saluted by one of his friends, you also are bound
to return the salute, though unacquainted with
the person who makes it. Intimate friends
salute by a motion of the hand; equals, by
taking off the hat and raising it a little above
the head. A lady salutes by a motion of the
head, or by a slight bend of the knee, as if
making a curtsey. When, after exchanging
salutations, you enter into conversation with a
superior or a lady, you ought, in France, to
remain uncovered, hat in hand, until requested
to replace it.

In general, when accosting acquaintances, it
is best to avoid familiarity of manner, which
sometimes savours of unpoliteness. An
impudent fellow, one day meeting a grand personage
and addressing him with "Good day, my friend!
how do you do?" received for answer, "Good
day, my friend, what's your name?"

It is not allowable to take the hand of persons
you meet, except between equals, or by a
superior to an inferior. When you take any one's
hand, you may press it gently, but not shake it.
It is unpolite to call any one loudly by name in
the street.

If you ask your way, it must always be done
with the most extreme politeness, taking off
your hat, even when addressing persons of quite
an inferior class. In obedience to the law "Do
to others as you would be done by," the person
so addressed is bound to supply the required
information, if he can. In villages only, and
the desert streets of towns, is it allowable to
enter houses to make inquiries.

Calls or visits are one of the connecting links
of society; they bring people together and keep
up more intimate relations than could arise from
mere business intercourse. We cannot,
therefore, allow, with misanthropes, that calls are
too wearisome, and that they ought to be
abolished. They are useful and even necessary,
when made judiciously and à propos. If you
come to settle in a town, whether in an official
capacity or for affairs, it is usual to make what
is termed "a general call" on the persons with
whom you have to do. In short, in France,
the new comer is the first to call; he is expected
to seek, instead of waiting to be sought. After
a dinner, ball, or evening party, you should call
on your entertainer within the week following.
The first case is sometimes spoken of as a "visite
de digestion."

You should knock or ring very gently—just
sufficiently loud to be heard. In old times, it
was considered "the thing" simply to scratch at
the door of a great personage. At present, it
might expose you to the risk of being mistaken
for the house-dog. If the party on whom you call
be not visible, you leave with the porter a
visiting-card, folding one of the corners to show
that you have left the card in person.

It is not permissible to keep people waiting
who call upon you. It would be an
impertinence to do so, without absolute necessity. If
you are detained by any accident, you must
charge another person to do the honours of the
house, until you can appear and make proper
excuses. Any one who acted otherwise, would
expose himself to mortifying lessons. A duke,
belonging to one of the first families of France,
called one day on a minister, who happened
to be busy arranging the books in his library.
The minister, unwilling to quit his task, sent
a request to the duke to wait. After the lapse
of an hour, the minister deigned to show
himself, saying, by way of excuse, "I had quite
forgotten you, Monsieur le Duc."

"Say, rather, that you forgot yourself,
Monsieur le Ministre," replied the duke.

When persons who call on you take their
leave, you are bound to accompany them to the
door, unless you are also receiving other visitors.
If you even descend one or two of the
doorsteps with them, the attention is still greater.
Ringing for the servant to show people out,
while you remain without stirring in the
drawing-room, alone, is quite opposed to French
politeness, and has, probably, given frequent
offence to foreigners ignorant of our habits.

The master or mistress of a house should
never offer a dinner sans cérémonie. A miser
once invited some people to dinner, and treated
them to meagre fare. At dessert he said, "You
see, my friends, I am sans cérémonie."

"Oh," replied one of the hungry sufferers,
"a little ceremony does no harm."

Martainville, the author of the Pied de
Mouton, accepted a dinner of the kind, and so
charmed his hosts with his conversation, that,
when about to take his leave, they would not
let him go until he fixed a time for coming and
dining with them again. "Very well, then," he
said, "since you insist, I will dine with you
again immediately, if you like."

Brillat-Savarin declares that the man who
receives his friends without paying personal
attention to the repast prepared for them, is
unworthy to have friends. You are responsible
for the well-being of the persons you invite, so
long as they remain under your roof.

For a gentlemen's dinner you will have hot
side-dishes, venison, fillet of beef, all the courses
solid and succulent, plenty of roasts. No light
pastry or sweets, but patés, hams, boars'-heads,
and other charcuterie of celebrity. At dessert,
select cheeses, brandy cherries and plums, early
fruits, and a few simple sweetmeats, solely for
show. A ladies' dinner is a different affair: cold
side-dishes, courses of choice fish and game,
plenty of delicate pastry, first-rate vegetables,
Bavarian cheeses and creams perfumed à la
vanille and à la rose, elaborate and elegant
dessert, with bonbons varying in flavour, shape,
and smell. A mixed dinner must be contrived
to suit all tastes. Note well, the cheese at
dessert, not between dinner and dessert. When
you invite French friends, have at least two or
three sorts of cheese on the table, each under a
glass cover. The Physiologie du Goût says: "A
dessert without cheese is a beauty blind of one
eye." Cut the cheese offered you, lengthwise,
instead of helping yourself to the pointed end.

Each napkin should be ticketed with the name
of the person for whom the place is intended.