It is very mean and unlady-like to gossip secretly with the servants, and question them about any of the other guests. Still worse, to repeat what they tell you, and give them as authority. Treat them always with kindness and civility, but have no confidential and familiar intercourse with them. To those you know, it is but common civility to bid good morning every day. Coloured people you may always gratify by saying a few words to them, now and then, in passing. They value this little kindness, and will not presume upon it like those from “the old country,” who, if treated familiarly, will frequently take liberties, and lose all respect for you. Elderly coloured people, (particularly in the South,) like much to be called “aunt” or “uncle;” and it degrades no white lady to please them by doing so.
In all hotels, it is against the rule to take out of the ladies’ drawing-room any books that may be placed there for the general convenience of the company, such as dictionaries, guide-books, directories, magazines, &c. If you borrow a file of newspapers from the reading-room, get done with them as soon as you can, lest they should be wanted there by the gentlemen; and as soon as you have finished, ring for a servant to carry them back.
Be careful, in cold weather, always to shut the parlour-doors after you. If you think the room too warm, do not throw open either door or window, without first enquiring if it will cause inconvenience to any one present. It is a good practice to carry a pocket fan even in winter, in case you should chance to feel the heat more sensibly than any other lady in the room. If the heat of the grate causes you inconvenience, enquire if there is any objection to having the blower brought in and stood up before it. If not, ring the bell and order it.
If you have an anthracite fire in your chamber, and wish to extinguish it on retiring for the night, take the tongs, and lifting off some of the largest coals from the top, lay them beneath the grate. Then, with the shut-tongs or the poker, make a deep hollow in the centre of the fire; raking it into two hills, one on each side, leaving a valley down in the middle. It will begin to blacken immediately, and go out in a few minutes. If you cannot do this yourself, ring for a servant.
This is the only way to put out an anthracite fire, whether in a grate or a stove.—There is no other. Try it.
CHAPTER XII.
SHIP-BOARD.
There are few places where the looks and manners of the company are more minutely scanned than on ship-board; and few where the agreeability of a lady will be more highly appreciated. There is little or no variety of objects to attract attention. The passengers are brought so closely into contact with each other, and confined to so small a neighbourhood, or rather so many neighbours are crowded into so small a space, that all their sayings and doings are noticed with unusual attention, by those who are well enough to regard any thing but themselves. Sea-sickness is a very selfish malady,—and no wonder that it is so. Fortunately it is less prevalent than formerly, thanks to the improvements in cabin-room, ventilation, lodging, food, and many other things connected with ocean-travelling. A lady who is not of a bilious or dyspeptic habit, and who has taken precautionary medicine a few days before commencing the voyage, frequently escapes sea-sickness altogether; or at least gets well after the first day or two.
It is best not to be over-officious in offering your aid to the sick ladies, unless they are your intimate friends. The stewardess of a packet-ship is generally all-sufficient; and much more capable of attending to their wants than you can be. Sea-sickness renders its victims very querulous; and few like to be continually reminded of their condition by enquiries too often repeated of—“How do you find yourself now?” “Do you feel any better?” or, “Do you think you could not eat something?” To one very much prostrated by the effects of the sea-motion, the mere replying to these questions is an additional misery. Whatever sympathy you may feel, at the time, for those afflicted with the marine malady, remember that it is a disorder which never kills, but very frequently cures.
If you are sick yourself, say as little about it as possible. And never allude to it at table, where you will receive little sympathy, and perhaps render yourself disgusting to all who hear you. At no time talk about it to gentlemen. Many foolish common-place sayings are uttered by ladies who attempt to describe the horrors of sea-sickness. For instance this—“I felt all the time as if I wished somebody to take me up, and throw me overboard.” This is untrue—no human being ever really did prefer drowning to sea-sickness.
When the ship is actually in danger, this malady is always frightened away; the feelings of the mind entirely overpowering those of the body.