you have," which are ungenteel phrases. It is
bad manners to raise your knife in putting
food into your mouth; " but it is worse,"
observes our editor, " to use your fingers," for
that purpose. He objects, too (and we think
rightly), to your taking " anything out of your
pocket,"—-a quid of tobacco, a small tooth
comb, for instance, " and laying it upon the
table by your plate."

Turning up your sleeves when sitting
down to table is also to be carefully avoided.
When made dishes or vegetables are handed
to you, be careful not to turn them over
fastidiously with your fork. Experience will soon
teach you to select the best piece for yourself
at a single glance. Our author does not
confine his valuable advice to the upper
classes only, nor disdain to throw a point or
two of elegant example for the consideration
of operatives. The revolutionary spirit has
done much to brutalise the lower orders in
France, he says, but he has hopes of them
still. He trusts to see amongst them
less frequently these pugilistic encounters
which make them resemble the English
of Box Hall (!!)  When a workman is
more genteel than his associates, he should
not, on that account, be called a spy or a
jesuit.

A well-bred physician, it appears, will
always say to a husband at the fashionable
season, "It is indispensable, sir, that
your wife should enjoy the waters of
Cheltenham, or the air of Brighton," as the case
may be. And again, in the provinces,
where dress—-to be called such—-is not to be
procured,

"A husband is quite inexcusable if he do not bring
his wife up to town with him to choose her apparel;
and, indeed, by negligence of this sort, gives her a
right to be sulky with him on his return; his own
taste can never be sufficiently light and airy to select,
for her, appropriate garments."

Here is some advice to young ladies
about spoiling their own good looks, which
cannot be too much insisted upon, and which
is, at least, as applicable to our own fair
countrywomen as to the beauties of France:

"Be not angry; for, if so, your nose contracts,
your upper-lip is elongated, your eyes are half covered
by their lids; you are frightfully ugly. And look not
starved of cold, for then all your features are
contracted, every muscle of your face is in a state of
tension,—-your neck sinks between your shoulders—-you
are hump-backed; consequently, the blood, less active
in this semi-circular position, makes you still colder
than if you walked on boldly, and you have further the
disadvantage of looking like a little, old man."

A variety of information is afforded to us
upon the ceremonies of baptism, burial, and
marriage, as regards both our manners and
morals. Upon the latter (and we suppose
upon the second) occasion it is permitted to
a gentleman to divest himself, temporarily,
of one of his gloves—-the right-hand one.

"We renounce," says the author, " upon this day
(that of our marriage) a certain good for an uncertain
happiness, and the event should therefore awaken in
us serious thought and some emotion. However,
there is nothing in it of so much importance, after all,
as in another French ceremony held in much higher
repute—-that of the Duello. It is indispensable that
we should know how to behave ourselves in this
respect."

Punctuality is to be strictly observed in
coming to the place of meeting. The principals
should keep silence. The challenger
fires first. Alter the first two shots the
seconds should make an attempt at
reconciliation; but, if the principals insist upon
a renewal of the combat, it must be
permitted. Before commencing to fight with
swords the salutations must, of course, be
interchanged.

"When the duel ends without serious mischief,
justice usually takes no notice of the affair; but let it be
remembered, if a man is killed or even seriously
wounded, prosecution and a prison are the inevitable
results of this foolish escapade."

Our author we have observed can be moral,
and all that now remains is to prove him to
be equally religious.

"It is fashionable, in the country, as well as in
Paris, to be charitable; and it is certainly a fashion
worthy of observance on its own merits."

It cannot but be gratifying to learn that a
custom which has already met with some
approval amongst us, has thus received the
sanction of the Parisian editor of Etiquette
for Ladies and Gentlemen.

FRENCH TAVERN LIFE.

CHAPTER THE SECOND.

WITH the close of the seventeenth century
a new era in French tavern-life began. The
race of bacchanalian poets, whose Helicon
was in the wine vat, ended with Saint Amand
and Chapelle, and the cabaret became the
home of those who went there only to feast
and carouse, with no thought of cultivating
the Muses. Freed from the restraints of the
court of Madame de Maintenon, the great
people who had danced ante-chamber there
availed themselves of the example set by the
Regent Orleans, and hurried to the tavern,
where their days and nights were mostly
spent. There was no place so obscure, no
haunt so degraded, but was filled with what
people called, at that time, the best
company. The low and dirty cabaret kept by
the notorious Rousseau, in the Rue d' Avignon,
held a bad pre-eminence, and the noble
dukes and marquises took shame to
themselves if they got drunk anywhere else.
Neither were they particular what kind of
wine they drank, provided they had it in
Rousseau's den. The popular tavern-keeper
quickly turned this mania to account, and
adulterated his wares to an extent sufficient