Now with what shall I fill this immense space which remains?—Oh, I will give you all the precepts and aphorisms I can think of, of Paris good breeding. They will be so useful to you in the “coal region.”
You may give your arm to a gentleman in public, but don’t give him both your arms.
Keep on your gloves at church; take them off when you go to bed.
Don’t lick your plate, but imbibe the sauce with a little bread in the left hand; holding a silver fork in your right.
When you dine out, you may blow your nose with the table-cloth, if they don’t give you napkins; otherwise it would be thought improper. Don’t use the tail of your frock; this gives offence to refined people, generally speaking.
Don’t ask for the ankle of a chicken; ladies say leg now at table without impropriety.
When full tilt in the street, bow, and don’t curtsey. Just do you try how inconvenient it is to curtsey in the operation of fast walking; besides, your frock gets in the mud.
If you cannot go to the “Trinity” to prayers, don’t forget to send your card.
If you meet a lady on the Boulevards of Pottsville, or other public promenade, don’t salute her, unless she first gives you some token of recognition; if you meet her in Mann and William’s Mine two miles under ground, you may. This invisibility gives a lady a chance of doing in public what she chooses;—of carrying some tripe, or a leg of mutton home to dinner. If you see a lady at her door or window in dishabille, to salute her is inexcusable. If you espy her straying with a gentleman amongst romantic shades of the wizard Mill Creek, or by the wild cliff which overhangs the Tumbling Run, tapestried with honeysuckles, you must whistle Yankee Doodle, so as to leave her the impression that she is unobserved.
If you take a walk on Guinea Hill, and Black Bill uncovers, take off your hat also; if his curvature vertebrale be forty-five degrees, yours must be forty-six; it won’t do to be outdone by Congo negroes.