The main difficulty has been, I believe, that the average dry agent is too little versed in the customs and manners of polite society. It is lamentably true that, too often, has a carefully planned society dry raid been spoiled because the host noticed that one of his guests was wearing white socks with a black tie, or that the intruder was using his dessert spoon on the hors d'oeuvres.

The solution of this difficulty lies, of course, in the gradual procuring of a better class of dry agent. There are signs (though, unfortunately, in the wrong direction) that some of our younger college generation are already casting envious eyes toward the rich rewards, the social opportunities and the exciting life of the professional bootlegger.

It might be well to interest some of these promising youngsters in the no less exciting occupation of National Prohibition Enforcement Officer. At present the chief difficulty seems to lie in the fact that, in our preparatory schools and colleges, a young man acquires a certain code of honor which causes him to look with distaste on what he calls pussyfooting and sneaking.

People too often forget that, in order to make effective such a universally beneficent law, any means are justified. It will be, I hope, only a matter of years before this distrust of the "sneak" will have died out, and the Dry Agent will come to be regarded with the reverence and respect due to one who devotes his life to the altruistic investigation of his neighbor's affairs.

THE COLLEGE GRADUATE AS DRY AGENT

Then, too, many young college men are deterred from becoming Dry Agents by thinking of the comparative scantiness of the monetary rewards. This difficulty is only an imaginary one—for, luckily, as soon as a man's code of honor has been elevated to the extent that it permits him to take up a career of pussy-footing there is generally eliminated at the same time any objection he might have to what is often called bribery. Thus, by a fortunate combination of circumstances, a Dry Agent is enabled to serve mankind and, at the same time, greatly increase his own personal fortune.

But we cannot wait until our college graduates come to regard pussyfooting as a career. We must do what we can with the material at our disposal. We must in some way educate our present Dry Agents so that they can go to any function in polite society and remain as inconspicuous and as completely disregarded as the host. As a first step in such a social training I offer the following suggestions, in the hope that before long no function will be complete without the presence of four or five correctly dressed National Prohibition Enforcement Officers, ready and eager to arrest the host and hostess and all the guests on the slightest provocation.

PLANNING A DRY RAID ON A MASQUERADE BALL

Let us suppose, for example, that you are a Dry Agent and that your name is Isador Eisenberg, and, one day, you and your chief are sitting around the Dry Agent's Club and he says to you, "Izzy—I see by the paper that there's a swell society masquerade ball to be given by the younger married set tomorrow night at the Glen Cove Country Club. Take your squad to cover it." At this point you doubtless say, "Chief, I'm afraid I can't use my squad. My men have been disguised as trained seals all this week, and tomorrow night, they are to raid all the actresses' dressing rooms at the Hippodrome" and then the Chief says, "Well, Izzy, you'll have to rent a costume and pull off the raid all by yourself."

A WORD ABOUT CORRECT COSTUMES

Your first concern should be, of course, your costume. If you have a high voice (although really there is no reason for supposing that all Dry Agents have high voices), you might well attend the masquerade disguised as a lady. One of the neatest and, on the whole, most satisfactory of ladies' disguises is that of Cleopatra. Cleopatra, as you know, was once Queen of Egypt and the costume is quite simple and attractive. It may be, however, that you would prefer to appear as a modern rather than an ancient queen. A modern Queen (if one may judge from the illustrated foreign periodicals) always wears a plain suit and carries a tightly rolled umbrella. Should you care to attend the masquerade as an allegorical figure—say "2000 Years of Progress"—you might wear the Cleopatra costume and carry the umbrella. Or you might go attired as some other less prominent member of the nobility—for instance, Lady Dartmouth, whose delightful costume is more or less featured in the advertising on our better class subways and street cars, and can be obtained at a comparatively small cost at any reliable dry goods store.

Should you, however, feel that you would be more at ease in a male costume, there are several suggestions which might cleverly conceal your real identity. You might, for example, attend the ball as Jurgen—a costume which would assure you a pleasurable evening and many pleasing acquaintances. You might, with equal satisfaction, go as an Indian.

It occurs to me that it might even be a clever move to attend the party dressed as a Dry Agent. All suspicion would be instantly lost in the uproar of laughter which would greet your announcement of your disguise; many men would probably so far enter into the spirit of the joke as to offer you drinks from their flasks, and much valuable evidence could be obtained in this way. And the costume is quite easy—simply wear a pleated soft-bosom dress shirt with your evening dress, and tuck the ends of your black tie under your collar.

