If several people walking together on a sidewalk of average width meet other groups of promenaders, both parties should fall into single line as they pass, allowing each group a fair share of the walk. This is especially incumbent when on a narrow crossing. It is very rude for groups of three or more to walk abreast without heeding the people whom they meet, and often crowding the latter off the curbstone. Young girls are sometimes very thoughtless in this matter. "Turn to the right, as the law directs" is an injunction that holds good for the crowded sidewalk.

If one, walking briskly, overtakes slower walkers ahead, and the crowd allows no space to get past them, one should watch for a chance to slip through a gap in the phalanx, rather than "elbow through." If no chance seems likely to occur, and haste is imperative, a polite man has no recourse but to step outside the curb and walk rapidly ahead, returning to the sidewalk a few paces in advance. A lady similarly hurried may slip through a small space, if one offers, with an apologetic "I beg pardon." But in no case should pushing be resorted to. It is very unmannerly for a party of loiterers to string themselves thus across the width of a sidewalk, and then saunter slowly, regardless of the fact that they are impeding the progress of busier people. A policeman should call their attention to the fact.

If the sidewalk is "blocked" by an orderly crowd, as it frequently is on the occasion of parades and other public demonstrations, a man may push his way through gently, saying, "I beg pardon" to those whom he is compelled to jostle. The fine breeding of a gentleman never shows more conspicuously than in his manner of getting through a crowd. The beauty of it is, or, perhaps, I might say, the utility of it is, that courtesy in such a case is very much more effective than "bluff," for the majority in an orderly crowd are inclined to be obliging, and quickly respond to a good-humored request; whereas, if one aggressive elbow begins to push, a hundred other elbows are set rigidly akimbo, and the solid mass becomes ten-fold more unyielding than before.

If accosted by a stranger with a request for information as to streets, directions, etc., one should kindly reply, and, if not able to give the desired information, should, if possible, direct the stranger where to make further inquiries. Cheerful interest in the perplexities of a bewildered sojourner in the city costs nothing and is always highly appreciated. Only a pessimist or a snob would dismiss such a question curtly.

If a lady's dress has been torn, or trimming or braid ripped and left trailing after contact with the nails in a packing-box on the sidewalk, or from some similar accident, it is polite to call her attention to the disaster. A gentleman may do this with perfect propriety if he sees that she is not aware of it. He should preface the information with "Pardon me," and should lift his hat, as always when offering any civility.

When attending to business at banks, post-office, railroad ticket-offices, etc., one should pay no attention to other people, further than to guard against allowing one's absorbing interest in one's own affairs to make one regardless of the just rights of others in the matter of "turn" at ticket or stamp windows, or in the use of the public desk, pens, etc.—trifling tests of good manners that distinguish the well-bred, and which illustrate very pointedly the truth that selfishness is always vulgar, and that an unfailing habit of considering other people's comfort is a mark of gentle breeding.

A lady should say "Thank you" to a gentleman who gives up a seat to her in a street-car or other public conveyance, where, having paid for a seat, he has a right to it, and his voluntary relinquishment of it is a matter of personal courtesy on his part. The woman who slides into a place thus offered without acknowledging the obligation is very thoughtless, or else she has erroneous ideas of how far chivalry is bound to be the slave of selfishness. If the lady is accompanied by a gentleman, he, too, should say "Thank you," and lift his hat. He should also be thoughtful not to take the next vacated seat himself without first offering it to the polite stranger.

A young woman, strong and well, may properly give up her seat to a fragile woman, or a mother with a baby, or to an elderly man or woman.

Young ladies of leisure, who are not weary, should not be too ready to "oust" tired clerks and laboring men whose ride home at six o'clock is their first chance to sit down, for ten hours. A gentleman is chivalrous; and there is a corresponsive quality in a lady, which makes her delicately sensitive about unjustly imposing on that chivalry, or which, in emergencies of sickness or disaster, enables her to be the chivalrous in spirit, and bear on her slender shoulders the burden that is temporarily dropped when some stroke of Providence lays the strong man low.

On the other hand, there are women of coarse fibre, who imagine that they vastly increase their own importance by being selfishly exacting in the matter of men's self-sacrificing attentions. They may browbeat the men who are in their power; but, outside of this narrow world of their own, they are held in thorough contempt by the very men whose admiration they had hoped to gain by their aggressive and ill-tempered demands.

Men who smoke on the street should avoid the crowded promenade, where ladies "most do congregate;" since it is nearly impossible to avoid annoying some one with the smoke.

In most towns, the Board of Health ordinance forbidding spitting on floors, sidewalks, etc., is not only a hygienic safe-guard, but a much needed enforcement of good manners. Comment is superfluous.

Based upon an idea borrowed from olden days—that the right arm, the "sword arm," should be free for defense—a custom formerly prevailed for a man, walking with a lady, to place her always at his left side. Then later—also with some idea of shielding her from danger—it was the custom for a man to walk next to the curbstone, whether it happened to be left or right. This is still the rule, unless the sidewalk is crowded; in which case a man walks at the side next the opposing throng, in order to shield a lady from the elbows of the passers-by.

Authorities are divided on the subject of elevator etiquette, some denouncing in round terms the man who is so rude as to keep his hat on in an elevator where there are ladies; arguing that the elevator is a "little room," an "interior," not a thoroughfare. Others are equally emphatic in asserting that the elevator is a thoroughfare, merely; and that hats are not to be removed, except under the same conditions that would call for their removal in the street—as the greeting of acquaintances, or the exchange of civilities. The good sense of this view is apparent. A hat held in the hand in a crowded elevator is sure to be in the way, and liable to be crushed. A gentleman who wishes to compromise between stolid ignoring of the ladies who are strangers, and superfluous recognition of their presence, may lift his hat and replace it immediately, when a lady enters the elevator, or when he enters an elevator where ladies already are. Such a courtesy differs from a greeting in this: a stranger offering this elevator civility does not look at the lady, nor does he bend his head; and his lifted hat is an impersonal tribute to the sex. A lady makes no response to such a courtesy; yet there is in her general bearing a subtle something, hard to describe, but which every gentleman will readily recognize, that shows whether or not she observes and appreciates his little act of deference. The atmosphere of good manners may be as invisible as the air about us; but we know when we are breathing it.

