The hostess who sits down in the hush following the 7 o’clock diminishing clatter of good-byes at the end of her tea, can read a good deal of social law as she runs over the contents of the silver tray that has been heaping since 4 o'clock in the butler’s hand. There is the married woman’s card. It is always a trifle over three inches long and a trifle over two inches wide. Some are larger. Mrs. Hobart uses a card three and a half by almost two and a half. Mrs. Henry Crocker does also.
THE bit of pasteboard is a trifle, perhaps, but it is one of the most significant trifles in this complex world, where the knot of a tie or the size of a pompadour may testify to the wearer’s social status. The calling card may seem even less than either of these, but it tells far more. Wouldn’t our ancestors back in the days of primeval man have thought us a strange race, if they could have known that we were to be judged by a two-by-three-inch scrap of pasteboard, on which only a name— perhaps an address—sometimes a day, is engraved? And yet, after all, how simple a diploma that two-by-three card is, certifying to our knowledge of the forms correct.
The hostess who sits down in the hush following the 7 o’clock diminishing clatter of good-byes at the end of her tea, can read a good deal of social law as she runs over the contents of the silver tray that has been heaping since 4 o'clock in the butler’s hand. There is the married woman’s card. It is always a trifle over three inches long and a trifle over two inches wide. Some are larger. Mrs. Hobart uses a card three and a half by almost two and a half. Mrs. Henry Crocker does also.
Mrs. Hugh Tevis has a card that is only three by two, no larger than an unmarried woman’s. It is fashionable to engrave the married name in full, as “Mrs. Josephine Sadoc Tobin” and “Mrs. Henry Edwards Huntington.” This, however, depends somewhat on a husband’s choice, and if he has always been in the habit of writing his name with initials he usually prefers that his wife should follow suit. Both initials are sometimes written, as “Mrs. S. G. Murphy,” or the middle initial, as “Mrs William H. Crocker.” Mrs Crocker, by the way, has no period after the abbreviation “Mrs.” This is modern and smart.
The head of a family often uses only the surname, as “Mrs. Hobart.” but this is not advisable unless the name is uncommon. When the address is engraved on the card it appears in the lower right-hand corner; the day at home in the left. A card may have either, both or neither. Mrs. Henry T. Scott has a card giving her Burlingame address in the right, her San Francisco address in the left corner. If one lives on a street corner it is smarter to write out that statement as, “Laguna and Washington streets, northwest corner” instead of the simple house number. If the card is. to be used while you are away from home it is good form to engrave merely “San Francisco” for the address. A card used in making farewell calls has “P. P. C.” in the left corner. This is an abbreviation of the French form– “Pour prendre congé ” or “To take leave.”
A widow’s card shows her own Christian name instead of her husband’s. Thus, “Mrs. Jane Stanford” would be according to custom, although Mrs. Stanford is in the habit of signing herself “Mrs. Leland Stanford.” The width of the mourning border is a matter of personal taste. Sometimes it is almost a third of an inch wide; sometimes hardly more than a black line. – San Francisco Call, 1903
Etiquette Enthusiast, Maura J Graber, is the Site Editor for the Etiquipedia© Etiquette Encyclopedia
