The American Gentleman's Guide to Politeness and Fashion Part 11

"Oh, girls, such a charming adventure as I had this evening!" exclaimed Margaret, as a bevy of fair young creatures cl.u.s.tered together before the fire in a drawing-room where I was seated after dinner, with my newspaper. My attention was arrested by the peculiar animation with which these words were p.r.o.nounced, and I glanced at the group, over the top of my spectacles. They reminded me of so many brilliant-hued b.u.t.terflies, in their bright-colored winter dresses, and with their light, wavy motions as they settled themselves, one on a pile of cus.h.i.+ons, others on a low ottoman, and two pretty fairies on the hearth-rug, each uttering some exclamation of gratification at the prospect of amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Now, don't expect anything extraordinary or dreadful, you silly creatures; I have no 'hair-breadth 'scapes by land or sea' to entertain you with. Can't one have a 'charming adventure,' and yet have nothing to tell?"

"But do tell us all there is to tell, dear Miss ----. Do, please, this very moment," entreated one of the fairies, linking her arms around her companion, and mingling her golden ringlets with the darker locks of the head upon which her own lovingly rested. And a little concert of similar pleadings followed. This prelude over, the tantalizing adventuress began:

"Before I went over to New York this morning, I wrote a little note to Mary Bostwick, telling her all about our arrangements for the Christmas-tree, and charging her not to fail to come to us on Christmas eve, and all about it, for fear that, as I had so much to accomplish, I might not be able to go up to Twenty-third street, and return home in time to meet you all here. My plan was to keep it until I was decided, and then, if obliged to send it, to put it in one of the City Express letter-boxes. Well, by the time I was through with all my important errands, it was time for me to turn my steps homeward. So, happening last at Tiffany's, to get the--I mean, I asked at Tiffany's for one of the places where a box is kept in that neighborhood, and was told that there was one in a druggist's, quite near--just above. Hurrying along, I must have pa.s.sed the place, and stopped somewhere not far below 'Taylor's,' to see exactly where I was. Time was flying, and it was really almost growing dark; so I ventured to inquire of a gentleman who was pa.s.sing, though an entire stranger, for the druggist's.

"'I think it is below, near the Astor House,' said he, with such an appearance of interest as to embolden me to mention what I was in search of.

"'If that is all,' he replied, 'I dare say there is one nearer. Let me see,' glancing around, 'I think there is one on the opposite corner--I will see.'

"'I have no right to give you that trouble, sir,' said I.

"'Yes you have--it is what every man owes to your s.e.x.'

"'You are very good, sir; but I am sure I can make the inquiry for myself.'

"'No, it is a tavern, where you cannot properly go alone! Remain here, and I will ascertain for you.'

"Before I could repeat my thanks, the gentleman was half across the street.

"Hoping to facilitate matters, I followed him to the opposite pavement, and stood where he would observe me upon coming out of the door I had seen him enter. I held the note and my porte-monnaie ready in my hand.

"'There is a box here,' said my kind friend, returning, 'if you will intrust me with your letter, I will deposit it for you.'

"'You are very good, sir; I would like to pay it,' I answered, opening my porte-monnaie.

"He took the letter quickly, and prevented my intended offer of the postage so decidedly, that I did not dare insist. But, by this time, I really could not refrain from the expression of more than an ordinary acknowledgment:

"'I have to thank you, sir,' said I, 'not only for a real kindness to a stranger, but for a _pleasant memory_, which I shall not soon lose. Such courtesy is too unusual to be soon forgotten! 'How far one little candle sometimes throws its rays!'--many thanks and good evening, sir!'

"I had still one more errand in Ca.n.a.l street, but I stayed on the 'unfas.h.i.+onable side' of the street, and went up, to avoid the awkwardness of re-crossing with the gentleman, and the possibility of imposing any further tax upon his politeness--bless him! I wasn't half as weary after I met him, and my heart has been in a glow ever since!"

"Bravo!" "Bravissimo!" echoed round the room, in various waves of silvery sound.

"Is that all, Miss ----?" inquired the only _boy_ of the party, unless you except the approach to second childhood ensconced behind the newspaper, and now acting the amiable part of _reporter_, for your benefit.

"All, unless I add that I occasionally glanced cautiously over, to catch the form of my kind friend, as I hurried along, that I might not again cross his path; but I did not 'calculate' successfully after all; for, as I ran across Broadway, at Ca.n.a.l street corner, he was a little nearer than I had expected. I bowed slightly, and hurried on:--but wasn't it beautiful? Such chivalrous sentiments towards women: '_It is what we all owe your s.e.x!_' And his manner was more expressive than his words--so gentle and quiet! No stage effect"----

"But you quoted Shakespeare," insinuated a pretty piece of malice on the ottoman.

"I couldn't help it, if I did! I was surprised out of the use of ordinary language by an extraordinary occasion. If you are going to ridicule me, I shall be sorry I told you; for it is one of the pleasantest things that has happened to me in a great while! There was I, in my _incognito-dress_, as I call it, weary and pale, nothing about me to attract interest, I am sure! I wish such men were more common in this world, they would elevate the race!"

"I declare, cousin Maggie, you are growing enthusiastic! I haven't seen such beaming eyes and such a brilliant color for a long time! Was this most gallant knight of yours a _young_ gentleman, may I ask?"

