Abby, Abbie, &c. What would our grand-parents have thought of Pollie, Mollie, Peggie, Kittie, Nancie? Suppose young men were to adopt it, and sign themselves, Sammie, Billie, Dickie, Tommie, &c.!

By-the-bye, unless he is a relation, let no young lady address a gentleman by his Christian name. It is a familiarity which he will not like.

CHAPTER XVII.
BORROWING

Any article you are likely to want on more than one occasion, it is better to buy than to borrow. If your own, you can have it always at hand: you will lay yourself under no obligation to a lender, and incur no responsibility as to its safety while in your possession. But when you do borrow, see that the article is speedily returned. And, under no consideration, take the liberty of lending it to any person whatever, before restoring it to the owner. Apologies and expressions of regret are no compensation, should it be out of your power to replace it if injured or lost.

When you ask to borrow a thing, do not say, "Will you loan it to me?" The word "loan" is, by good talkers, and good writers, never used but as a substantive: notwithstanding that Johnson gives it as a verb also, but only on one obscure authority – and Johnson is not now regarded as infallible. To lend, not to loan, is the usual and proper expression. As a substantive it is generally employed in a commercial and political sense, or to denote a large sum borrowed for a public and important purpose. It is true you can say, "May I request the loan of your fan?" "Will you permit me to ask the loan of this book?" But it is much easier and smoother to say simply, "Will you lend me your fan for a few minutes?" "Will you be kind enough to lend me this book?"

No articles, perhaps, are more frequently borrowed than umbrellas, and none are returned with so little punctuality. Frequently, a borrowed umbrella is never thought of by the borrower, till after the weather clears up; the lender, most probably, suffering inconvenience for want of it. Often it is detained till the next rain, when the lender has to take the trouble of sending for it. And then it is very possible it may not be found at all; some person in the mean time having nefariously carried it off. In such a case, it is a matter of common honesty for the careless borrower to replace that umbrella with a new one; as she is not to suppose that empty expressions of regret or unmeaning apologies will be sufficient compensation for a substantial loss.

To avoid any difficulties concerning umbrellas, it is safest, in cloudy weather, not to leave home without one. Many persons venture out beneath a threatening sky, unwilling to encumber themselves with an umbrella, which (possibly) they may not chance to require before they got home. Their dependance is on stopping in at the house of a friend, and borrowing one there. But is it not better to incommode yourself a little by carrying a closed umbrella, even if you should not find occasion to use it, than to hasten rapidly through the street to reach a shelter when you find the rain beginning to drop; and afterwards to deprive your friend, even temporarily, of an article which the wet weather may render it inconvenient to spare. Also, you may be caught by a sudden shower, at a considerable distance from the dwelling of the person with whom you are acquainted, and you may find the omnibuses all full, (as they generally are when it rains,) and no other vehicle in sight. Therefore, when the wind is in a rainy quarter, and the sky louring, be always on the safe side, and take an umbrella with you on leaving home.

Every lady should own a small light umbrella, or else a very large parasol, of extra size, covered with strong India silk that will not easily tear or fade, and that may be used, on occasion, for either sun or rain; and that will not be cumbrous to carry, though quite large enough to shelter one person. In truth, we have found but few umbrellas, however large, that could effectually cover two persons (unless they were people of very small size) so that the rain did not drop upon the off-shoulder of one or the other. You cannot be well screened by an umbrella, unless you carry it all the time steadily in your own hands, and over yourself alone. And politeness requires that you should give your companion the best of the shelter. So when two ladies go out together, the clouds portending rain, let each take an umbrella for herself, and then much injury to bonnets and shawls may be avoided.

These small light umbrellas are excellent to travel with, and especially useful in the transit from car to steamboat, or even from the house to the carriage. When not in "actual service," keep this umbrella beside you with your shawl and your travelling satchel. It will be useful during the journey, if packed away in a trunk.¹⁵

When you purchase an umbrella, desire that, before sending it home, your name be engraved on the little plate at the termination of the handle, or else on the slide. "To make assurance doubly sure," you may get the name painted in full in small white or yellow letters on the inside of one of the gores of silk. These letters will not be conspicuous on the outside, but they will always serve to identify the umbrella. Your residence (if permanent) may be added. When about to travel, sew a small card with your address near the bottom of one of the gores inside. This card may be changed when staying at a new place. With these precautions, and a little care, (unless you are habitually thoughtless and forgetful,) you may carry an umbrella from Maine to Florida without losing it.

All the members of a family should be provided with at least one rain-umbrella of their own, and these should be kept up-stairs when not likely to be wanted. There is always great danger of their being purloined, or borrowed, if left in the hall. Persons who would not, for the world, be known to pilfer a single cent, are by no means particular with regard to detaining an umbrella or a book.

