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A dragon's head hung from another's saddle, and two had bugles by their sides.
Politeness does not, however, impose such restraints upon curiosity in small things, and leave us free in important ones.
If the person visited should be opening a closet or drawers, it would be rude curiosity to approach in order to see what was contained there.
Discretion requires in the first place, respect with regard to conversation.
But such offerings, though invaluable among friends, are not used on occasions of ceremony.
If the borrower speaks to you of it, it is well to reply that nobody had recognised them.
On his part, the person who is under the obligation to you, should be careful of using a single term of reproach and of accosting you with an air of dissatisfaction.
If it is very bad weather, and the occasion a proper one, offer an umbrella or your carriage.
We often make a present to some one through his children or wife, especially on new year's day, when it is the custom to present at least confectionary to the young families of one's acquaintance.
It is well to mingle with our manifestations of gratitude, some exceptions to the high value of the gift, but not to dwell a long time on the subject, or to exclaim about it with earnestness.
Under some circumstances, these declamations may seem dictated by avarice and a want of delicacy; they are besides in bad taste at all times.
In the first case, you should open it, and read it while he is present; in the other case, you should lay it aside.
Do not imitate them: they make us ungrateful in spite of ourselves, they make gratitude a pain and a burden.
If any circumstances prevent you from acting, inform the person, apologise, and promise to make reparation for your neglect.
These things are returned the next day by a domestic, who is charged to thank the person for them.
We cannot always command our indifference in this respect, but we are obliged to spare them that constraint and ennui, which would infallibly be shown if we should manifest to them the coldness which they inspire.
When we see a person occupied, we retire, or at least make signs of it; if they should detain us, we step aside, and appear to be examining a picture, or looking out of the window, in order to prove that we take no notice of what engages them.
At Paris, we make such presents to married ladies; in the provincial towns, we do not.
A smile is always on their lips, an earnestness in their countenance, when we ask a favor of them. They know that to render a service with a bad grace, is in reality not to render it.
If, in an assembly, two persons retire by themselves to speak of business, we should be careful not to approach them, nor speak to them until they have separated.
The duties of discretion are so sensibly felt by persons of good breeding, that they do not violate them except through forgetfulness.
These indications of zeal are suspicious, when they are employed every moment and without any reason; a knowledge of the world teaches us to discern them, and to give them that degree of confidence which they merit.
Sometimes we can congratulate persons, wish them well, and have the appearance of taking an interest in the recital which they are making of their affairs, without really feeling the least interest for them.
And this reminds me, that we should never give away a present which we have received from another person, or at least that we should so arrange it, that it may never be known.
It is besides, necessary, when an opportunity offers, to speak of it, not to fail of saying to the donor, how useful or agreeable his present is to you.
If, before the person visited comes in, we should see another visitor, who, to pass the time, should take a journal or a book from his pocket, it would be extremely impolite to read over his shoulder, and equally uncivil to read what a person is writing.
There are besides, some obliging persons, who force us to extort their services, who feel of great consequence, who like to be supplicated and thanked to excess.
It is not allowable to take down the books from a library; but we may, and we even ought to read the titles, in order to praise the good taste which has been shown in the choice of the works.
Well-bred persons do not make a bare request for a book; they wait until it is offered, and then they accept the offer hesitatingly; they find out the length of time they can keep it, and return it punctually at the appointed day.
In order that a service may be completed, it is necessary that it should be done quickly, nothing being more disobliging than tardiness, and the alternative, which you place a person in, either of addressing to you new solicitations, or of suffering by your delay.
Above all, when one has received a present of some value, he calls upon the person who gave it, or, if the distance is great, addresses to him a letter of thanks.
It must by all means be adapted to the taste, age, and professions of persons, and their connexions with us.
This amiable character, a necessary attendant of perfect good breeding, is not always found with all its charms, in the world.
In the eyes of persons of delicacy, presents are not of worth, except from the manner in which they are bestowed; in our advice, then, let us strive to give them this value.
However insignificant the boasted object may be, never criticise it; if your opinion is asked, answer a few words of praise; if the thing is really curious, abstain from exaggerated compliments.
Such an impertinent person should know, that he ought not to give advice without he is asked, and that the number of those who ask it is very limited: we are not, however, speaking here of gratifications of vanity, but of that advice, the kindness and affection of which, gives it a claim to our attention.
It is necessary to use much reserve and care, because otherwise you would seem to have a tone of superiority which would array the self-esteem of your friend against your wisest counsels.
If, when we enter the house of any one, we hear persons talking in an earnest manner, we step more heavily, in order to give notice to those who are engaged in the conversation.
On the contrary, when its merit has been extolled, when the persons who have received the present, have evinced a lively satisfaction, say that the gift receives all its value from their opinion of it.
Next to fitness of time for presents, comes fitness in the selection of them; generally, luxury and elegance ought to reign in the latter; but this rule has numerous exceptions: and although it would be out of place to offer things purely useful (to which certain incidents would give the appearance of charity) still we should be in an error to suppose that a present is suitable, which is brilliant alone.
Other persons, pretending to be polite, make protestations of their services and zeal, without taking the trouble to abide by their offers when an occasion is afforded them: so great is their trifling in this respect that they can be justly compared to those false heroes who are always talking of fighting, and who would be put to flight at the sight of a drawn sword.
Advice is a very good thing, it is true; it is however a thing which in society is the most displeasing.
