CHAPTER IV.
THE ENTRÉE

A lady is said to have the entrée of her friend's room, when she is allowed or assumes the privilege of entering it familiarly at all times, and without any previous intimation – a privilege too often abused. In many cases, the visited person has never really granted this privilege, (and after growing wise by experience, she rarely will;) but the visiter, assuming that she herself must, under all circumstances, be welcome, carries her sociability so far as to become troublesome and inconvenient. Consequently, their friendship begins to abate in its warmth. No one likes to be annoyed, or be intruded on at all hours. So the visited begins to think of the adage, "My room is my castle," and the visiter finds that seeing a friend under all circumstances somewhat diminishes respect, and that "familiarity brings contempt."

There are few occasions on which it is well, on entering a house, to run directly to the chamber of your friend, and to bolt into her room without knocking; or the very instant after knocking, before she has time to desire you to enter, or to make the slightest arrangement for your reception. You may find her washing, or dressing, or in bed, or even engaged in repairing clothes, – or the room may be in great disorder, or the chambermaid in the act of cleaning it. No one likes unseasonable interruptions, even from a very dear friend. That friend would be dearer still, if she had sufficient tact and consideration to refrain from causing these annoyances. Also, friendships are not always lasting – particularly those that become inordinately violent, and where both parties, by their excessive intimacy, put themselves too much into each other's power. Very mortifying disclosures are sometimes made after a quarrel, between two Hermias and Helenas, when recrimination begins to come, and mutual enmity takes the place of mutual kindness.

A familiar visit will always begin more pleasantly, if the visiter enquires of the servant at the door if the lady she wishes to see is at home, and then goes into the parlour, and stays there till she has sent her name, and ascertained that she can be received up-stairs.³ Then (and not till then) let her go to her friend's room, and still remember to knock at the door before she enters. Let her have patience till her friend bids her come in, or has time to rise, cross the room, and come to open the door, if it is fastened.

It is extremely rude, on being admitted to a private apartment, to look curiously about, as if taking an inventory of all that is to be seen. We have known ladies whose eyes were all the time gazing round, and even slily peering under tables, sofas, &c.; turning their heads to look after every person who chanced to be moving about the room, and giving particular attention to whatever seemed to be in disorder or out of place. Nay, we have known one who prided herself upon the gentility of her forefathers and foremothers, rise from her seat when her hostess opened a bureau-drawer, or a closet-door, and cross the room, to stand by and inspect the contents of said bureau or closet, while open – a practice very common with ill-taught children, but which certainly should be rebuked out of them long before they are grown up.

Make no remark upon the work in which you find your friend engaged. If she lays it aside, desire her not to quit it because of your presence; but propound no questions concerning it. Do not look over her books, and ask to borrow them. In short, meddle with nothing.

Some ladies never enter the room of an intimate friend without immediately exclaiming against its heat or its cold – seldom the latter, but very frequently the former, as it is rather fashionable to be always too warm; perhaps because it makes them seem younger. If they really are uncomfortably warm on a very cold day, we think it can only be from the glow produced by the exercise of walking. This glow must naturally subside in a few minutes, if they would sit down and wait with a little patience, or else avail themselves of the fan which ought to be at hand in every room. We have known ladies of this warm temperament, who had sufficient consideration always to carry a pocket-fan in winter as well as summer. This is far better than to break out instantly with a complaint of the heat of the room, or to run and throw up a window-sash, or fling open the door, at the risk of giving cold to others. No intimacy can authorize these freedoms in a cold day, unless permission has first been asked, and sincerely granted.

If you are perfectly certain that you have really the entrée of your friend's room, and even if she has the same of yours, you have no right ever to extend that privilege to any other person who may chance to be with you when you go to see her. It is taking an unjustifiable liberty to intrude a stranger upon the privacy of her chamber. If another lady is with you, waive your privilege of entrée for that time, take your companion into the parlour, and send up the names of both, and do not say, "Oh! come up, come up – I am on no ceremony with her, and I am sure she will not mind you." And how can you be sure? Perhaps in reality, she will mind her very much, and be greatly discomfited, though too polite to appear so.

There are certain unoccupied females so over-friendly as to take the entrée of the whole house. These are, generally, ultra-neighbourly neighbours, who run in at all hours of the day and evening; ferret out the ladies of the family, wherever they may be – up-stairs or down; watch all their proceedings when engaged, like good housewives, in inspecting the attics, the store-rooms, the cellars, or the kitchens. Never for a moment do they seem to suppose that their hourly visits may perhaps be inconvenient or unseasonable; or too selfish to abate their frequency, even when they suspect them to be so, these inveterate sociablists make their incursions at all avenues. If they find that the front-door is kept locked, they glide down the area-steps, and get in through the basement. Or else, they discover some back-entrance, by which they can slip in at "the postern-gate" – that is, alley-wise: – sociablists are not proud. At first, the sociablist will say, on making her third or fourth appearance for the day, "Who comes to see you oftener than I?" But after awhile even this faint shadow of an apology is omitted – or changed to "Nobody minds me." She is quite domesticated in your house – an absolute habitué. She sees all, hears all, knows all your concerns. Of course she does. Her talk to you is chiefly gossip, and therefore her talk about you is chiefly the same. She is au-fait of every thing concerning your table, for after she has had her dinner at her own home, she comes bolting into your dining-room and "sits by," and sees you eat yours. It is well if she does not begin with "a look in" upon you before breakfast. She finds out everybody that comes to your house; knows all your plans for going to this place or that; is well acquainted with every article that you wear; is present at the visits of all your friends, and hears all their conversation. Her own is usually "an infinite deal of nothing."

