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ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY.

Has the moment arrived when you are called upon to cast aside your youthful associations and youthful irresponsibilities to take your place in society as a man or woman? It is a most important moment—one which deserves the consideration of a thoughtful study; for, upon a proper knowledge of what belongs to true manhood, true womanhood, does much of your after-life success depend. If you are ignorant of the laws of politeness, of the rules and observances of true sociality, of the means necessary to render yourself an agreeable companion and a useful member of the social circle, you begin life at immense disadvantage, and will never cease to regret that ignorance. It is such an easy matter to become familiar with the usages and proprieties of social life that ignorance is inexcusable; and when we see men of sense and sagacity behaving, in an assembly, at a party, at the dinner-table, at the card-table, like half-tutored savages,—rude, awkward, uncivil, a source of annoyance to their friends, we feel a degree of indignation rather than of pity, since it is so easy to learn how to behave, that there really is no good excuse for boorishness and awkward deportment.

To illustrate, let us narrate the case of our young friend Falconbridge, whose entree into society afforded a subject of laughter and comment for weeks after the incidents which he has had the courage to place before us as a warning. He tells his story thus:

"I pulled the bell with a most nervous twitch; I 'walked in' with fear and misgivings; in the parlor not only sat Miss Jones, but her two cousins, the old lady, a maiden aunt, and some four or five of the junior branches of the Jones family. I got through, though it was fearful work. I set my hat on the center-table, and it fell off; I picked it up, and in doing so, hit my nose against a pile of gilt-edged literature, and down it came pell-mell; but the children came to my rescue, and I finally found myself armed by a lady each side—the cousins! Imagine my feelings—Miss J. going in advance, en route, down the avenue to the portly residence of Misses Degrands. We entered the vestibule; I had not spoken a word all the way; the two pretty cousins and Miss J. doing a heap of conversation. In the hall the old negro servant made a grab at my hat, but I held on, and in triumph carried it into the parlor, where, in the midst of introductions, flaring of lamps, and waving and fluttering of silks and cashmeres, bowing, scraping, fuss and feathers, to all of which I was more or less deaf and blind, down upon a piano-stool in the corner I dropped my hat.

"The two cousins froze to me, introduced me; I bowed; one of the Miss Degrands came forward; I was introduced, and as she, in the tip of fashion, made her perfectly grand theatrical bow to me, grabbed her by the hand in the most democratic manner imaginable, and shook it most heartily. She not only blushed, but, by her eyes, I saw that she was likewise mad as a hornet. Her sister and her had a word, and then her sister avoided me. Things grew no better fast; from one bungle I got into another. In whist I was ignorant and awkward; in a hop waltz with one of the cousins, I trod on her toes, until she screamed; and, in trying to mend the matter, I stepped on the flounces of Miss Degrand's dress and tore off five yards at least. In despair, I backed down, saw a seat, rushed to it, and down I sat upon my hat! In confusion I arose, snatched up the pancake-looking affair, which I frenziedly held up to public gaze. There was a roar of laughter—in which I did not join, I assure you; I gave a rush forward, hit the corner of the table, tilted over the astral lamp!—such a crash!—I kept on, I made for the door which just then old Degrand was entering avant courier of his old negro man, who bore a large tray well filled with wine in glasses. I struck the old gentleman so forcibly that he fell upon Pompey, glasses, and wine; and, on my mad career, I proceeded. Going out the wrong end of the hall, I found myself in a dark dining-room; but, jerking open the first door in advance, I went out into a hall, thence to an anteroom; groping in the dark, I struck my forehead against a half-open door, saw bushels of stars, and—fell senseless!

"How or when I got home, the Lord only knows; but, for one week, I had a head too big for my hat, and a pair of terrifically black eyes. As soon as able to travel, I left that 'settlement' never to return."

Now this is no overwrought scene, but one which could easily have happened to any bashful, awkward, disconcerted young person. The great error he made was in not going into society perfectly self-possessed, from having a right knowledge of what was proper in company. In the first place, he had waited too long before entering into society, and, secondly, he had not informed himself at all upon the most common proprieties of the parlor. What else could have been expected than discomfiture and disgrace?

As a rule, then, let us recommend all young persons to enter into social intercourse ere they become "of age." It is a most admirable experience to meet in friendly chat with a friend or two—to spend an evening with an intelligent lady, and to learn by degrees the confidence and reliance which will serve to carry you bravely through the evening at the brilliant rooms of fashion and gay company. It will be found, by both sexes, that timidity wears off rapidly by simple social converse; and the young man or woman who proposes to become a gentleman or lady should not fail to embrace every opportunity for meeting with well-mannered and intelligent friends—to spend an evening with them—to read, talk, walk, ride with them—to go out to concerts, to the theater, to the pic-nic, excursion, church, or evening party.

Timidity is not a sin—it is merely a fault which will soon wear away, and a proper self-possession will take its place, if the novice in society will use all necessary means to overcome the feeling which takes fright at a smile, and is disconcerted by a frown.

In seeking to overcome bashfulness, let there be a careful study to avoid the very common extreme of forwardness. This is the more unbearable because it is a sin of commission, while bashfulness is a sin of omission. To be forward, rude, intrusive, argues a sad want of good breeding which no leniency will overlook. In a female this rudeness is absolutely unbearable, because it so outrages all ideas of feminine graces and virtues—it makes us think the person coarse, and this very feeling divests us of the respect, the reverence which should always be felt for the "gentle sex." We say earnestly to those young girls who bandy words with provoking young men, who always romp when they are abroad, and win the name of being "independent," that you very much injure yourself in the estimation of all well-mannered persons, and do your character the injustice of having it considered un-feminine. Be gay, be cheerful, be the spirit of every company, but at the same time preserve the delicacy, the refinement, the grace, which are the surest virtues for conquering admiration, for winning love.

"Snobs" are always impudent, and generally are ignorant persons. They are rude as the monkey is rude, because they really do not know what constitutes good breeding. Their tailor literally "makes the man"—their whole mind is given to the tie of their cravat, and their boots absorb much of their hardest efforts at philosophy. They are simply nuisances—a blot on the fair name of man; and should be regarded as an extensive species of ape.