During a promenade in the day-time, a lady does not take a man's arm unless she is feeble from age or ill-health, and needs the support. In the evening, a gentleman walking with a lady may offer her his arm. On no account should a man take a woman's arm. This is a disrespectful freedom, that might be supposed to be the specialty of the rustic beau, if it were not so frequently observed in city thoroughfares.

The "cut direct" is the rudest possible way of dropping an acquaintance; and is allowable only in the case of some flagrant offender who deserves public and merciless rebuke. Ordinarily, the result sought—of ending an undesired acquaintance—is attained by a persistently cold courtesy, supplemented by as much avoidance as possible; drifting apart, not sinking each other's craft without warning.

As crowds are distracting, and people bent on their own errands are often oblivious of their surroundings, it is quite possible for a seeming cut to have been an unconscious oversight. When an acquaintance seems not to see one, though close at baud, it is possible that something closer yet to his consciousness is absorbing all his thoughts. Only clear and unmistakable evidence of intention should lead one to infer a slight. It is not only more polite, but more self-respecting, to "take offense" slowly.



IN PUBLIC ASSEMBLIES

At the theatre or opera, at concerts, or popular lectures, at "commencements," and other prosperous and happy public entertainments, a certain gayety of manner may be in harmony with the occasion; but it should be under control, a smiling cheerfulness, not a free-and-easy jollity. Before the play, or the programme, begins, social conversation is usually allowable in quiet tones that do not disturb the surrounding people. A gentle hum of lively voices is not an unpleasant overture on such occasions. But the moment the orchestra begins, if at the theatre, or the instant that the meeting is called to order by any initial feature of the programme, silence should fall upon the assembly, and not a whisper be heard. Polite attention should be given to each feature of the hour. Programmes should be folded and arranged for easy reference before the exercises begin, so that no rustling of papers shall mar the effect of the music, or interfere with the speakers or listeners. The noisy handling of programmes is a most exasperating exhibition of thoughtlessness, and can easily be avoided by a little caution.

It should be accounted a matter of good form not to be late in arriving at the theatre, opera, etc. People sometimes think that because their seats are secured by their ticket-coupons, it makes no difference whether they are in their places before the curtain rises or not. But it is inconsistent for people who would be thought to be well-mannered, to inflict on others so much annoyance as is the result of coming late and making a commotion arranging seats, etc., after a drama is in progress, or a lecture or concert begun. When this happens, it should be the rare and unavoidable accident of detention, not the habitual and perhaps even ostentatious custom that it seems to be with some people. The noise about the swing-doors, and the rustle in the aisles, the banging of hinged seats, and the occasional parley with the usher, render the seats under the galleries practically valueless during the first half of the performance, since the speakers cannot be heard in the midst of the confusion. The "sense" of the opening act being lost, the entire play is marred simply because forty or fifty people are ten or fifteen minutes late. If managers would combine and agree to order the doors closed several minutes before the performance begins, it would soon remedy the trouble, and a host of patrons would applaud their course. The most aggravating thing about annoyances of this kind is that they are inflicted by the very few, and suffered by the very many.

In crowded theatres and lecture halls, heavy coats and wraps must be disposed within each owner's own territory. They should not lie over the top of the seat or bulge over into the adjoining seats to encroach upon other people. Nor should the owner of a big overcoat double it up into a cushion and sit upon it, to raise himself six inches higher, to the disadvantage of the person seated back of him—a selfish preparation to see the sights which we sometimes observe, even in the parquet centre.

The fashion, now almost universal, of removing hats at all spectacular entertainments, does away with what was formerly a conspicuous source of annoyance. For awhile this downfall of view-obstructing millinery promised a "square deal" to the occupants of the back rows. But of late vanity has re-asserted itself in the guise of elaborate hair-dressing, until the aigrette and the bow have become as great an imposition as was their predecessor, the flaring hat. This evasion of the issue will be more difficult to control by public prohibition. It remains for the polite woman to avoid adopting, for such occasions, the towering head-dress that evokes not admiration but execration from the people seated behind her. No woman need risk annoying others in order to be attractive herself; there are numerous styles that are both unobtrusive and becoming. Moreover, the woman in good society has ample opportunity to exhibit her elaborate coiffure at private social functions.

People who wish to leave the theatre between the acts should make it a point to secure end seats and not scrape past half a dozen other people three or four times during the performance. If it is necessary to trouble other people to rise and step aside to allow one to take or to leave his seat, the person thus obliged should preface the action with "I beg pardon," or "May I trouble you to allow me to pass;"—and should acknowledge the obligation by saying "Thank you." This may not lessen the inconvenience to other people, but it may mollify the feeling of irritability that such things naturally arouse.

It ought to be superfluous to say that talking aloud, or continuous whispering during the progress of a play or opera or concert, usually on topics foreign to the occasion, is a rudeness to the performers and a bold impertinence to the rest of the audience. Some people are guilty of this insolence wittingly and unblushingly. For such we have no word of advice. Such instances should be met by something more effective than "gentle influence." But many, especially young people, talk and laugh thoughtlessly, and from mere exuberance of animal spirits. It is to be hoped that on pausing to reflect they will carefully avoid forming a habit of public misbehavior that will ultimately rank them in the social scale as confirmed vulgarians. An intelligent listener never interrupts. Between the scenes of a play, or the successive numbers of a concert programme, there are pauses long enough for a brief exchange of comment between two friends who are sharing an entertainment, and they may enjoy the pleasure of thus comparing notes without once disturbing the order of the time and place.

