sex. Valets are called by their Christian
names; chamber-women and female attendants
by their family name, short and plain.
Thus, to address a female servant, you say,
Weber, Smith, Wilcox. Such is the usage.
[How would they manage with a maid from
Jutland, where the peasantry are not allowed
the luxury of surnames, and a girl is simply
known as Gertrude, the daughter of John?]

The wife of a knight or baronet joins the
title of "Lady" to her family name, and
never to her baptismal name, under pain of
incurring the censure due to the most shocking
usurpation. To the daughters of lords,
counts, viscounts, and dukes appertains the
privilege of being Lady Louisa, Lady Lucy, &c.
They take the title of lady from their cradle.
The daughters of lords are only qualified as
"Miss" at the Théâtre-Français. This
privilege of birth is indelible; a young "lady"
does not lose it, even by marrying a
commoner. Nevertheless, the tendency of
manners towards equality struggles against the
vanity of customs.

For the last five-and-twenty or thirty
years, well-mannered people abstain, in
conversation, from mentioning almost at every
sentence, as is the practice in France, the
titles of the persons whom they are addressing.
In reply to the questions of a lady, a
lord, of a minister, or even of the queen,
people limit themselves to saying "Yes,"
"No," without adding anything further.
The grace of the intonation takes the place
of the titular vocative, which is understood.
It is this laconism of speech which causes the
French to regard the English as haughty and
disdainful. French politeness would be
considered in England as ignorance of fashionable
usage. In writing to a great personage,
it would be equally vulgar to repeat more
than once or twice the titles of "my lord," or
"your lordship."  The quality once
mentioned, the writer resumes the "you" which
is common to everyone. Let us pursue a
little further this chapter, which is curious,
perhaps, but certainly useful, and which we
are far from being in a condition to exhaust.

The English language furnishes us with a
singular mark of the decided line of separation
between the two castes of the country.
Flat, nasal, and unrhythmical in the mouths
of the populace, the language takes, with
people of quality, a delicate and expressive
accent, a measured lightness, and an elegant
firmness. Now, it is impossible for an
Englishman of low birth, were he even a professor
of oratorical style, to attain the accent of
well-bred persons. The most careful education
cannot reach that point without the
frequentation of the grand monde, which alone
conserves and perpetuates purity of
pronunciation together with elegance of language.
Thus, on the neutral ground of equality, where
there is an entire abstinence from outward
distinctions, where everyone is dressed alike, it
suffices for you to utter three words, to be
classed instantly. One of the most notorious
of these differences, as delicate as ineffaceable,
consists in the manner in which the nice
aspiration of the letter h is given. The
common people either suppress it or displace
it. Its omission is nothing less than
intolerable; its displacement is monstrous.
Consequently, scarcely more than three-fifths of
the population are thus distinguished.

In what regards the habits of social life,
everything is regulated according to rank,
even in the intimacy of families, with the
most rigid etiquette. The precedence of
rank does not yield even before a foreigner.
If you dine out, await a signal which shall
set you in motion in the direction of the
dining-room; then do not hesitate, and
eschew those ridiculous ceremonies to which
French provincial gentlemen abandon
themselves in the vicinity of doors, especially
when ecclesiastics or gentlemen of the long
robe are present. In England, all is ordained,
all foreseen, all regulated, all limited; which
is the reason why nothing is starched
and stiff, and things seem to follow their
natural course. It is uncertainty which is
the cause of confusion; it is hesitation which
chills a friendly meeting. An idea is scarcely
entertained of the minutiæ to which usage
descends. Thus, the number of taps which
it is proper to give with the street-door
knocker, when you pay a visit, is, as near as
may be, determinate. Nothing appertaining
to trade or domestic service will presume to
knock at the principal door. The postman
is the object of a solitary exception; and
everybody knows that, under pain of reprimand,
he ought only to give a couple of
knocks. A man comme-il-faut, if he respects
himself and does not wish to pass for a
careless fellow, will strike five, solidly planted.
Ladies are announced by seven little taps
following each other rapidly. The subject
might be continued without ever coming to
an end. Moreover, a meritorious Frenchman
is permitted to be ignorant of some of these
despotic laws on his entrance into the
English world. He will meet with pardon
through his quality of foreigner; but, if he
were ignorant of all, and had not the talent
to guess them, he would run great risk of
passing for a clown.

The invariable foundation of an English,
dinner consists of a fish and a roast; the
surplus is accessory. A character is given to
the ceremony, much more by the dimensions
of these two joints than by the multiplicity
of other dishes. To a guest of note, there
would be served a salmon or a sturgeon a
yard in length—for the fish is always
presented first—with divers sauces and spicy
seasonings, whose flavour is highly relished
by the English. To the French, they have
the taste of a display of fireworks that you
had taken care to set light to before attempting
to swallow them. Even the gingerbeer
made Monsieur Wey fancy he was drinking