{illustration caption = Packets of old letters, bits of verse, locks of hair, pressed flowers, inscribed books, photographs, etc., all make acceptable wedding gifts. By telling you whether they should be presented to the Bride or to the Groom PERFECT BEHAVIOR has, we feel, settled the question of future happiness in many a new-made home.}

{illustration caption = You are, let us say, one of the Ushers attending the Bachelor Dinner. You are handed a bottle of Chateau Lafitte '69. Can you select, from the diagram above, the proper implement to use in getting at its contents? The correct methods of choosing and using table hardware are explained in PERFECT BEHAVIOR.}

{illustration caption = The young couple in the picture are trying to word a plausible letter of regret in answer to an invitation to a house-party. Had they consulted their PERFECT BEHAVIOR they would have known that there is no plausible excuse for not accepting any invitation whatever, and that the simplest and most dignified, method is to write the attached model letter.}

{illustration caption = Not realizing his mistake, the Groom stands waiting for the Bridal Procession, apparently in high spirits and the best of health. Such an attitude toward a wedding is in the worst possible taste. PERFECT BEHAVIOR tells all about the correct appearance and conduct of Bridegrooms.}

{illustration caption = The Best Man has just been introduced to the Maid of Honor. Instead of waiting for her to extend her hand and make the acknowledgment, he has turned on his heel and bolted from the room. This constitutes a social blunder, after the commission of which he could never again, in polite society, be considered quite a gentleman. PERFECT BEHAVIOR would have told him how the man of birth and breeding learns to face anything with perfect "Sang froid."}

{illustration caption = The Groom has just presented his Best Man to his sister, who, though she is more than eager to make every one feel at home, has failed to make at once the pun "de rigueur" on the words "best man." An awkward silence has ensued. What is to be done? Should one of the gentlemen fill the breach by making the pun for her? If so, which? PERFECT BEHAVIOR covers the whole subject of making the "best man" pun authoritatively.}

{illustration caption = The young man at the right does not know how to drink. Nevertheless, he has been selected by a friend to act as Best Man at his wedding and has attended the Bachelor Dinner. Instead of doing what he should do under the circumstances, he is making himself conspicuous by remaining coherent while the others sing "Mademoiselle from Alabam'." Had the Bridegroom provided himself with a copy of PERFECT BEHAVIOR he would have known better than to have selected him.}

GOOD FORM FOR DRY AGENTS DURING A RAID

After the costume, you should arrange to obtain a mask and a breath. The former is, of course, for the purpose of hiding your identity; the latter is essential at any party where you wish to remain inconspicuous. A good whisky breath can usually be obtained from a bottle of any of the better known brands of Scotch or Rye whisky by holding a small quantity of the liquor in the mouth for a short period of time. It is not, of course, necessary to swallow the liquor and in this connection I would suggest that you use only the best grade whisky, for there are at present being manufactured for domestic consumption several brands which, if held in the mouth for a longer interval than, say, three seconds, are apt to eat away the tongue or dissolve several of your more important teeth.

On the night of the party, therefore, having donned your Dry Agent costume, having put on your mask, having secured a good breath—you jump into a taxicab and drive to the Glen Cove Country Club. And, as you enter the door of the club, some girl, dressed, probably, as Martha Washington, will run up and kiss you. This is not because she thinks you are George Washington; it is because she drank that eighth Bronx cocktail at dinner.

And right at this point is where most Dry Agents have displayed their ignorance of the usages of polite society, for most of them are wofully ignorant of the correct way to handle such a situation. Your average Dry Agent, not being accustomed to the ways of Younger Marrieds, is often confused upon being unexpectedly kissed, and in his confusion betrays his unfortunate lack of social training.

The correct way to meet the above situation is based on the fundamental rule of all social etiquette—common sense. Return the lady's kiss in an easy, natural manner and pass on. If she follows you, lead her at once to a quiet unoccupied corner of the club and knock her over the head with a chair or some other convenient implement. It has been found that this is the only effective way to deal with this type of woman and it is really only a kindness to her and her husband to keep her from embarrassing you with her attentions during the rest of the evening.

After you have removed your coat, you should go to the ball room where you will find the dance in full swing—full being of course used in its common or alcoholic sense. Take your place in the stag line and don't, under any circumstances, allow anyone to induce you to cut in on any of the dancers. In the first place, you won't be able to dance because Dry Agents, like Englishmen, never can; secondly, if you TRY to dance, you are taking the enormous chance, especially at a masquerade, that the man who introduced you to your partner will disappear for the rest of the evening, leaving you with Somebody's Albatross hanging around your neck. And, of all Albatrosses, the married one is perhaps farthest South—especially if she happens to be a little tight and wants to talk about her husband and children.

