"The two cousins froze to me, introduced me; I bowed; one of the Miss Degrands came forward; I was introduced, and as she, in the tip of fashion, made her perfectly grand theatrical bow to me, grabbed her by the hand in the most democratic manner imaginable, and shook it most heartily. She not only blushed, but, by her eyes, I saw that she was likewise mad as a hornet. Her sister and her had a word, and then her sister avoided me. Things grew no better fast; from one bungle I got into another. In whist I was ignorant and awkward; in a hop waltz with one of the cousins, I trod on her toes, until she screamed; and, in trying to mend the matter, I stepped on the flounces of Miss Degrand's dress and tore off five yards at least. In despair, I backed down, saw a seat, rushed to it, and down I sat upon my hat! In confusion I arose, snatched up the pancake-looking affair, which I frenziedly held up to public gaze. There was a roar of laughter—in which I did not join, I assure you; I gave a rush forward, hit the corner of the table, tilted over the astral lamp!—such a crash!—I kept on, I made for the door which just then old Degrand was entering avant courier of his old negro man, who bore a large tray well filled with wine in glasses. I struck the old gentleman so forcibly that he fell upon Pompey, glasses, and wine; and, on my mad career, I proceeded. Going out the wrong end of the hall, I found myself in a dark dining-room; but, jerking open the first door in advance, I went out into a hall, thence to an anteroom; groping in the dark, I struck my forehead against a half-open door, saw bushels of stars, and—fell senseless!
"How or when I got home, the Lord only knows; but, for one week, I had a head too big for my hat, and a pair of terrifically black eyes. As soon as able to travel, I left that 'settlement' never to return."
Now this is no overwrought scene, but one which could easily have happened to any bashful, awkward, disconcerted young person. The great error he made was in not going into society perfectly self-possessed, from having a right knowledge of what was proper in company. In the first place, he had waited too long before entering into society, and, secondly, he had not informed himself at all upon the most common proprieties of the parlor. What else could have been expected than discomfiture and disgrace?
As a rule, then, let us recommend all young persons to enter into social intercourse ere they become "of age." It is a most admirable experience to meet in friendly chat with a friend or two—to spend an evening with an intelligent lady, and to learn by degrees the confidence and reliance which will serve to carry you bravely through the evening at the brilliant rooms of fashion and gay company. It will be found, by both sexes, that timidity wears off rapidly by simple social converse; and the young man or woman who proposes to become a gentleman or lady should not fail to embrace every opportunity for meeting with well-mannered and intelligent friends—to spend an evening with them—to read, talk, walk, ride with them—to go out to concerts, to the theater, to the pic-nic, excursion, church, or evening party.
Timidity is not a sin—it is merely a fault which will soon wear away, and a proper self-possession will take its place, if the novice in society will use all necessary means to overcome the feeling which takes fright at a smile, and is disconcerted by a frown.
In seeking to overcome bashfulness, let there be a careful study to avoid the very common extreme of forwardness. This is the more unbearable because it is a sin of commission, while bashfulness is a sin of omission. To be forward, rude, intrusive, argues a sad want of good breeding which no leniency will overlook. In a female this rudeness is absolutely unbearable, because it so outrages all ideas of feminine graces and virtues—it makes us think the person coarse, and this very feeling divests us of the respect, the reverence which should always be felt for the "gentle sex." We say earnestly to those young girls who bandy words with provoking young men, who always romp when they are abroad, and win the name of being "independent," that you very much injure yourself in the estimation of all well-mannered persons, and do your character the injustice of having it considered un-feminine. Be gay, be cheerful, be the spirit of every company, but at the same time preserve the delicacy, the refinement, the grace, which are the surest virtues for conquering admiration, for winning love.
"Snobs" are always impudent, and generally are ignorant persons. They are rude as the monkey is rude, because they really do not know what constitutes good breeding. Their tailor literally "makes the man"—their whole mind is given to the tie of their cravat, and their boots absorb much of their hardest efforts at philosophy. They are simply nuisances—a blot on the fair name of man; and should be regarded as an extensive species of ape.
"Fops" are not always "snobs." A person may be very vain of dress, and make a silly display of dry goods and jewelry, and still be very genteel and perfectly polished in manners. The love of show is a strong passion in a larger class of persons than is generally supposed, for many who do not wear the latest styles still have peculiarities of dress or ornament which are the result of as great a degree of vanity as besets the more gaudily dressed. It is a weakness to be vain of dress, for it places a virtue in goods which does not belong to it—it elevates a perishable and purchasable commodity above the truer and nobler attributes of mind.
"Bores" are a large class, and number such a variety of species as to baffle definition. Let it suffice for us to say, a man or woman is a bore when they are intruders, either upon persons' time or company. To know when to leave, when to cease conversation, when to offer attentions, to solicit favors, is to know how to behave well; and no person will err who is educated in gentility, or whose apprehension of what is right is not befogged by "charming illusions." One of the worst bores we ever met was a female, who acted as a kind of purveyor-general to the community for every charity which called for an active benevolence. This lady would come into our study at any moment, would force us into hearing which we did not wish to hear, and into giving what we did not conscientiously think it right to give—so great was her faculty for "talking things into a person." She and her friends thought her a very valuable woman; we then thought her to be, and now know her to have been, a most unmitigated bore of the "benevolent" school.
We have here described these several enemies of good breeding, because we do not wish to recur to them again: let us here beg of our readers to make such application of the suggestions as will prevent any of them from becoming either "snobs," "fops," or "bores."