OUR COUNTRY COUSINS

OUR COUNTRY COUSINS

Green peas are eaten with the aid of a fork. The hair-raising spectacle of a gentleman flicking peas into his mouth with a steel knife is no longer fashionable, however dexterously the feat may be performed.

Plums should be eaten one by one and the pits allowed to fall noiselessly into the half-closed hand.

At dinners, wisdom dictates that it is wiser to leave the terrapin, hard crabs, asparagus, and oranges untasted (unless accustomed to them from birth). Be content to poke and pat these dishes with a fork, but make no effort to consume them.

The following expressions are no longer in vogue in society: “Pardon my glove,” “Pray be seated,” “Pleased to meet you,” “Remember me to the folks,” “Pray rest your cane,” “Make yourself at home,” “What name, please?” “Are you the party?” “Say, listen,” “My gentleman friend,” “Usen’t you?” etc.

Do not address your wife as “mother.”

Olives are eaten with the thumb and forefinger of the right hand. It is not necessary to peel them, and the pits should usually be rejected.

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.