At a spectacular entertainment, it is very rude for those in front to stand up in order to see better, thus cutting off all view for those back of them. The disposition to do this is very strong in rural audiences, where the flat floor of the school-house or hall gives little chance for the observers seated back of the first few "rows." But one may better lose part of the "tableau" on the stage than to furnish another one on the floor of the house.

At a lecture, a special personal respect is due to the speaker. This is shown by a courteous attention and a general demeanor of interest and appreciation. If applause is merited, it should be given in a refined manner. The stamping of the feet is coarse, and the pounding of the floor with canes and umbrellas is as lazy as it is noisy. The clapping of hands is a natural language of delight, and, when skillfully done, is an enthusiastic expression of approbation. Some effort is being made to substitute the waving of handkerchiefs as a symbol of approval or greeting to a favorite speaker, but it is quite probable that this silent signal will not take the place of the more active demonstration of clapping the hands, except on very quiet and intellectual occasions.

Shall ladies join in applause? As a matter of fact, women seldom applaud, but not because propriety necessarily forbids; it is chiefly because the tight-fitting kid glove renders "clapping" a mechanical impossibility. Feminine enthusiasm is quite equal to it at times, as, for instance, when listening to a favorite elocutionist or violinist. There is no reason why ladies may not "clap," if they can. It certainly is quite as lady-like and orderly as for them to give vent to their enthusiasm, as many do, in audible exclamations of "Too sweet for anything!" "Just too lovely!" etc., all of which might have been "conducted off" at the finger-tips if hand-clapping had been a feasible medium of expression.

Applause may be a very effective and graceful exponent of gentlemanly appreciation if given with discrimination; but if too ready and frequent, it ceases to have any point, and becomes commonplace. While a man of taste will applaud heartily on occasion, he will refrain from extravagant and continuous clapping.

The observance of the proprieties of time, place, and occasion are nowhere more urgent than at church. Much of the liberty that is granted on secular occasions is entirely out of place in church.

While quiet greetings may be exchanged at the church door, or in the outer vestibules, before and after service, it is not decorous to chat sociably along the aisles, or hold a gossiping conference in whispers with some one in the neighboring pew. I have in mind one woman, who ought to have known better, whose sibilant utterances—just five pews distant—came to be a regular part of the five minutes' pause immediately before the service began. Her conversation was usually directed to another woman, who, likewise, should have known better than to listen. The silent vault of the church roof echoed to the vigorous whispering up to the instant that the clergyman began, in low monotone, "The Lord is in His holy temple"—a fact which the whisperer had obviously forgotten—"let all the earth keep silence before Him"—an injunction which she never seemed to be able to remember from week to week.

It is one of the worst violations of good form to behave with levity in church. To devout people the church is the place for meditation and prayer, and nothing should be allowed to disturb the restful calm that is sought within its sacred walls. A well-bred agnostic will respect the religious sentiments of other people, whatever his own beliefs or disbeliefs in matters theological. If no higher law is recognized, at least every one will regard the etiquette of the case, which requires that the demeanor of every one within the walls of the church shall be reverent.

It is proper to dress plainly and neatly for church; to enter the portal quietly, to walk up the aisle in a leisurely but direct way, and be seated at once with an air of repose. If cushions or books require rearranging, it should be done with as little effort as possible. Every movement should be quiet, and the rattling of fans and of books in the rack, and "fidgeting" changes of position should be avoided. The movements in rising, sitting, and kneeling should be deliberate enough for grace, and cautious enough to avert accidents, like hitting the pew-railings, knocking down umbrellas, or kicking over footstools. No sounds but the inevitable rustle of garments should attend the changes of posture during the service. Not unfrequently several canes and as many hymn-books clatter to the floor with each rise of the congregation, because of somebody's nervous haste. Children are often responsible for these little accidents, and of course are excusable, but they should be early taught to observe caution in these little matters.

The clergyman should have the undivided attention of his hearers. During the lesson and the sermon, one should watch the face of the reader, or speaker, and give to the minister all the inspiration that an earnest expounder may find in the face of an intelligent listener. It is probably thoughtless, not intentional, disrespect—but still disrespect—for a person to spend "sermon time" studying the stained-glass windows or the symbolical fresco, interesting as these things may be.

The singing of the choir may be good; if so, one should not listen to it with the air of a connoisseur at a grand concert. Or the singing may be very poor; that fact should not be emphasized by the scowling countenance of the critic in the pews. A mind absorbed in true devotion does not measure church singing by secular standards. The spirit may be woefully lacking in the most artistic rendition: it may be vitally present in the most humble song of worship. While we may with righteous indignation condemn the sacrilege of a spiritless or irreverent singing of the sublime service of the church, it is very bad form to sneer at the earnest and sincere work of a choir whose "limitations," in natural gifts or culture, render their work somewhat commonplace. It is good form to respect all that is honest in religion, and to reserve sharp criticism for the shams and hypocrisies that cast discredit on the church.

A regular "pew-owner" in a church should be hospitable to strangers, and cheerfully give them a place in his pew, offering them books and hymnals, and aiding them to follow the service if they seem to be unaccustomed to its forms. At the same time it is only fair to say that this duty becomes a heavy tax on generosity and patience when, as in some very popular churches, a floating crowd of sight-seers each Sunday invade the pews, to the serious discomfort of the regular occupants. People who attend church as strangers should remember that they do so by courtesy of the regular attendants. A broad view of the church opening its doors to all the world is theoretically true, but practically subject to provisos. A church visitor who observes much the same care not to be intrusive which good form would require him to observe if visiting at a private house, will usually be rewarded with a polite welcome.