Umbrellas for the kitchen can now be had as low as seventy-five cents, or one dollar. If of coloured cotton (brown or blue) and highly glazed, they will turn off a moderate rain very well, but a drenching shower may cause the dye or colouring to run in streams. For very common use, though higher in price, the best are of oil-cloth, or of brown unbleached linen. The handsomest umbrellas are of blue or brown India silk, with steel frames, and a small silver name-plate on the handle. A green silk umbrella will soon be spoiled by the rain, and none look so badly in a short time. We have known a lady's bonnet entirely ruined by the drippings from a green parasol, hastily put up as a small screen from a sudden shower. No colour stands the sun and damp so badly as green.

After borrowing an umbrella, fail not to send it back immediately, unless you have previously ascertained from the owner that it will not be wanted for two or three hours. In that case, you will have time to dry it before it goes home; and this should be done as soon as possible, that it may be returned in good order. If left in the entry or hall, it may be carried off; or, in plain words, stolen. Let it be dried under your own inspection, spreading it wide open, and standing it on the floor. If dried fast, and in an expanded position, the wetting will not perceptibly injure it. But if left shut and standing up closed, with the wet soaking into the umbrella, it will dry in discoloured streaks, and be spoiled. If the spring or any other part of a borrowed umbrella gets broken or injured while in your possession, be sure to have it repaired before sending home. There is a meanness verging on dishonesty in leaving this to be done by the owner.

If the cheap or common umbrellas are given up to the care of the domestics, and kept in the kitchen, in all probability they will soon disappear altogether, and be no longer forthcoming when wanted. They will lend them to their friends, and lose them in various ways. The umbrellas should be kept in some small room or closet up-stairs; and when required, the servants should come and ask for them; bringing them back when done with, and dried.

When you go out to tea, even in a summer evening, carry a shawl on your arm to throw over your shoulders before coming out into the night-air. This will preclude the necessity of borrowing one of your friend, should the weather have changed and grown cooler. Also, to prevent any risk from damp pavements, take with you a pair of over-shoes, (India-rubber, of course,) or else a pair of inside-soles, such as you can conveniently slip into your pocket. We have found no inside-soles equal to those of lamb-skin with the wool left on the upper-side; the under-side of the skin being coated with India-rubber varnish to render them water-proof. These soles are both warm and dry, and are far pleasanter than cork soles covered with flannel, and more lasting. But if you are obliged to borrow things to wear home, see that they are sent back next morning, if not the same evening, and in good order – the shawl well-dried from the damp, and folded smoothly, and the over-shoes cleaned nicely.

Always take a fan with you on going to a place of public amusement. You will be sure to require it, and it is better than to depend on fanning yourself with the bill or programme, or borrowing the fan of a more provident friend, and perhaps forgetting to return it.

With regard to the practice of borrowing articles of household use, it is generally a custom "more honoured in the breach than the observance," particularly when living in a place where all such things can be easily obtained by sending to the shops. There are persons who, with ample means of providing themselves with all that is necessary for domestic service, are continually troubling their neighbours for the loan of a hammer, a screw-driver, a gimlet, a carpet-stretcher, a bed-stead screw, a fluting-iron, a preserving kettle, jelly-moulds, ice-cream freezers, &c. &c. If these or any other articles must be borrowed, let them be returned promptly, and in good order.

If, in consequence of the unexpected arrival of company, any thing for the table is borrowed of a neighbour, such as tea, coffee, butter, &c., see that it is punctually returned; equal in quantity, and in quality; or rather superior. Habitual borrowers are very apt to forget this piece of honesty, either neglecting to return the things at all, or meanly substituting inferior articles – or perhaps laying themselves under such an imputation without actually deserving it, should the lender be ill-natured or untruthful. There is a homely proverb, "To go a-borrowing is to go a-sorrowing."

We have been told of a very aristocratic but very economical lady, in one of our large cities, who was in the almost daily practice of borrowing things of a neighbour to whom she never condescended to speak. On one occasion she borrowed the use of that neighbour's fire to roast a pair of fowls.

Avoid borrowing change, or small sums. It is possible that you may really forget to repay them; but then it is also possible that you may be suspected of forgetting wilfully. So do not trust much to your memory. It is a true remark, that there are few instances of a borrower being so oblivious as to offer twice over the return of a small loan, forgetting that it had been paid already.

In borrowing a dress as a pattern, it is safest not to try it upon yourself, lest some part of the body should be stretched or frayed. Also, in trying on a bonnet or cap that is not your own, refrain from tying the strings; as every tying will give them additional wrinkles or rumples, and perhaps somewhat soil them. Never put on another person's gloves.

Should you be staying at a boarding-house, do not depend on "the lady in the next room," or any other lady, to lend you things which you can procure quite as easily as she can. Keep yourself always provided with pen, ink, and paper, envelopes, wafers, sealing-wax, pencils, post-office stamps, &c. Also with sewing implements.

When a friend lends you a handkerchief, a collar, or any other washable article, see that it is nicely washed, and done up, before returning it to her, – and do so promptly. If an article of jewellery, carry it back to her yourself, and put it into her own hand, to preclude all risk of loss. She will not be so ungenerous as to tell any person that she has lent it to you; and will for a while afterward, refrain from wearing it herself, in any company where it may be recognized.

