Book Second, is addressed to the ladies exclusively, and, among other things, treats of the manner of preparing the room for receiving visitors; giving at the same time some useful hints for so arranging the curtains, that the light, whether warmed and softened through salmon-colored morcen, or reflected from glistening damask, may properly assist one's complexion. Some tolerably engraved diagrams are added, showing the most approved methods of adjusting ottomans and sofas, so that visitors may be taken in detail, or disposed of in detachments—ad libitum of their fair entertainers. To all of which are annexed a few available hints upon the art of securing a tete-a-tete, in windows or recesses, with those whom we wish particularly to favor amid the general rush.
Book Third, intended for gentlemen only, treats of the whole process of New-Year's visiting, according to the latest improvements. It gives much useful advice upon the art of compiling a visiting list, and suggests the expediency of always being provided with a pocket map. After disposing satisfactorily of that much agitated question, whether it is best to district the morning's operation into wards, or adhere to the ordinary usage of visiting by streets, our author presses very warmly upon those ambitious of becoming at all distinguished as New-Year's visitors, the indispensableness of system in plan, and coolness, promptness, and decision in execution, to get thro' even a tolerable list of calls. "Order," he justly observes, "is Heaven's first law, and method is quite indispensable in this matter above all others—a method too, which must confound all respect of persons and order of preferences, all distinctions of rank and fashion, into one principle of geographical precedence," while "self-possesision" he urges, "is particularly requisite to make an efficient use of each allotted moment, when people are darting to and fro around you, like stones from Catapultas." It is time, however, as our limits draw to a conclusion, that we should begin to quote more at large from the work, which we cannot perhaps do better than by quoting here a passage, which sets off the writer's pathetic powers to much advantage.
"Well," pursued my agitated informant, "three of my remaining seconds had already expiredcbut I could not leave him thus—I spoke again to him—I besought Riffleton—I conjured him as he sat there, pale as the mantelpiece against which he leaned—he—the gay, the dashing, the brilliant Riffleton—the soul of every set—the life of every circle—now listless, melancholy, and in despair—I conjured him to tell me what sudden affliction had overtaken him at such a moment—what circumstance had subdued—what pain had overwhelmed his spirit—what dear friend he had lost.—"Friend," he exclaimed, and the answer came from the depths of his soul hollowly as the ascending urn from the bottom of a well, that sends up no limpid brimmer from its parched sources. "Friend? not one but all—all my friends—I have lost my"—The word faltered upon his lips, as if they could not pronounce so dread a thing—"I have lost my visiting list!"
In relating this tragic occurrence, our author argues very soundly upon the expediency of being always provided with duplicate copies of one's list, to avoid the consequences of people thus dropping their acquaintance.
But we are rapidly approaching the bottom of the page, and have only room to mention that Book Fourth is composed of "the diary of a New-Year's visitor"—the whole of which we may perhaps copy in a future number and a quantity of miscellaneous pieces in verse upon visiting matters. Interesting as these must have been to the immediate friends of the writers, few of them, for the public at large, possess any interest. An exception might perhaps be made in favor of the following touching adieus of a celebrated beau, and veteran New-Year's day visitor, whose regret at leaving the circle which he had long adorned, was keen, when going abroad, that he could only send the following farewell cards to his four especial favorites.—
In a far away land when I hear them tell
Of a new risen star and the reigning bell,
I shall think of the card where I wrote with a sigh
T. T. L.
Ellen Adieu—
This clasp of the hand hath a meaning for thee
At the moment of paring, whose language should be
A smile for the many, a sigh for the few,
P. P. C.
Fanny Farewell—
Indifferent—cold as I saw thee to day
I would fain have been like thee, so careless and gay;
But a tear in despite of my bitterness fell,
P. D. A.
Mrs. Smith good day—
I shall probabyl sail in an hour or so,
But I'll stop as I'm passing, before I go,
And leave you what cards I have left, to say
D. I. O.
