low, indeed, is the estimate formed by this
arbiter elegantiarum of the previous manners of
those for whose use this volume is intended;
the errors against which the reader is cautioned
being such as one would hardly attribute to a
backwoodsman. When Mr. Orson dines out, the
following are some of the cautions which he is
to bear in mind:

"When it is announced that ' dinner is
served,' you are not to precipitate (ne vous
précipitez pas) yourself into the dining-room. Wait
till the master or lady of the house gives you
the signal to enter."

Surely this piece of advice is hardly necessary.
Is it usual for the guests when the grim gentleman
in the stiff neckcloth opens the door softly
and whispers " Dinner" in the ear of the host——
is it usual, I ask, for the guests to " precipitate"
themselves headlong after him, and rush
at full speed into the adjoining apartment where
the cloth is laid? Perhaps this is in our
natures after all, and perhaps it is for this reason
that that announcement of dinner is always
made secretly and in so low a tone to the master
of the house. He gets the first news of the
fact by this means, and is able to marshal his
visitors in order, keeping the tremendous news
that the soup is up, decently in the background.

Once seated at table, our friend Orson is
reminded once more of the unhappy Abbé Cosson,
and is entreated not to spread out his napkin
over his clothes, but to lay it simply across his
knees. The ladies, however, are allowed to act
in a more workman-like manner, " it being
permitted to them to attach their napkins with
pins to their dress after any fashion they like."

And now that his napkin is properly adjusted,
Orson may get to work, but he is still addressed
in a bullying tone, as the reader shall see by the
twenty-first rule of the dinner-code.

"21. You must not turn up your wristbands
as if you were going to wash your hands."

Tormented by the agonised desire for freedom
of action, which has led him to desire the
turning up of his cuffs, and chafed by the
remembrance that this luxury is denied him,
Orson begins to fidget in his chair, and Bon Ton
is down upon him at once.

"22. You must never sway yourself backwards
and forwards in your chair, nor must you balance
the chair itself on one or two of its legs. Still
less may you fling yourself back in your seat.
In a word, assume an attitude that is at once
decent and dégagé."

A very difficult thing to do to order. The
miserable Orson will be fortunate if, in his
struggles to combine the decent with the
dégagé, he does not end in depositing himself
under the table, which would perhaps, after all,
be his wisest plan. Professor Bon Ton goes
on to his next rule.

"23. Avoid above all things interfering with
your neighbours on either side, and take care not
to give them an elbow-knock in the vivacity of
your movements."

After a few more directions to our poor Orson
to abstain from violent gesticulation, to keep his
feet still under the table, and his elbows from
touching its surface, the thirtieth rule takes him
in hand conversationally, and bids him " by no
means to say or do anything that may bring on
a political or religious discussion." Bon Ton
is evidently mistrustful of his pupil.

"34. You must not blow into your soup
when it is too hot. You must wait till it has
had time to cool.

"35. Nor must you put your plate to your
mouth to drink the broth which it contains. You
must swallow it by the aid of your spoon."

As there are no less than ninety-five rules for
behaviour at table given by our author, it is
obvious that only a few of the more remarkable
can be quoted here. The reader who is studying
"ton," may, however, be glad of the following:

"46. You are never to smell the meat when
it is brought to you on your plate.

"48. Do not gnaw at a bone too closely, or
you will resemble a jackal.

"49. If you find in your plate some unclean,
thing, such as a hair or a caterpillar, pass your
plate to the servant, but by no means say
anything about it, lest you should disgust the other
guests."

This excellent rule is followed soon after by
another, equally admirable:

"54. Never speak with your mouth full, for
fear of spluttering."

And by yet another, which gives us an insight
into some customs obtaining here in England, of
which we were not all of us aware:

"56. Do not wipe your fingers on the tablecloth,
but on your napkin. The English wipe
them, as well as their knives, on a piece of bread,
but such is not the custom in France."

The manner in which every little difficulty
which might occur to our friend Orson is met
and provided for in this small volume, does the
utmost credit to the author's ingenuity. A
wonderful instance of this is found in the seventy-
second rule of this wondrous code:

"72. If you are seized with the hiccups,
eclipse yourself (eclipsez-vous) for a moment,
and do not return to table till the fit is over."

Professor Bon Ton is very severe about drinking.
It is his opinion, that " we should cause to
be flung out of window as an insolent ignoramus
the man who should permit himself to drink out
of a lady's glass, in order to divine what she is
thinking about."

We now come to various forms of politeness
in other matters. That of " masters of houses"
is especially peculiar:

"Choose an apartment which shall correspond
with your fortune and your tastes.

"Let it have air, sunshine, and be free from
damp, if you care for the health of yourself and
family.

"Take care to have a good landlord, but
always draw out a lease in which every
contingency is provided against.

"Choose a house where you will not
encounter on the staircase either scamps or scampesses,
still less rats or drunkards."

Very sensible advice all this, but one hardly