One species of borrowing which is of daily occurrence, and happens very often to the loss of the owners, is the borrowing of books.
When you have made your offering, and thanks have been elicited, do not bring back the conversation to the same subject; be careful, particularly, of making your gift of consequence.
If any accident happens to a borrowed article, we must repair the loss immediately.
Every one knows that custom requires us to make a remuneration of a proportionate value, to the domestic who is the bearer of the present.
But this day is not the only occasion of exchanging presents in a family, it is also an occasion for recollecting services and civilities; of making our respects to ladies, to superiors whom we wish to honor.
If the articles are linen, they should not be returned before they are washed.
Politeness is also opposed, in certain cases, to a too great haste to know anything relating to ourselves.
But the desire to find for ourselves some such occupation, ought not to lead us to turn over the leaves of books placed upon the chimney-piece or elsewhere; to run over a pamphlet; or to handle visiting cards, or letters, even though it be only to read the superscription.
Then examine the means of overcoming the obstacle, even if you should be assured beforehand that none exists.
I shall not speak of more important loans, which are out of the range of politeness.
If any one, perceiving they were borrowed, should speak to the person of it, he would pass for an ill-bred man.
It will be enough then to make an enumeration of them, without intending to point out their necessity.
Persons are so wanting in delicacy on this subject, that those who have a passion for books, and who are very obliging in other respects, are forced to refuse making these troublesome loans.
When a lady has borrowed ornaments of another, as for instance, jewels, the latter should always offer to lend her more than are asked for: she ought also to keep a profound silence about the things which she has lent, and even abstain from wearing them for some time afterwards, in order that they may not be recognised.
Presents should excite surprise and pleasure, therefore you ought to involve them in a mystery, and present them with an air of joyful kindness.
For example, if a person brings you a letter, you should not be in a hurry to open it, but see whether the letter concerns the bearer at all, or only yourself.
If, among a number of valuable things, they take one to show you, be satisfied with looking at that alone, without appearing to think of the others.
People who have lived a little in the world, know how essential it is not to mingle with curiosity in the business of persons whom we visit; nor are they ignorant what conduct is to be observed in case we surprise persons by an unexpected call; but young persons may not know, and I beg them to give their attention to it.
"Why, papa?" or "Why, mamma?" or "I'll come in a moment."
"Shake hands with the baby and the children," they would say, "but please don't kiss them." They are wise in this,--don't you think so?
That big bed certainly looked strong enough to be a fortress against the giants or any other of the wonderful creatures of fairy-world.
When she was very little she sometimes waked up from such dreams with a shiver.
But the moment she heard her mother's voice, she turned quickly toward the house without stopping a moment longer to see whether her pet hen, Biddy Wee, or cross old Yellow Legs got the most dinner.
Mari's father thinks that two, or perhaps three, rooms are quite enough to build under one roof.
How fast the pile grew! and how skilful mother always was.
"COME, Mari, my little daughter, and you shall help me make the cakes," called her mother.
You can eat quantities of it, if you like, yet somehow it will not easily check your hunger, and it gives little strength.
The cake was lifted from the board to a hot flat stone on the fireplace, where it was quickly baked.
The first three cakes had to be rolled over and over again because they would stick to the board.
"Now, dear, be careful not to get a grain of dust on the floor," said her mother, as Mari stood at the table ready for directions.
They would be sure to get up in the morning complaining.
I will finish the baking while you take the baby and give him an airing."
The farm where Mari lives lies in a narrow valley half a mile from the sea.
Do you wonder what fun there could be in staying up in that basket, hour after hour?
It had a wooden top, which made it seem like a little house.
Her cheeks looked rosy enough to kiss, but such a thing seldom happened, for mothers in Norway believe that is a bad habit.
Before Mari had rolled out six cakes, her cheeks grew rosier yet.
"They are so happy; they love this pleasant summer-time as much as I do," she said to herself.
Mari never in her life thought of answering her parents by saying:
So the strong pole was fastened into the wall, and the cradle attached to the end.
When she went to sleep at night, she often dreamed of the gnomes who live far down in the earth, or the giants who once dwelt among the mountains.
It is no wonder, therefore, that our little cousin loved to think that these beings were still real.
Mari stood in the middle of the big farm-yard with a flock of hens around her.
"O yes, this country of Norway is very beautiful, but why don't you have beds long enough for people to sleep in with comfort."
A big basket was hanging down from the end of this pole, and in the basket was a little blue-eyed baby, cooing softly to himself.
It stood in the corner of the living-room, where Mari's mother worked all day, and where the family ate and sat.
It was hard work, although it had seemed easy enough when mother was doing it.
No one but Mari's family and the servants who work on the farm live here.
The cold winter winds are kept off by the mountain which stands behind the houses.
Even then she loved to watch her mother as she sat at the big moulding-board, rolling out the dough until it was nearly as thin as paper.
Mari knew, for she went at once to the other side of the room where a pole was fastened into the wall.
The snowy kerchief was tied under her chin just as it was when she came in from the farm-yard.
This is because the little girl's home is made up of several different houses, instead of one large farmhouse, such as one sees in America.
Her mother had promised she should learn to make flat-bread to-day.
It was so high that even grown people did not get into it without climbing up the steps at one side.
She had no need to put on an apron before beginning her work, for she already wore one.
Yet, after all, it was not more than a hundred years ago that they seemed real to many grown-up people.
The child looked very pretty, with her long, light hair hanging down her back in two braids.