into existence — the violent bore, and by far the
most dangerous specimen of the bore-tribe with
which mankind is acquainted. He never speaks
to anybody near him, but always to some one at
the other end of the table, or, at least, on the
other side of the board. His loud harsh voice
makes itself heard above all other noises, and his
audience, instead of diminishing, increases at
every word. Then he is not detected as a bore.
People who have an eye for a bore—and these
are not numerous, there being a large section of
society which likes to be bored—even those who
know something about boring, I say, are taken
in by this man. "Bores are monotonous," they
say, " and quietly persistent, while this man has
rather a spasmodic way of speaking, and he
makes a noise, too: no, he cannot be a bore; let
me listen to him." And they do listen to him,
and that is not all, nor the worst of it; for other,
and heretofore droning bores, observing the
violent bore's success, say to themselves, "Marry,
I also will be violent, and haply I may get a
hearing as well as another," and so the mischief
spreads.

It is easy for a man to know when he is boring.
I have often seen even a violent bore made aware
of his being a bore by the faces of his company;
and I have observed him to plunge on with new
energy out of pure vindictive feeling. The signs
given by a bored audience are unmistakable. An
order given to a servant by the master of the
house, a general tendency in the company to
move in their seats, a wandering eye in the
individual addressed, all these are unmistakable
symptoms that it is time to shut up shop and
give somebody else an innings.

Decidedly boring is forbidden by good taste,
and good taste is a part of common politeness,
and as such is binding on all. On all — the
highest and the lowest — in their respective ways.
What opportunities the shopkeeper has of
practising what is dictated by good taste! That
stereotyped phrase, " What is the next article?"
is a breach of commercial good taste. It is
amazingly injudicious, and ineffective too, for, in
fact, you are teased till you get savage, and
resolve that you will never again enter the shop;
just as you also resolve that the gentleman who,
while operating on your hair, remarks that it is
"certainly dry, and that a little of the Elixir-
balsam of Peruvia would," &c., shall have but
few opportunities henceforth of commenting on
the state of your thatch. I once bought a bottle
of olives at an eminent grocer's in a leading
thoroughfare at the West-end, and as the man
who fetched it returned to me with the bottle in
his hand, he lightly threw it up once or twice
and caught it again; the action, taken in
combination with a very leisurely and languid style
of walking, being inexpressibly offensive. That
same languor in a shopman is very revolting, and
so is any manifestation of interest in matters
foreign to the particular transaction in which he,
the seller, and you, the buyer, are engaged. A
shopman who pauses while packing up your
parcel, to glance out of window at something
going on in the street, should be transported for
life.

Enough of these "modem instances." Let
us go back to generalities, for a moment,
before leaving the subject of Our Politeness.
"Things are not what they seem." The thing
that most takes our fancy at first sight is not
always the best thing or the finest thing.
Knowledge, and experience, and tolerably sincere
study, enlighten us to the worth of the different
wares with which we are brought in contact in
this great market-place. As the years accumulate
upon us, like the rings that are added to the
tree-trunk, as the hairs tumble from our crowns,
and grizzle on our chins, we find — if we belong
to the order of persons who have their minds
tolerably open to conviction —we find the clue to
many enigmas, and the scales that hid many
truths from us drop gently, or are torn roughly,
as the case may be, from our eyes. Invariably,
our discoveries tend one way; they tend towards
a better appreciation of what is solid, sound, and
true, and to an increased undervaluing of
qualities which are slight and superficial. A vol-au-
vent is probably to many palates a more
agreeable dish than a leg of mutton, but it is not so
valuable. When we want merely to please our
taste, we dally with the first; but when we want
support and strength, I think we are apt to have
recourse to the joint. With this beautiful simile,
we will dismiss for the present this question of
bowing and scraping, and get on with all
speed to other matters connected with — our
manners.

MR. CHARLES DICKENS'S READINGS.
HANOVER SQUARE ROOMS.
On Tuesday Evening, May 5,
MR. CHARLES DICKENS will read his
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY AT MR. SQUEERS'S
SCHOOL,
AND
BOOTS AT THE HOLLY TREE INN.
Stalls, 5s. Centre Seats, 2s. Back Seats, 1s.
Tickets to be had at the Office of All the Year Round, 26, Wellington
Street, Strand; of Mr. JOHN POTTLE, 14 and 15 Royal Exchange,
City; Messrs. CHAPMAN and HALL'S, Publishers, 193 Piccadilly; at
AUSTIN'S Ticket Office, St. James's Hall; and at PAYNE'S Ticket
Office, Hanover Square Rooms.