The stranger attending church should wait at the foot of the aisle until an usher conducts him to a seat, as the usher will know where a stranger can be received with least inconvenience to others in the pew. The stranger should not take possession of family hymn-books, or fans, or select the best hassock, or otherwise appropriate the comforts of the pew, unless invited to do so by the owner, whose guest he is, in a sense. If attentions are not shown him, he must not betray surprise or resentment, nor look around speculatively for the hymn-book that is not forthcoming. If the service is strange to him, he should at least conform to its salient forms, rising with the congregation, and not sitting throughout like a stolid spectator of a scene in which he has no part.

The head should be bowed during the prayers, and the eyes at least cast down, if not closed. To sit and stare at a minister while he is praying is a grotesque rudeness worthy of a heathen barbarian, yet one sometimes committed by the civilized Caucasian. The incident may escape the knowledge of the well-mannered portion of the congregation, who are themselves bowed in reverent attitude; but the roving eye of some infant discovers the fact, and it is at once announced; and worst of all, the child unconsciously gets an influential lesson in misbehavior in church from the "important" man who thus disregards the proprieties.



BEARING AND SPEECH

Physical culture may be a "fad," but its aesthetic results are conceded. The graceful control of the body is the basis of a fine manner.

It is an opinion of long standing that children should be taught to dance in order to develop grace of movement. Yet dancing, merely, gives but a limited training of the muscles compared with the all-round exercise now taken in gymnasiums and classes for physical culture. It is recommended that all who are deficient in "manner," or who suffer an embarrassing self-consciousness because of their awkwardness of pose or movement, should take a course of training under an intelligent teacher, until every muscle learns its proper office. With the self-command which this training gives, ease of manner and dignity of bearing follow naturally; to say nothing of the serenity of mind that lies back of all this pleasing exterior.

The effect of this bodily grace is to prepossess the beholder. First impressions are received through the eye. Before a word is spoken, the pose and carriage convey a significant announcement of character and breeding.

A thorough practical knowledge of elocution and constant application of its principles to conversational utterances are requisite to refined speech. Errors in pronunciation, hasty and indistinct enunciation, the dropping out of entire syllables in curt phrasing, are common faults of careless people who know better, and who would be very much chagrined to find themselves accounted to be as ignorant as their speech might indicate them to be.

A varied vocabulary used with discrimination indicates intelligence and culture. A single word uttered may reveal grace, or betray awkwardness. In the social interchange, one must not only suit the action to the word, but equally suit the word to the action. Careless speech often belies civil intentions.

Say "Thank-you," not "Thanks,"—a lazy and disrespectful abbreviation. If you say "Pardon me," let your manner indicate a dignified apology. "I beg your pardon," is sometimes only the insolent preface to a flat and angry contradiction. In most phrases of compliment, the words derive their real significance from the manner of the speaker.

There is a difference of opinion as to whether people of social equality should add "Sir" and "Ma'am" to the responses "Yes" and "No"; and especially, whether children should be taught to do so. The English fashion—largely copied by Americans—does not favor it. Certainly, children can learn to say "Yes" and "No" with the courteous manner that implies all that the added "Sir" might convey. But, are not some young Americans too ready to take advantage of this permitted lapse of verbal deference? And, back of the verbal lapse is there not a distinct lapse of the deference itself? It might be well to begin to counteract this irreverent tendency of the age, by cultivating a more respectful and appreciative spirit. Then, the polite word will come spontaneously to the lips. It will be a matter of morals, essentially: of manners, incidentally.

Deplorable as a heedless curtness of speech is, it is hardly more unpleasant than the artificial mincing of words that some children are drilled into (or learn by imitation of their elders). This superficial effusiveness, supposed to be "pretty" manners, is related more to subjective vanity than to objective courtesy. Not allowed to say "Sir," they substitute the name or title of the person addressed,—which, when introduced occasionally and unobtrusively, is a graceful personal recognition; but when overdone, as too often observed, the constant iteration of "Yes, Mr. Brown,"—"No, Mrs. Black," etc., grows to be a maddening exposition of precocious affectation.

Having observed the vagaries of this fashion in phrasing for several years, I have come to the conclusion that the plain "Sir" of former times,—which, to the "well-brought-up" child, was a practical application of the Fifth Commandment,—is much to be preferred to the fussy elaboration of personal address that has superseded it. Indications at present are, that the old-fashioned "Sir" and "Madam" are coming into their own again, among truly courteous people.

But whatever the fickle fashion of the hour may be, it is important to enforce the truth that the spirit of words and deeds is the essence of good manners. If this right spirit be lacking, no words can fill the blank. If an ugly spirit dwells within, no word of compliment can veil its evil face.

But though the good spirit be there, with all its generous impulses and kindly feeling, it needs the concrete expression; otherwise, its very existence may remain unknown. "A man that hath friends must show himself friendly." Pose, bearing, facial expression, the winning smile,—all these are silently eloquent; but, to convey the perfect message from soul to soul, there must be added the "word fitly spoken."



SELF-COMMAND

A theme for a volume! Briefly, it is the mark of a well-disciplined mind to be able to meet all emergencies calmly. Though china break, and gravy spill, the hostess and the guest must not allow the accident to ruffle their perfect serenity of manner. Nor is it merely a point of etiquette to be thus self-controlled. Serious accidents sometimes happen, like the igniting of fancy lamp-shades or filmy curtains, and then the calm poise of a well-bred man becomes of practical value to himself and others. A habit of keeping cool—formed originally for good manners' sake—may save one's life in some crisis of danger.