Your policy, therefore, should be one of complete non-partisanship. If you do not dance, do not let yourself be drawn into conversation, and do not, above all things, show any consideration for the host or hostess. By closely observing the actions of the men and women about you, by wandering down into the club bar, by peeking into the automobiles parked outside the club, you will probably be able to obtain sufficient evidence of the presence of alcohol to justify a raid. And then, when you have raided the Glen Cove Country Club, you can turn your attention to the 12,635,439 other clubs and private houses where the same thing is going on. And, if Mr. Volstead has a dress suit, you might take him with you, and show him just how beautifully Prohibition is working and how enthusiastic the better classes of American society are about it.



CHAPTER SIX: A CHAPTER FOR SCHOOLGIRLS

Every Fall a larger number of young girls leave home to come East to the various Finishing Schools in this section of the country. For the benefit of those who are making this trip for the first time, we outline a few of the more important points in connection with the preliminaries to the trip East, together with minute instructions as to the journey itself.

SELECTING A PROPER SCHOOL

This is, of course, mainly a parent's problem and is best solved by resorting to the following formula: Let A and B represent two young girls' finishing schools in the East. Mrs. Raleigh-Jones (X), from the West, sends her daughter to A; Mrs. Borax (Y), from the same city, sends her daughter to B. Upon consulting the local social register, it is found that Mr. Raleigh-Jones is a member of the Union, Colonial, Town and Country, and Valley Hunt Clubs; upon consulting the telephone directory it is found that the Boraxes live at 1217 S. Main Street, and that Mr. Borax is an undertaker. Shall Mrs. F. B. Gerald (Z) send her daughter Annette to A or to B, and why?

Answer: A, because life is real, life is earnest, and the grave is not its goal.

CORRECT EQUIPMENT FOR THE SCHOOLGIRL

Having selected an educational institution, the next requisite is a suitable equipment. Girls who live in other parts of the United States are often surprised to discover that the clothes which they have purchased at the best store in their home town are totally unsuited for the rough climate of the East. I would, therefore, recommend the following list, subject, of course, to variation in individual cases.

1 Dress, chine, crepe de, pink, for dancing. 1 Dress, chine, crepe de, pink, for petting. 1 Dress, Swiss, Dotted, blue, or 1 Dress, Swiss, undotted, white. 15 yards Tulle, best quality, pink. 4 bottles perfume, domestic, or 1 bottle, perfume, French. 12 Dozen Dorine, men's pocket size. 6 Soles, cami, assorted. 1 Brassiere, or riding habit. 100 boxes aspirin, for dances and house-parties. 1 wave, permanent, for conversation. 24 waves, temporary. 10,000 nets, hair. 100,000 pins, hair. 1 bottle Quelques Fleurs, for knockout.

EN ROUTE

After the purchase of a complete outfit, it will be necessary to say goodbye to one's local friends. Partings are always somewhat sad, but it will be found that much simple pleasure may be derived from the last nights with the various boys to whom one is engaged.

In this connection, however, it would be well to avoid making any rash statements regarding undying friendship and affection, because, when you next see Eddie or Walter, at Christmas time, you will have been three months in the East, while they have been at the State University, and really, after one starts dancing with Yale men—well, it's a funny world.

In case you do not happen to meet any friends on the train, the surest way to protect yourself from any unwelcome advances is to buy a copy of the Atlantic Monthly and carry it, in plain view. Next to a hare lip, this is the safest protection for a travelling young girl that I know of; it has, however, the one objection that all the old ladies on the train are likely to tell you what they think of Katherine Fullerton Gerould, or their rheumatism.

If you are compelled to go to the dining car alone, you will probably sit beside an Elk with white socks, who will call the waiter "George." Along about the second course he will say to you, "It's warm for September, isn't it?" to which you should answer "No." That will dispose of the Elk.

Across the table from you will be a Grand Army man and his wife, going to visit their boy Elmer's wife's folks in Schenectady. When the fish is served, the Grand Army man will choke on a bone. Let him choke, but do not be too hopeful, as the chances are that he will dislodge the bone. All will go well until the dessert, when his wife will begin telling how raspberry sherbet always disagrees with her. Offer her your raspberry sherbet.

After dinner you may wish to read for a while, but the porter will probably have made up all the berths for the night. It will also be found that the light in your berth does not work, so you will be awake for a long time; finally, just as you are leaving Buffalo, you will at last get to sleep, and when you open your eyes again, you will be—in Buffalo.