Should a visiter accidentally leave her handkerchief at your house, have it washed and ironed before restoring it to her.

On borrowing a book, immediately put a cover upon it – and let the cover be of clean, smooth, white or light-coloured paper. What is called nankeen paper is best and strongest for this purpose. Newspaper, or any paper that is printed, makes a vile book-cover. Beside its mean and dirty appearance, the printing-ink will not only soil your own hands while reading, but will do more injury to the binding than if it was left uncovered.

To cover a book neatly – take a sheet of nice paper of more than sufficient size, and lay the book open upon it. Cut a notch or indentation at the top and bottom of this paper, so as to admit the back of the book, making the notch exactly the width of the back, and two or three inches deep. Fold down the edges of the paper straightly, smoothly, and evenly, over the edges of the binding or cover. Fold the corners of the paper nicely underneath, (trimming off the superfluous paper that turns under,) making them lie as flat as possible. You may secure all the folds at the corners with small wafers, pins, or paste-cement. If you use pins, take care to stick them so as not to scratch the inside of the binding, or to prick and tear the fly-leaves. The paper-cover should not only be strong, but smooth also; if coarse and rough, it will injure the binding. When you send the book home, put it up neatly, so as to make a well-looking package; secured with either a string or a seal, and direct it to the owner.

If the book is a pamphlet, and the sewing-thread gives way, sew it again, with a large needle and a strong brown thread – not white cotton. If not sewed immediately, it will fall apart, and some leaves may drop out, and be lost. If, by any unlucky accident, a leaf is torn, lay the two pieces nicely together, and sew them, lightly, with a rather fine thread. But if one side of the torn page is blank, it will be best to mend it by pasting a small narrow slip of white paper underneath, so as to unite the torn edges neatly.

You may have excellent paste or cement, continually at hand, by buying at a druggist's an ounce of the best and cleanest gum tragacanth, with a little bit of corrosive sublimate not larger than a grain of corn, and dissolving them in a large half-pint of clear water, either warm or cold. Pick the gum tragacanth very clean, freeing it carefully from all dust and impurities. Put it with the corrosive sublimate into a white or queensware vessel having a close cover, and holding a pint, to allow for swelling. Pour on the water; cover it closely; and stir it with a stick, several times during the day. When sufficiently dissolved, the paste will be smooth throughout. The corrosive sublimate will cause it to keep good for a year or more; and it is an excellent and most convenient cement for all purposes, from wall-paper to artificial flowers. It must on no account be kept in a metal vessel or be stirred with a metal spoon, as it will then turn black. No house should be without this paste – and it should find a place in every library and office. When it is nearly used up, and becomes dry at the bottom, pour on a little water, and it will dissolve again.

Make no remarks with pen or pencil on the margin of any book that does not belong to yourself. Whatever may be your own opinion of certain passages, you have no right to disturb other readers by obtruding upon them these opinions, unasked for. The pleasure of reading a book from a public library, is frequently marred by finding, as you proceed, that some impertinent fools have been before you, and scribbled their silly comments all through; or indulged in sneers and vituperations directed at the author. You may lessen this annoyance by turning over all the leaves before you begin reading, and erasing all the marginal remarks with India rubber; and this will also be an act of kindness to the next reader after yourself. When written with ink, (as is often the case,) there is no remedy; and you must endure the infliction of being annoyed throughout the book by these gratuitous criticisms. In a book, even belonging to yourself, it is well to use the pencil sparingly; and only to correct an error of the press, or a chronological mistake of the author. All readers like to form their own opinions as they go along, without any prompting from those who have preceded them.

Never, on any consideration, allow yourself to lend a borrowed book. If requested to do so, it should be a sufficient excuse to say that "it is not your own." But if still urged, persist in declining steadily; for it is a liberty you have no right to take with any article belonging to another. Even if the owner is your sister, you should lend nothing of hers without first obtaining her permission. Whatever you borrow yourself, should pass safely from your hands to those of the owner. If a friend of yours is very desirous of reading a borrowed book, and has no other means of obtaining it, and you think you can depend on her carefulness and punctuality, (not else,) you may promise "to request for her the favour." And when the owner has consented, (and not till then,) you may transfer the book to the new borrower with strict injunctions to take great care of it, and to return it as soon as possible.

I have known a borrowed book travel round a whole circle of relations and acquaintances, till, when sent home at last, it was literally worn out by dint of use. And this when nearly the whole set were persons who could well afford to buy all they were desirous of reading. Many ladies like very well to read when they can do so at the cost of their friends; but they seem to regard the purchase of any thing to improve the mind, or amuse the fancy, as throwing away money which they would expend more to their satisfaction in articles of personal decoration. And is it not melancholy to see an intelligent child craving in vain for books, while bedizened with finery to gratify the vanity of an ostentatious mother?