Control of temper is one of the most valuable results of training in the etiquette of calm behavior. Manifestations of ill-temper may be the occasional outburst of a spirit that dwells under the shadow of an ancestral curse, but which in its better moments grieves in sackcloth and ashes over its yielding to wild, ungovernable impulse. Such people are often generous and self-sacrificing in the main, though causing so much sorrow and disaster to others by these occasional whirlwinds of passion. In all that delicacy of feeling and usual regard for "the amenities" indicate, they are "well-bred." To say that they are not is as ungenerous as to criticise the conduct of the insane. But habitual, cold-blooded, and willful ill-temper—the trade-mark of unmitigated selfishness—is indisputably ill-bred. Whatever the tendency, temperament, or temptation, good form requires the cultivation and the exhibition of good humor and a disposition to take a cheerful and generous view of people and things.

This calm serenity does not mean weakness or moral cowardice. The dignity that forbids one to be rude also forbids one to endure insolence. A gentleman may scathe a liar in plain unvarnished terms, and yet not lose a particle of his own repose of manner; and the higher his own standards are, the more merciless will be his denunciation of what he holds to be deserving of rebuke. But through it all, he has his own spirit well in hand, under curb and rein. The ominous calm of a well-bred man is a terror to the garrulous bully. It is "the triumph of mind over matter."

Next to the etiquette of self-control—and, if anything, harder to comply with—is the etiquette of forbearance, which is often overlooked; for people who have high standards themselves are apt to be intolerant of gross offenders against social rules. Those who by inheritance or by culture are blessed with a logical mind and an equable temper, should be lenient in judging cruder people, whose dense ignorance aggravating their malicious intent, causes them to do astounding violence to the principles of morality and etiquette alike, by exhibitions of ugly temper. Only by making allowances can the conduct of some people be accounted less than criminal.

Let all reflect that it is impossible to be a lady, or a gentleman, without gentle manners.



A FEW POINTS ON DRESS

Perfect congruity is the secret of successful dressing.

The first harmony to be observed is that between the dress and the wearer's purse. Good form considers not merely what can be paid for without "going in debt," but what can be purchased without cramping the resources in some other direction and destroying the proper balance of one's expenditures. The girl who uses a month's salary to buy one fine gown, and denies herself in the matter of needed hosiery to make up for the extravagance, is "dressing beyond her means," and is violating good form in so doing. A simple gown that allows for all suitable accessories is always lady-like.

The second point of harmony is the appropriateness of dress to the occasion when it is worn.

Dinners, balls, and formal receptions are occasions that call for handsome dress. This may range in cost to include some very inexpensive but artistic costumes, the quality of good style not being confined to the richest fabrics. But the inexpensive gown should have a character of its own, and not be suspected of any attempt to imitate its priceless rivals.

The degree of full-dress worn at dinner varies with the formality of the occasion and the fashions prevailing in the social circle represented. On very grand occasions a very rich and stylish costume may be required. In general, a lady wears her choicest silk or velvet gown at a dinner. The intrinsic value of the fabric is more important in dinner dress than in dress worn on other occasions, since the company are few in number and thrown into close proximity, where leisurely observation and criticism are inevitable. A gown that would pass muster in a crowd, may not stand the calm scrutiny of the dinner-table fourteen. The style of cut and the trimmings of a dinner gown may be as severely plain or as voluminously dressy as the character of the occasion and the personnel of the company may indicate and the wearer's instinctive sense of propriety may suggest.

A ball or a formal reception in the evening is a time to display one's prettiest gowns and all the jewels which one possesses. Fabrics of infinite variety, from velvet and brocade to diaphanous tissues, are suitable; and the possibilities in trimmings, in lace and flowers and jeweled ornaments, are unlimited. In the fancy costumes suitable for these showy occasions there is wide opportunity for the ingenious girl to make herself bewitching without greatly depleting her purse. The most becomingly dressed woman is not always the most expensively dressed. General effect strikes the eye of the observer who has not time to study special quality in the kaleidoscopic scene presented by the ball-room or reception throng.

At an afternoon tea, the hostess should dress richly enough for dignity, but without ostentation. As on all occasions, a woman should never be over-dressed in her own house. Her gown should not be so gorgeous that any one of her guests, even the poorest, need feel embarrassed by the contrast.

If several ladies join the hostess in receiving, they wear handsome reception toilets. Other guests come in ordinary walking dress, but it should be stylish and well-kept. A "second-best" gown, though neat enough for informal calls, may not be elegant enough for a tea or for formal visiting. But if a lady's means are limited, and her well-preserved old gown is the best that she can command, perfect neatness and a delicate disposal of lingerie will disguise the ravages of time, and make the "auld cla'es look a'maist as weel's the new."

Indeed, effective dressing, ultimately resolved, is a matter of refined ingenuity. As David, subtly endued with power, with a smooth stone from the brook vanquished the armor-clad Philistine giant, so the woman with a genius for the artistic details of dress, even though it be a last-year's gown, may triumph over another who has blindly clad herself according to the latest conventional pattern, but without regard to what is becoming to herself.

Happy the woman whose bank account permits her to give perfect expression to her taste. Not so happy, but still happy, the woman whose taste meets the emergency, despite a slender purse. But oh! most miserable the woman of stolid, unimaginative nature, whose luxurious wardrobe suggests nothing but the dollar-mark.

Not that I advance the poetical idea of "sweet simplicity" always and everywhere. Not that the rich gown is in itself objectionable, or the inexpensive dress intrinsically beautiful. It is not invariably true that "beauty unadorned is most adorned." It is not true that a "simple calico" is more charming than a sheeny silk, nor is cotton edging to be compared with point or duchess lace.