There will be two more awakenings that night—once at Batavia, where a merry wedding party with horns and cow bells will follow the lucky bride and groom into your car, and once at Schenectady, where the Pullman car shock-absorbing tests are held. The next morning, tired but unhappy, you will reach New York.

A JOURNEY AROUND NEW YORK

The Aquarium. Take Fifth Avenue Bus to Times Square. Transfer to 42nd Street Crosstown. Get off at 44th Street, and walk one block south to the Biltmore. The most interesting fish will be found underneath the hanging clock, near the telephone booths.

Grant's Tomb. Take Fifth Avenue bus, and a light lunch. Change at Washington Square to a blue serge or dotted Swiss. Ride to the end of the line, and walk three blocks east. Then return the same way you came, followed by three fast sets of tennis, a light supper and early to bed. If you do not feel better in the morning, cut out milk, fresh fruit and uncooked foods for a while.

Metropolitan Museum of Art. Take Subway to Brooklyn. (Flatbush.) Then ask the subway guard where to go; he will tell you.

The Bronx. Take three oranges, a lemon, three of gin, to one of vermouth, with a dash of bitters. Serve cold.

The Ritz. Take taxicab and fifty dollars. If you have only fifty dollars the filet of sole Marguery is very good.

Brooklyn Bridge. Terrible. And their auction is worse.

When you have visited all these places, it will probably be time to take the train to your school.

THE FIRST DAYS IN THE NEW SCHOOL

The first week of school life is apt to be quite discouraging, and we can not too emphatically warn the young girl not to do anything rash under the influence of homesickness. It is in this initial period that many girls, feeling utterly alone and friendless, write those letters to boys back home which are later so difficult to pass off with a laugh. It is during this first attack of homesickness also that many girls, in their loneliness, recklessly accept the friendship of other strange girls, only to find out later that their new acquaintance's mother was a Miss Gundlefinger of Council Bluffs, or that she lives on the south side of Chicago. We advise: Go slow at first.

BECOMING ACCLIMATIZED

In your first day at school you will be shown your room; in your room you will find a sad-eyed fat girl. You will be told that this will be your room mate for the year. You will find that you have drawn a blank, that she comes from Topeka, Kan., that her paw made his money in oil, and that she is religious. You will be nice to her for the first week, because you aren't taking any chances at the start; you will tolerate her for the rest of the year, because she will do your lessons for you every night.

Across the hall from you there will be two older girls who are back for their second year. One of them will remind you of the angel painted on the ceiling of the Victory Theatre back home, until she starts telling about her summer at Narragansett; from the other you will learn how to inhale.

A VISITOR FROM PRINCETON

About the middle of the first term your cousin Charley Waldron, that freshman at Princeton, will write and say that he would like to come up and see you. You go to Miss French and ask her if you can have your cousin visit you. She sniffs at the "cousin" and tell's you that she must have a letter from Charley's father, one from Charley's minister, one from the governor of your state, and one from some disinterested party certifying that Charley has never been in the penitentiary, has never committed arson, and is a legitimate child. After you have secured these letters, Miss French will tell you that Charley will be allowed to see you next Saturday from four till five.

Charley will come and will be ushered into the reception room. While he is sitting there alone, the entire school will walk slowly, one by one, past the open door and look in at him. This will cause Charley to perspire freely and to wish to God he had worn his dark suit.

It is not at all likely that you will be allowed to go to New Haven during your first year, which is quite a pity, as this city, founded in 1638, is rich in historical interest. It was here, for example, in 1893, that Yale defeated Harvard at football, and the historic Pigskin which was used that day is still preserved intact. Many other quaint relics are to be seen in and around the city of elms, mementos of the past which bring to the younger generation a knowledge and respect for things gone. In the month of June, for example, there is really nothing which quite conjures up for the college youth of today a sense of the mutability and impermanence of this mortal life so much as the sight of a member of the class of 1875 after three days' intensive drinking. Eheu fugaces!

{illustration caption = "Who shall write first?" is a question that has perplexed many a lady or gentleman who is anxious to do the correct thing under any circumstances. A lady who has left town may send a brief note or a "P. P. C." ("pour prendre conge," i.e., "to take leave") card to a gentleman who remains at home, if the gentleman is her husband and if she has left town with his business partner. Neither the note nor the card requires an acknowledgment, but many a husband takes pleasure in penning his congratulations to the lady, concluding with an expression of gratitude to his friend.}



CHAPTER SEVEN: THE ETIQUETTE OF GAMES AND SPORTS

GOLF AS A PASTIME

"Golf" (from an old Scottish word meaning "golf") is becoming increasingly popular in the United States, and almost every city now has at least one private club devoted to the pursuit of this stylish pastime. Indeed, in many of our larger metropolises, the popular enthusiasm has reached such heights that free "public" courses have been provided for the citizens with, I may say, somewhat laughable results, as witness the fact that I myself have often seen persons playing on these "public" courses in ordinary shirts and trousers, tennis shoes, and SUSPENDERS.

