We have seen a young gentleman lift his plate of soup in both hands, hold it to his mouth and drink, or rather lap it up. This was at no less a place than Niagara.
We have heard of a well-dressed stranger at a great hotel in Boston, who having used his own knife for the butter, flew into a violent passion with the waiter for respectfully pointing out to him the silver butter-knife. Swearing that the knife he had been putting in his mouth was quite good enough, afterward, for any butter in the world, the gentleman flung the silver knife across the table, and broke it against the wall. For this exploit he had to pay five dollars.
A man that habitually rises on his feet to reach across the table for a dish, and pulls it to himself, instead of desiring the waiter to bring it to him, is unworthy the appellation of a gentleman. Ladies, of course, cannot be guilty of this abomination; but it is true that they sometimes extend their arms entirely too far, in trying to get at something which a servant would bring them if asked to do so.
Some persons behave coarsely at a public table because they are ignorant, and know no better. Some (far less excusable) are rude because they are too selfish to put any restraint on their inclinations, or to care for the convenience of others.
Some display, all the time, a vulgar determination to “get the full worth of their money.” Some, who at a private dinner-table would be the most polite people imaginable, lay aside their good manners in a public dining-room; regarding a hotel as they would a tavern—a sort of Liberty Hall. And some are insolent by way of “showing their consequence,”—having, in reality, mixed so little with true people of consequence, as not to be aware that persons of high station are, with few exceptions, entirely free from the assumption of undue importance.
Servants are often very shrewd observers, and they always say that real gentlefolks “never take airs.” Neither they do.
When the finger-glasses are sent round, dip a clean corner of your napkin into the water, and wet round your lips with it, but omit the disgusting foreign fashion of taking water into your mouth, rinsing and gurgling it round, and then spitting it back into the glass. Wait till you can give your mouth a regular and efficient washing up-stairs. Dip your fingers into the glass, rub them with the slice of lemon, or the orange-leaf that may be floating on the surface, and then wipe them on the napkin. We have heard of a man who saw finger-glasses for the first time in his life, when dining at one of the New York hotels. A slice of lemon floating on the top, he took up the bowl and drank the water, exclaiming as he set it down—“Well! if this isn’t the poorest lemonade I ever tasted!”
On quitting the table, it is not necessary to fold up your napkin. Merely lay it on the table near your plate. The napkins will be immediately collected by the servants, carried to the laundry, and thrown at once into tubs of water, to take out the stains.
When dinner is over, and you see that nearly all the company, except two or three, have left the table, it is not well to be one of that two or three, and to remain to an indefinite period, loitering over the last pickings of a plate of nuts—nut-picking being always a tedious business. The waiters are, by this time, very tired of standing, and they (like all other people) are entitled to some consideration of their comfort. Even the attraction of a beau drinking his wine beside her, ought not to induce a young lady to outstay all the company, with the pretext of being passionately fond of nuts. She may indulge this passion at any time by keeping a bag of them in her own room.
The English travellers who visit America are often right in their remarks on many of our customs. And instead of resenting these remarks, we might profit by them, and reform.