But the really beautiful in dress, as before stated, lies in its perfect congruity. According to this standard, the calico is sometimes more effective than the silk, and vice versa; and neither is effective if worn at inappropriate times, or under unsuitable conditions.

Fashion is daring, and every now and then announces some startling innovation in the way of gay street-dress. But the public sentiment of refined people is so definitely fixed in favor of quiet dress for public thoroughfares that these "daring" fashions soon become the sole property of the ignorant class.

Dress for church, or for business, should be plain in design, and subdued in color; and for most occasions when a lady walks to pay visits or calls, a plain tailor-made costume is most suitable. Carriage dress may be gayer in colors, and more dressy in style of cut and trimmings.

When a party of ladies attend the theatre, unaccompanied by a male escort, or with no conveyance but the street-car, ordinary walking costume, with quiet bonnets or hats, is correct style. Box parties, presumably arriving in carriages, may dress as prettily as they choose, subject to the general laws of taste.

A woman should not mix up her wardrobe, and wear a theatre bonnet to church, or carry a coaching parasol to a funeral.

Black, or very subdued colors, should be worn to a funeral.

Any color, except black, may be worn by a guest at a wedding. Black lace may be used in the trimmings of rich-colored gowns (though white lace is preferable); but solid black is not allowable. Women who are wearing mourning sometimes lay it aside to attend a wedding, substituting a lavender or violet gown, or, in some places, a deep red, usually in some rich fabric, as velvet or plush.

The etiquette of wearing mourning is less rigorous than formerly. The tendency is more and more to leave the matter to individual feeling. When the mourning garb is adopted, the periods of wearing are shorter, and the phases of change from heaviest to lightest are fewer and less punctilious.

Whether a full mourning dress of crepe be worn, or not, it is generally conceded that it is more respectful to wear plain black than to appear in colors during the months immediately following the death of a near relative. The length of time that mourning dress should be worn is a matter of taste; but it should not be laid aside too soon, as though the wearing were an unpleasant duty; nor should it be worn too long, for the sombre robe has a depressing effect on others, especially invalids and children.

Those who prefer to follow a strict law of etiquette in mourning will observe the following rules:

A widow wears deep mourning of woolen stuffs and crepe for two years.

Similar mourning is worn one year for a parent, or a brother or sister.

For other near relatives, from three to six months, according to degrees of relationship, is considered a respectful period for mourning.

A man's wife wears the same degrees of mourning for his near relatives that she would wear for members of her own family.

In all cases, the mourning should be "lightened" by degrees. Plain black silk, without crepe, and trimmed with jet, belongs to a secondary period. Changes are made gradually through black and white combinations, before colors are again worn.

During the period of heavy mourning, it is not proper to attend the theatre or opera, or other gay place of amusement; nor to pay formal visits, or attend receptions, except it may be the marriage of a near friend, for which occasion the mourning dress is temporarily laid aside.

As a matter of respect, no invitations of a gay social character are sent to the recently afflicted. After three months, such invitations may be sent; of course, not with any expectation that they will be accepted, but merely to show that, though temporarily in seclusion, the bereaved ones are kindly remembered.

For men the etiquette of mourning is less conspicuous but equally formal as far as it goes. The periods of wearing mourning are usually shorter than those observed by women in similar cases, probably because the life of business men is not confined to the social world, and its restrictions are less binding upon them in details.

At the funeral of a near relative, a man wears black, including gloves, and a mourning band around his hat. Subsequently he may continue to wear black for several months, or, if this is not feasible, the hat-band of bombazine is accounted a sufficient mark of respect. The width of the band may be graduated, sometimes covering the surface to within an inch of the top, sometimes being only two or three inches wide.

As to the etiquette of men's dress in general, the tale is soon told. The "dress-suit" is worn only at dinner and in the evening. At any hour after six o'clock, a man may with propriety appear anywhere in a dress suit, though it is required only on formal occasions. Before dinner, morning dress is worn—the frock coat, or a business suit with its four-buttoned cut-away. As to the minute details of cut and dimensions, the prevailing style of linen and ties, etc.—very appropriately called "notions"—these things vary from season to season. The well-dressed man will consult his tailor and furnisher. Hats, boots, and gloves, the extremes of every perfect costume, are important exponents of good style; and careful attention to their choice and wearing is essential to complete and effective dressing.



PERSONAL HABITS

Neatness in personal habits is the first mark of good breeding that strikes the observer. Not that a dandy is always a gentleman; but an habitual sloven cannot be. The clothing worn at work may be unavoidably soiled; as also the hands, when occupations involve the handling of dirty substances. But "a little water clears us of this deed; how easy is't then!"

The neatly-dressed hair, the fresh clean skin, the well-kept teeth, the smooth polished nails, the spotless linen and the tasteful tie, the well-brushed clothing and the tidy boots, are all points of good form in personal appearance.

The toilet once made should be considered finished. The hands should not stray to the hair to re-adjust hair-pins—an absent-minded habit. The nervous toying with ear-rings or brooches, or dress buttons, is another mannerism to be guarded against. The hands should learn the grace of repose. It is a great triumph of nervous control for a woman to hold her hands still when they are not definitely employed.

If the attitudes of sitting and standing are practiced under the direction of the teacher of "physical culture," one will probably be innocent of such solecisms as thrusting the feet out to display the shoes; sitting sideways, or cross-legged; or slipping half-way down in the chair; or bending over a book in round-shouldered position; rocking violently; beating a noisy tattoo with impatient toes; or standing on one foot with the body thrown out of line, etc., etc.

