wunder · Library

Part 14

Manners for the Metropolis · Frank Crowninshield — chapter 14 of 17 · ~819 words · public domain

Read in the Wunder reader — free

* * * * *

Do not, when your mouth is filled with sweet potatoes, red bananas, pressed saddle of lamb, or other solid provisions, attempt to discuss the topics of the day with the ladies at the feast.

* * * * *

In using a finger bowl, simply dip the index finger into the fluid and pass it lightly over the lips.

Make no effort to consume the floating lemon, and try to restrain yourself from splashing about in the bath, like a playful walrus or a performing seal.

* * * * *

When a rich Westerner arrives in New York and begins breaking into society, it should be a pleasure for everybody to show him little courtesies and attentions. New York gentlemen usually do this by borrowing money from him, marrying his daughters, riding his polo ponies (or selling him theirs), drinking his wine, cruising about on his yacht, smoking his cigars, and selling him blocks of their worthless stocks.

* * * * *

The last morsel of green turtle in a soup plate is always a heart-breaking thing at best. Remember that, though enticing, it is elusive. Do not chivy it about in frantic circles or pursue it untiringly around your plate until you have captured and subdued it. Turtle soup and Indian pig-sticking are not governed by the same rules.

* * * * *

When you sit down at table, it is not necessary to whisk the napkin gayly about before unfolding it. The concealed roll is certain to fly a considerable distance before alighting, and may even crack the enameling on one of the great ladies at the banquet.

* * * * *

Millionaires of the Chester A. Arthur or Rutherford B. Hayes vintage should pass rapidly through their ancient mansions and demolish the following objects of art and vertu:

The twin conch shells, for fireside use; the embroidered wall mottoes; imitation wax flowers—under glass; ebony and gold whatnots; velvet antimacassars; all crayon portraits—whether pendant or on gold easels; party-colored crazy quilts; all magenta picture sashes; plush photograph albums; red worm lamp-mats; turkish cozy corners, with hanging red lamps, imitation spears, and rusty armor; black hair sofas; hanging tennis racquets ornamented with red bows; folding beds; cuckoo clocks and paper weights containing miniature paper snowstorms.

After destroying these knickknacks, they should pass out on the steps and adjacent lawn spaces and demolish the iron dogs, copper fauns, and the bed of snowdrops spelling out the mansion’s fantastic name—“Slopeoak,” “Munnysunk,” “Sewerside,” or any name in which the following popular “B” forms are included: Brae, Blythe, By-the, Buena, Bel, Bonnie, Beau, Bourne.

NEWPORT

NEWPORT

The correct treatment of a foreigner in Newport is to gush over him, praise him to your friends, and invite him to your entertainments. This course may be pursued for one week. After that, treat him with great reserve and coolness for the same period of time. At the beginning of the third week you should abuse him roundly, and take pains to recite the hidden and secret passages of his past. Advice for the fourth week is unnecessary: they never last more than three.

* * * * *

Sea bathing at Newport is often injurious to the health, as in the case of those ladies whose figures are a trifle too meagre—or too ample. To such sirens the doctor is sure to forbid it. Where, however, the outlines are visually “grateful and comforting,” the exercise is certain to prove beneficial and bracing. In all Newport there are about a dozen ladies whose physicians have no such prejudices against open air, salt water bathing.

* * * * *

Dakota divorces are still a good deal frowned upon in the beau monde. Try to remember that only Rhode Island divorces are comme il faut. (The Newport variety is far smarter than the Providence or Bristol brand.) Dakota divorces are a trifle cheaper and more expeditious, but it should be borne in mind that the climate of Sioux Falls is very variable and that the hotels and theaters are, to say the least, indifferent.

* * * * *

Millionaires from the West whose wives are bent upon breaking into society at any cost, should not try Newport until the simpler safes have been cracked. Newport is the water jump of the social steeplechase, and should not be taken until the easier gates have been successfully negotiated. The safest graded order of jumps is as follows:

1. PALM BEACH. Not exclusive, but merry, sumptuous, and expensive. Chance to meet many smart men in the gambling rooms.

2. HOT SPRINGS, VA. Depressing, but many “classy” invalids.

3. NARRAGANSETT PIER. Geographically speaking, this is nearly Newport, but the social tone, though “nobby,” can hardly be called A1.

4. THE BERKSHIRES. Dull and dowdy, but full of genteel old families in reduced circumstances who are willing to unbend—if properly propitiated.

← Previous chapterAll chaptersNext chapter →

Manners for the Metropolis · The Wunder Library — complete classics, free to read, with narration.

© 2026 Wunder Learning LLC · Terms & Privacy