woman; but, as the height of good luck
does not happen to every one, the young are
obliged to have recourse to such aids as they
can find.

Books are necessarily the advisers of those
who have no competent friend to refer to;
accordingly, such educational helps to adolescent
men and women have enjoyed immense
popularity, when their merits have in the
least entitled them to deserve it. Witness
Lord Chesterfield's letters, in their day;
witness the novels of the Almack's class,
which, I believe, were studied by many as
much with the object of self-improvement
in deportment, as for mere amusement
or for vulgar curiosity about the doings of
their social superiors. Witness, too, the
numerous little manuals that are hatched in
broods by the press at the present day, and
are sold at most obtainable prices, from
twopence to a shilling and upwards. Witness
the True Courtesies, the Spirits of Etiquette,
the Guides to Polite Society, the Codes of
Manners, the How-to-dress-well Handbooks
and the Dinner Table Observances.

Why, in this branch of artistical knowledge,
a living guide is better than one in print,
arises from the fact that the details of
manners are conventional and capricious, while
their grand principles and their spirit only
are universally accepted. Even in the same
country, the observances that are inviolable
in certain castes and cliques are absurd
if laid down for others. But your tutor in
etiquette will tell you what is right and proper
in his and your circle, in respect to
minutiæ; a book can only lay down regulations
which may or may not be applicable to
the society in which your orbit lies. It is
less ridiculous even generally to despise such
minutiæ of pump-room etiquette, than to
observe them strictly mal-apropos. The plain
rusticity of a country farmer is much less
absurd, when met with in London, than are
Cheapside and Regent Street airs and graces
shown off in a little market-town. For those
especially who are likely to take a wide range
of travel, the great point will be to ground
themselves well in the fundamental elements
of self-possession, self-respect (which involves
respect for others) personal neatness, a ready
appreciation of what is admirable in any
shape, a desire to be pleased (which implies
the desire of pleasing), and an allowance to
others of indulging their innocent peculiarities,
as we assert the right of indulging our
own, when not offensive. With such broad
views of good behaviour, you may journey
respected from the north pole to the south.
If you unflinchingly cling to the etiquette-
books and Islingtonian formulæ, you will
often excite a smile as an amusing specimen
of affectation.

No rules of behaviour that are contrary to
common sense need be adhered to anywhere.
For instance, " In eating fish, use your fork
in your right hand, and a piece of bread in
your left" that is, never eat fish with a
knife and fork, as you would meat. Now,
the writer who caused the above generally-
received dogma to be perpetuated in type,
probably was not aware of the origin of the
whim—for it is nothing more—which often
involves the disciple in ludicrous difficulties.
Almost the universal habit of the French—
in the middle and lower classes, at least—is
to cut up whatever happens to be upon their
plate into mouthfuls (no matter whether it
be roast meat, boiled meat, vegetables, or
fish), and then, laying the knife quite on one
side, they eat it with the fork in the right hand,
a piece of bread being in the left, if required.
In large table d'hôte dinners, where you are
expected to partake of five-and-twenty or
thirty dishes, the portions offered to each
guest are sometimes so small that the fork
alone suffices to dispose of them. Somebody,
in an endeavour to import the mode (at about
the epoch of the introduction of white tablecloths
at dessert), spoilt it, and, in short,
made nonsense of it, by confining it to fish,
and tabooing the knife completely in that
special case. Such trifles do not belong to
cosmopolitan good manners, though they may
be curious to observe as national marks.
Thus, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred,
you may tell an Englishman from a Frenchman
or a German by the way in which they
each eat soup. The former puts the side of
the spoon to his lips to sip the fluid; the latter
presents the spoon lengthwise in front of his
mouth, in the way in which a juggler must,
if he seriously intends to swallow the spoon.

There is a book called La Petite Civilité de
la Jeunesse, or The Little Civility of Youth,
which well deserves translation, with a few
trifling modifications to adapt it to a
Protestant nation. It is looked upon as the rule
of right in France. In many points it is
admirable; but, in several particulars of etiquette
it does not agree with the teachings of the
London Guides to Politeness. Thus, in one
of the latter we are told: " When your visitors
arise to go, ring the bell for a servant to
attend them. Merely rising from your chair
and bowing, if not very intimate, is sufficient
leave-taking: never attend them to the
door." Now this, though common enough
in England, would not be thought very
courteous in France. Little Civility says,
"You must always re-conduct those who
pay you a visit to the door; and if they
have to get into a carriage, you must
not retire till they have taken their seats.
When there are ladies, you must offer your
hand to help them into their carriage.
When, amongst the visitors you receive, there
are some who remain while others are departing,
you ought only to accompany those whose
position is sufficiently distinguished to justify
your leaving the rest of the company on
their account. When a lady rises to take
leave, you must quit every one else to
conduct her to the door of the suite of