Scratching the head or ears, and picking the teeth, are operations that are properly attended to in one's own dressing-room. The conspicuous use of the handkerchief is in bad form. Blowing the nose is not a pleasant demonstration at any time, and at the table is simply unpardonable. A person of fastidious taste will take care of the nose in the quietest and most unobtrusive way, and refrain from disgusting other people of fastidious taste.

"Familiarity breeds contempt." Laying the hand upon another's head or shoulder, clinging to the arms or about the waist, is a freedom that only near relationship or close friendship will excuse. Among slight acquaintances it is an unwarrantable liberty. Even at the impulsive "school-girl age" young ladies should be taught to repel such under-bred familiarities.



SOCIAL CO-OPERATION

Those who accept a social invitation virtually pledge themselves to bear a part in making the entertainment an agreeable success. Whether one's talent lies in conversation, or music, or in the rare gift for commingling and promoting harmonies in a social gathering, he or she should feel bound to make some effort to add to the pleasure of the occasion. Young men who attend private balls should be obliging about dancing, and amiably assist the hostess in finding partners for the shy or unattractive girls, who are liable to be neglected by selfish young people.

Not to make an effort to contribute to the success of the affair is a negative fault, perhaps. But what shall we say of those whose influence is positively adverse?—those who attend a party with curious eyes bent upon picking flaws, and who indulge in jealous depreciation; or who, in a spirit of social rivalry, make a note of "points," with a view to outdoing the hostess in the near future. Such a spirit—and its presence is not easily veiled—is a veritable Achan in the camp; and a few such rude people can poison the atmosphere of an otherwise genial reception. Verily, they have their reward, for the stamp of ill-breeding is set on their querulous little faces.

But, if such spirits contribute nothing to the social fund,—because they have nothing to contribute,—you, who have, must do double duty. And nothing is more needed than tactful conversation.

The oddest criticism that I have ever encountered from a reviewer was the laconic and cynical remark (commenting upon my rather altruistic belief in the duty of giving one's best thought to the conversational circle), that "Nowadays, people don't talk: if they have any good ideas, they save them and write them out and sell them." The critic implied that, otherwise, in this age of universal scribbling, some plagiarist would appropriate these ideas and hurry them to the magazine market before the original thinker had time to fix the jewel in a setting of his own.

Of course, the little brain thief is common enough; but it had never occurred to me to be so wary. It struck me "with the full force of novelty," that any one should be deterred from speech by such a consideration. I have since wondered whether that particular phase of serpent-wisdom accounts for the non-committal silences with which some well-known wits entertain the social circle, the while a despairing hostess is making the best of such help as a few lively chatterboxes can give her. Not that I ever saw any notably superior talkers struck dumb in this way; Richard Brinsley Sheridan never was, if I recall correctly. Why should you be? If your bright idea is stolen, you can spare it; if you are truly bright, you have many more where that one came from.

But beware of forced brightness. Wit is nothing if not spontaneous. If nature has not endowed you with the instantaneous perception of contrasts and incongruities, out of which flashes the swift conceit called wit, do not imagine you are "dull" or uninteresting. There are other gifts and graces less superficial, far more rare, and ultimately more influential, than wit.

And though you are witty, do not talk nonsense over-much. Remember that it is the "little nonsense now and then" that is "relished by the best of men." It is perilously easy to weary people with the "smart" style of talk. But let your cheerful sense, grave or gay, be as good an offering to your friends as you know how to make. Your next special occasion—for which you might have "saved" all these things—will lose nothing of value. It may rather gain fourfold, by the reflex inspiration that replenishes every unselfish outpouring of the nobler social spirit.



ON THE WING

Travelers have certain rights guaranteed by their regularly-purchased tickets. Within such bounds they are privileged to claim all comforts and immunities.

But the mannerly tourist will claim no more. He will not take up more room than he is entitled to while other passengers are discommoded. Nor will he persist in keeping his particular window open when the draught and the cinders therefrom are troublesome or dangerous to other people.

If travelers carry a lunch-basket, they should discuss its contents quietly, and be careful not to litter the floor with crumbs, or the debris of fruits and nuts, nor to leave any trace of its presence after the luncheon is finished.

If a lady is traveling under the escort of a gentleman, she will give him as little trouble as possible. She will amuse herself by reading, or studying the landscape, leaving him at liberty to choose similar diversions when conversation grows tedious. She will carry few parcels, and if possible will have arranged for some one to meet her at her station, so that her obliging guardian need not be taxed to look after her beyond the railway journey's end. If the gentleman has attended to the purchase of tickets, and the paying of dining-car fees, etc., the lady will repay those expenditures, as a matter of course, thanking him for the trouble that he has taken to give her "safe conduct."

A gentleman thus traveling as escort will attend to all matters of tickets, the checking of baggage, etc.; and will see that the lady is comfortably settled for her journey, with some thoughtful provision in the way of magazines, and possibly a basket of fine fruit. He will see that the porter and the maid (if there is one) are attentive to her comfort, and will not relinquish his charge until he leaves her, either at her final destination, or in the care of some one authorized to relieve him of the responsibility. He will perform all these duties cheerfully, and endeavor to convey the idea that it is a pleasure to him; and this will be better shown in his manner than by any conventional protestations.

There ought not to be such a thing as "hotel manners." But there is; and it suggests certain important injunctions.

Hotel partitions are usually thin, and sounds are penetrating. Private affairs should not be loudly discussed. Tourists should learn to converse in quiet tones, and to make as little "racket" as possible with furniture, boots, etc., and to be polite enough not to keep other guests awake late at night with the noise of music, laughter, or loud talking. The "manners" at table, in the reading-rooms, and about the corridors should conform to whatever law of etiquette in private or public life the incidents may indicate; since, at a hotel, one is both at home and not at home, in two different aspects.