A sociablist is commonly what is called good-natured, or else you would not endure her at all – and you believe, for a time, that she really has an extraordinary liking for you. After awhile, you are undeceived. A coolness ensues, if not a quarrel, and you are glad to find that she carries her sociability to another market, and that a new friend is now suffering all that you have experienced. To avoid the danger of being overwhelmed by the sociability of an idle neighbour, discourage the first indications of undue intimacy, by making your own visits rather few, and rather far between. A young lady of good sense, and of proper self-respect, will never be too lavish of her society; and if she has pleasant neighbours, will visit them always in moderation. And their friendship will last the longer.

CHAPTER V.
INTRODUCTIONS

Fashion, in its various unmeaning freaks, sometimes decrees that it is not "stylish to introduce strangers." But this is a whim that, whenever attempted, has neither become general nor lasted long. It has seldom been adopted by persons of good sense and good manners – and very rarely by that fortunate class whose elevated standing in society enables them to act as they please, in throwing aside the fetters of absurd conventionalities, and who can afford to do so.

Non-introduction has been found, in many instances, to produce both inconvenience and vexation. Persons who had long known each other by reputation, and who would have rejoiced in an opportunity of becoming personally acquainted, have met in society, without being aware of it till afterward; and the opportunity has never recurred. One of our most distinguished literary Americans was seated at a dinner-party next to an European lady equally distinguished in literature; but as there were no introductions, he was not aware of her presence till the party was over and the lady gone. The lady knew who the gentleman was, and would gladly have conversed with him; but as he did not speak, because he was not introduced, she had not courage to commence – though she might have done so with perfect propriety, considering who he was, and who she was.

Still worse – from not knowing who are present, you may inadvertently fall upon a subject of conversation that, for private reasons, may be extremely irksome or painful to some of the company; for instance, in discussing a public character. Severe or mortifying remarks may unintentionally be made on the near relative, or on the intimate companion, of one whom you would on no account desire to offend. And in this way you may make enemies, where, under other circumstances, you would have made friends. In such cases, it is the duty of the hostess, or of any mutual acquaintance, immediately to introduce both parties, and thus prevent any further animadversions that, may be mal-a-propos, or in any way annoying. It is safest, when among strangers, to refrain from bitter animadversions on anybody.

In introducing a gentleman to a lady, address her first, as for instance – "Miss Smith, permit me to make you acquainted with Mr. Jones" – or, "Mrs. Farley, allow me to present Mr. Wilson" – that is, you must introduce the gentleman to the lady, rather than the lady to the gentleman. Also, if one lady is married and the other single, present the single lady to the matron, as – "Miss Thomson, let me introduce you to Mrs. Williams."⁴

In introducing a foreigner, it is proper to present him as "Mr. Howard from England" – "Mr. Dupont from France" – "Mr. Wenzel from Germany." If you know of what European city he is a resident, it is better still, to say that he is "from London," – "Paris," – "Hamburg." Likewise, in introducing one of your own countrymen very recently returned from a distant part of the world, make him known as "Mr. Davis, just from China" – "Mr. Edwards, lately from Spain" – "Mr. Gordon, recently from South America." These slight specifications are easily made; and they afford, at once, an opening for conversation between the two strangers, as it will be perfectly natural to ask "the late arrived" something about the country he has last visited, or at least about his voyage.

When presenting a member of Congress, mention the State to which he belongs, as, "Mr. Hunter of Virginia" – "Mr. Chase of Ohio," &c. Recollect that both senators and gentlemen of the house of representatives are members of Congress – Congress including the two legislative bodies. In introducing a governor, designate the state he governs – as, "Governor Penington of New Jersey." For the chief magistrate of the republic, say simply – "The President."

In introducing an officer, tell always to which service he belongs – as "Captain Turner of the Navy" – "Captain Anderson of the Army."

We regret the custom of continuing to give military titles to militia officers. Foreigners are justly diverted at finding soi-disant generals and colonels among men who fill very subordinate stations in civil life – men that, however respectable in their characters, may be deficient in the appearance, manners, or education that should belong to a regular officer. This foolish practice can only be done away by the militia officers themselves (those that really are gentlemen – and there are many) magnanimously declining to be called generals, colonels, &c. except on parade occasions; and when actually engaged in militia duty. Let them omit these titles on their cards, and request that no letters be directed to them with such superscriptions; and that in introductions or in conversation they may be only addressed as plain Mr. It is still more absurd to continue these military titles long after they have ceased to hold the office, – and above all, to persist in them when travelling in foreign countries, tacitly permitting it to be supposed that they own commissions in the regular service.