receiving of the visitor, &c. The great difficulty
of finding conversation, is not even touched upon
in this section of our author's work.

True, the unhappy wretch who is bent on
making a morning call is freely advised as to the
hours at which he should or should not pay a
visit, as to what he is to do when he is offered
a chair, or when this civility is refrained from;
in all these matters he is well prompted, but not
a word of advice is given to him as to what,
when once in his chair, he is to begin to talk
about. I regret this the more, because there
is an impression abroad that a much greater
abundance and variety of subjects is introduced
into French small-talk than is the case with us;
and above all, that the French never talk as we do
about the weather. If the conversation proper
for morning calls had been mentioned oy the
Professor, depend on it he would have suggested
that his pupils should begin with the weather.
This topic is, indeed, largely discussed in France,
and the only difference in this respect between
the two nations seems to me to be, that the
French do not pursue it and worry it with such
fury and venom as we do. After a few remarks
they let the weather alone, while we try back to
last month, last spring, last winter, the winter
before last, the thunderstorm before the one
before last, and stick to it till it drops
exhausted from our hands.

By far the most valuable, though most
dispiriting part of Professor Bon Ton's treatise is
that which relates to what he calls the "Exigencies
of Society." It was when I came to the
consideration of this particular section of the
work, that I began to have doubts whether
I should be acting wisely in having anything at
all to do with a state of society whose
"exigencies" were so many, and, as will presently
appear, attended with such frequent demands upon
the purse. The very first sentence of the opening
chapter on the "Exigencies" is alarmingly
expensive in its tone: "If you lose your fortune,
retire from the world before the world has time
to retire from you." And again: "The world
has numerous exigencies which can only be
satisfied by means of money." What these are,
we shall not be long in finding out. "The
exigencies," says our author, "of the New Year's
Day Festival, require that on that occasion one
should disburse in presents ten times the value
of the dinners which one has received in the
course of the year, under pain of being set down
as a stingy wretch who knows nothing of life.
As to other hospitalities of less value than
dinners, such as invitations to balls, soirées, and
the like, these you may repay with gifts of
smaller price; but, remember, the more the
gifts are valuable, the greater will be your
reputation for amiability." It is agony to our
Professor to have to fall into this dreadful
fashion of New Year donations, and the
following mode of getting out of the scrape, which
he has doubtless tried himself, is given for the
public benefit: "An absence," he says, "of a
month from town (the month of January), it may
be a real or a pretended absence, will hold you
absolved from all those exigencies, but you run
the risk of being suspected of stinginess."

In going into this subject of the "Exigencies"
more in detail, our Professor begins with
those which are connected with drawing-room
gambling. On this theme, Monsieur Bon Ton
speaks very strongly. "Play," he says, "is the
shame of our drawing-rooms, the vice of Bon
Ton, the triumph of fools. Play is the gate by
which all the ignoble passions find access into
society—avarice, greed, and deceit."

"Play," he continues, "puts an end to all
sense of shame, as will be seen by the fact that
in some magnificent drawing-rooms it is
considered the duty of the winner to put a certain
sum under the candlestick, to pay for the price
of the cards. It is true, however," the Professor
adds, "that this ingenious mode of asking for
alms only exists in the present day in certain
salons, which are altogether behind the age."

The exigencies of play may be shuffled out of
by your declining to sit down to the table, but
there are others connected with French life from
which there is no such escape. There are some
social ceremonies in which, if you are once
involved, the "exigencies" are down upon you
with a vengeance. A christening is one of these.
Here is the author's view of the duties of a
godfather:

"The office of a godfather is always an
unpleasant one, because custom has really
converted it into a species of tax.

"Unless you are very rich, or a near relative,
or that circumstances oblige you to it, refuse in
so many words the proposal that you should
accept this function.

"There are certain fathers in this town
(Paris) who only choose rich people as
godparents to their children, that they may
assure them a, resource for the future.

"If your fortune is a limited one, refuse, for
should you accept you will either be set down
as a niggard if you make a small present, or a
vain coxcomb, who is spending more than he can
afford, if you make a large one."

The author then proceeds to show that it is
not without reason that he gives all these
cautions. If you accept the office you are in for
the following donations:

"You owe, first of all, a present to the mother
of the child. You should inform yourself
clandestinely beforehand what will be acceptable
to her—a bracelet, for example, or some other
article of jewellery. In lower life, a box of
very choice bonbons might be considered a
sufficient present.

"To the godmother, you must present from
six to a dozen pairs of white gloves, in addition
to boxes of sugar-plums in sufficient quantities
to enable her to be liberal with them among her
friends. If she is young, you will add a bouquet
of orange, or other white flowers; and if you
unite with them some fashionable knick-knack,
the whole will be well received.

"The godmother may refuse everything else
but the bouquet and the sugar-plums. If she
accepts the other offerings of the godfather, it