In driving with ladies, a gentleman gives them the seat facing the horses, riding backward himself if any one must. He will alight from the carriage first, on the side nearest his seat, to avoid passing in front of the ladies; and will assist them to alight, giving as much or as little support as the case demands. A light finger-tip on an elbow is all the help that a sprightly girl may need, but her grandmother may require to be tenderly lifted out bodily. A gentleman will discriminate, and not use an uncalled-for familiarity in helping a lady out of a carriage.

When several ladies are driving, the youngest ones in the party will ride backwards. A hostess driving with her guests enters her carriage after them, unless they are noticeably younger than she is; but she does not relinquish her usual seat to any one, unless she happens to have a party of venerable ladies.



ETIQUETTE OF GIFTS

Wedding presents should be chosen with due reference to the circumstances of the bride. For the daughter of wealthy parents, who weds a husband of large means—and to whom all desirable useful things are assured—articles of virtu, and bewildering creations in the way of costly "fancy articles," are suitable wedding gifts. For a quiet little bride who is going to housekeeping on a moderate income, articles that are useful as well as beautiful are appropriate and acceptable. A handsome substantial chair, a cabinet for china, pretty china to put in it, some standard books, a set of fine table linen,—almost anything within the range of dainty house-furnishing shows the good taste of the giver.

Presents that owe their creation to the ingenuity and labor of one's friends—as hand-painted screens or china, embroidered work, or, if one is artistic, a painting or etching—are peculiarly complimentary wedding gifts.

In general, the exchange of gifts is desirable only between friends who care enough for each other not only to give, but to be willing to accept—the latter being a severer test of friendship. Between two women, or between two men, these matters adjust themselves.

A man should not offer valuable gifts to any lady outside of his own family, unless she is very much his senior, and a friend of long standing. Similarly, a lady should not accept valuable gifts from a gentleman unless his relationship to her warrants it. Trifling tokens of friendship or gallantry—a book, a bouquet, or a basket of bon-bons—are not amiss; but a lady should not be under obligation to a man for presents that plainly represent a considerable money value.

When a gift is accepted, the recipient should not make too obvious haste to return the compliment, lest he or she seem unwilling to rest under obligation. It is polite to allow a generous friend some space of time in which to enjoy the "blessedness of giving."

"Independence" is an excellent thing; but it becomes peculiarly rude when it takes the form of refusing all trifling favors. It is often the greatest wisdom as well as kindness, to allow some one to do us a favor. Enemies have been transformed into friends by this tactful process; for, as one always hates one whom he has injured, so, on the reverse, he cannot help feeling an increased glow of kindliness toward one whom he has benefited.

When some unsophisticated person innocently offers a gift that strict conventionality would forbid one to accept, it is sometimes better to suspend the rules and accept the token, than by refusal to hurt the feelings of one who has perhaps offended the letter, but not the spirit, of the law.

Gifts of flowers to the convalescent—tokens that the busy outside world has not forgotten him—are among the most graceful expressions of courteous interest. Any one—even a total stranger—may send these, if "the spirit moves," and the circumstances are such that the act could bear no possible misinterpretation.



GALLANTRY AND COQUETRY

That a man enjoys the society of a charming woman, that a woman delights in the conversation of a brilliant man, is no sign that either of them is a flirt.

Few things are more vulgar than the readiness to infer a flirtation from every case of marked mutual interest between a man and a woman. The interchange of bright ideas, interspersed with the spontaneous sallies of gallantry and the instinctive repartee of innocent coquetry—an archery of wit and humor, grave and gay,—this is one of the salient features of civilized social life. It has nothing in common with the shallow travesty of sentiment that characterizes a pointless flirtation. The latter is bad form whenever and wherever existing. A sincere sentiment is not reduced to the straits of expressing itself in such uncertain language. It is fair to conclude that some insincerity, or some lack of a correct basis for sentiment, is betrayed in every pointless flirtation. It is hopelessly bad form. Young people who gratify vanity by idle "conquests," so called, make a sufficiently conspicuous show of ill-breeding; but a married flirt is worse than vulgar.

A woman may accept every tribute that a chivalrous man may offer to her talent or wit, so long as it is expressed in a hearty spirit of good comradeship, and with a clear and unmistakable deference to her self-respecting dignity; but a well-bred woman will resent as an insult to her womanhood any quasi-sentimental overtures from a man who has not the right to make them.

Etiquette requires that the association of men and women in refined circles shall be frank without freedom, friendly without familiarity. "Flirting" is a plebeian diversion. Every well-bred woman is a queen, for whose sake every well-bred man will hold a lance in rets.



IN CONCLUSION

Since censoriousness is a quality utterly antagonistic to good manners, it is well to reflect that, while etiquette lays down many laws, it also indulgently grants generous absolution. While we decide that certain forms and methods of action are correct and good form, we must remember that all people, ourselves included, are liable to be occasionally remiss in little things, and that we must not too hastily decide a man's status on the score of breeding by his punctilious observance of conventional laws. There are some requirements of etiquette that have their foundation in the idea of convenience or feasibility; others that are essentially requisite as the exponent of decency. A man may easily be far from perfect in details of the former class, and yet be a refined gentleman; but he cannot offend in the latter class of instances without being a boor. Something worse than eating with his knife must ostracize a man, and something no greater than spitting on the sidewalk should accomplish the feat at one fell stroke.

There is an infallible constancy in good breeding. Like charity, of which it is so largely an exponent, it "never faileth." One's manner to two different people, respectively, may not be the same, but it should be equally courteous, whether it expresses the cordial friendliness of social equals or the just esteem of one either higher or lower than one's self in the social scale. "No man is a hero to his valet," because the heroic is confined to great and rare occasions. But every gentleman is a gentleman to his valet, for the qualities that distinguish the gentleman are every day and every hour manifested.

THE END