The lady thus questioned seemed to reflect a moment before she replied:

"If you mean to inquire whether he was a whiskered, moustached _elegant_, not a bit of it! I should not have addressed such a man in the street. On the contrary, he was"----

"_Married_, I am afraid!" interrupted pretty mischief on the ottoman, giggling behind her next neighbor.

"I dare say he may have been," pursued the narrator, quietly. "No very young man, even if he had wished to be polite to a stranger neither young nor beautiful, which is very doubtful, would have exhibited the graceful self-possession and easy politeness of this gentleman:--he was, probably, going to his home in the upper part of the city after a business-day. As I remember his dress, though, of course, I had no thought about it at the time, it was the simple, unnoticeable attire of an American gentleman when engaged in business occupations--everything about him, as I recall his presence, was in keeping--unostentatious, quiet, appropriate! I shall long preserve his portrait in my picture-gallery of memory, and I am proud to believe that he is my own countryman!"

"Cousin Maggie always says," remarked one of her auditors, "that Americans are the most truly polite men she has met"----

"Yes," returned the enthusiast, "though sometimes wanting in mere surface-polish--

'Where'er I roam, whatever lands I see, My heart, untravelled, fondly turns to'----

my own dear, honored countrymen--more truly chivalrous, more truly just towards our s.e.x, than the men of any other land! I never yet appealed to one of them for aid, for courtesy, _as a woman, and as a woman should_, in vain. And I never, scarcely, am so placed as to have occasion for kindness--real kindness--without receiving it, unasked. The other day, for instance, caught in a sudden shower, I stood waiting for a stage, 'down town,' in Broadway. There was such a jam that I was afraid to try and get into one that stopped quite near the sidewalk. A policeman, at that moment, asked me whether I wished to get in, and, holding my arm, stepped over the curb with me. 'I don't know what the ladies would do without the aid of your corps, sometimes, in these crowds,' said I.

"'If the ladies will accept our services, we are proud, madam,' answered he.

"'I am very glad to do so,' returned I; and well I might, for, at that instant, as I was on the point of setting my foot on the step of the omnibus, the horse attached to a cart next behind suddenly started forward, and left no s.p.a.ce between his head and the door of the stage. I shrunk back, as you may imagine, and said I would walk, in spite of the rain. But the policeman encouraged me, and called out to the carman to fall back. At that instant, I observed a gentleman come out upon the step of the stage. With a single imperious gesture, and the sternest face, he drove back the horse, and springing into the omnibus, held the door open with one hand, and extended the other to me. To be sure, the policeman almost pinched my arm in two, in his effort to keep me safe, but I was, at last, seated with whole bones and a grateful heart, at the side of my brave, kind champion. As soon as I recovered breath, I was curious to see again the face whose expression had arrested my attention (of course, I did not wait for breath to _thank_ him), and to note the external characteristics of a man who would impulsively render such service to a woman--like Charles Lamb--(dear, gentle Charles Lamb!) holding his umbrella over the head of a washerwoman, because she was a _woman_! Well, my friend was looking straight before him, apparently wholly unconscious of the existence of the trembling being he had so humanely befriended, with the most impenetrable face imaginable, and a sort of abstracted manner. Presently I desired to open the window behind me--still not quite recovered from my fright and flutter. Almost before my hand was on the gla.s.s, my courteous neighbor relieved me of my task.

Again I rendered cordial thanks, and again, as soon as delicacy permitted, glanced furtively at the face beside me. Nothing to reward my scrutiny was there revealed; the same absorbed, fixed expression, the same seeming unconsciousness! But can you doubt that a n.o.ble, manly nature was veiled beneath that calm face and quiet manner--a nature that would gleam out in an instant, should humanity prompt, or wrong excite?

And I could tell you numberless such anecdotes--all ill.u.s.trative of my favorite theory."

"So could we all," said another lady, "I have no doubt, if we only remembered them."

"I never forget anything of that kind," returned Margaret. "It is to me like a strain of fine music, _acted poetry_, if I may use such a phrase.

Such incidents make, for me, the _poetry of real life_, indeed! They inspire in my heart,

'The still, _sweet_ music of humanity.'"

One magnificent moonlight night, while I was in Rome with your cousins and the W----s, a party was formed to visit the Coliseum. That whimsical creature, Grace, whom I had more than once detected in a disposition to fall behind the rest of the company, as we strolled slowly through the ruins, at length stole up to me, as I paused a little apart from the group, and twining her arm within mine, whispered softly:

"_Do_, dear Uncle Hal, come this way with me for a few moments!"

Yielding to the impulse she gave me, we were presently disengaged from our companions, and, leaning, as if by mutual agreement, against a pillar.

"What a luxury it is to be quiet!" exclaimed your cousin, with a sigh of relief. "How that little Miss B---- _does_ chatter! Really it is profanation to think or speak of common things to-night, and here!"

"Well, my fair Epicurean," returned I, "since

----'Silence, like a poultice comes To heal the blows of sound,'

you shall reward me for my indulgence in attending you, by repeating some of Byron's _apropos_ lines, for me as we stand here"--

"At your pleasure, dear uncle."

Presently she began, in a subdued tone, as if afraid of disturbing the dreams of another, or as if half listening while she spoke to the tread of those

'Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time;'

but gradually losing all consciousness, save that of the inspiration of the bard, our fair enthusiast reached a climax of eloquence with the words--

'The azure gloom Of an Italian night, where the deep skies a.s.sume Hues which have words, and speak to ye of Heaven, Floats o'er this vast and wondrous monument,'--