The influence of this "democratization" on the etiquette of what was once an exclusive sport has been, in many instances, deplorable, and I am sure that our golf-playing forefathers would turn over in their graves were they to "play around" today on one of the "public" courses. In no pastime are the customs and unwritten laws more clearly defined, and it is essential that the young lady or gentleman of fashion who contemplates an afternoon on the "links" devote considerable time and attention to the various niceties of the etiquette of this ancient and honorable game.

A young man, for example, when playing with his employer, should always take pains to let his employer win. This is sometimes extremely difficult, but with practice even the most stubborn of obstacles can be overcome. On the first tee, for instance, after the employer, having swung and missed the ball completely one or two times, has managed to drive a distance of some forty-nine yards to the extreme right, the young man should take care to miss the ball completely THREE times, and then drive forty-eight yards to the extreme left. This is generally done by closing the eyes tightly and rising up sharply on both toes just before hitting the ball.

On the "greens" it is customary for a young man to "concede" his employer every "putt" which is within twenty feet of the hole. If the employer insists on "putting" [Ed. note:—He won't] and misses, the young man should take care to miss his own "putt." After both have "holed out," the young man should ask, "how many strokes, sir?" The employer will reply, "Let me see—I think I took seven for this hole, didn't I?" A well-bred young man will not under any circumstances remind his employer that he saw him use at least three strokes for the drive, three strokes for his second shot, four strokes in the "rough," seven strokes in the "bunker," and three "putts" on the "green," but will at once reply, "No, sir, I think you only took six, altogether." The employer will then say, "Well, well, call it six. I generally get five on this hole. What did you take?" The young man should then laugh cheerily and reply, "Oh, I took my customary seven." To which the employer will sympathetically say, "Too bad!"

After the employer has thus won his first three holes he will begin to offer the young man advice on how to improve his game. This is perhaps the most trying part of the afternoon's sport, but a young man of correct breeding and good taste will always remember the respect due an older man, and will not make the vulgar error of telling his employer for God's sake shut up before he gets a brassie in his———— ear.

A wife playing with her husband should do everything in her power to make the game enjoyable for the latter. She should encourage him, when possible, with little cheering proverbs, such as, "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again," and she should aid him with her advice when she thinks he is in need of it. Thus, when he drives into the sycamore tree on number eleven, she should say, "Don't you think, dear, that if you aimed a little bit more to the right...." et cetera. When they come to number fourteen, and his second shot lands in the middle of the lake, she should remark, "Perhaps you didn't hit it hard enough, dear." And when, on the eighteenth, his approach goes through the second-story window of the club-house, she should say, "Dear, I wonder if you didn't hit that too hard?" Such a wife is a true helpmate, and not merely a pretty ornament on which a silly husband can hang expensive clothes, and if he is the right sort of man, he will appreciate this, and refrain from striking her with a niblick after this last remark.

A young wife who does not play the game herself can, nevertheless, be of great help to her husband by listening patiently, night after night, while he tells her how he drove the green on number three, and took a four on number eight (Par five), and came up to the fourteenth one under fours. Caddies should be treated at all times with the respect and pity due one's fellow creatures who are "unfortunate." The sins of the fathers are visited upon the children, and one should always remember that it is not, after all, the poor caddy's fault that he was born blind.

AN AFTERNOON AT THE OLD FARM WITH THE DICE

"Craps" is a game played with dice, which is often popular in the men's coat and smoking-rooms before and during formal receptions, balls, recitals, etcetera. It should not be imagined, however, that "craps" is a sport for men only; on the contrary, smart women are enthusiastically taking up this sport in numerous localities, and many an affair which started as a dinner party or a musicale has ended in a crap game, with all the guests seated in an excited circle on the floor, contributing to the host's efforts to make expenses for the evening.

It is in connection with these "mixed" games, however, that most of the more serious questions of "craps" etiquette arise. If, for example, you are a young man desirous of "shooting craps" with your grandmother, the correct way of indicating your desire when you meet the old lady in a public place is for you to remove your hat deferentially and say "Shoot a nickel, Grandmother?" If she wishes to play she will reply "Shoot, boy!" and you should then select some spot suitable for the game and assist her, if she wishes your aid, to kneel on the ground. It might be an added mark of gentility to offer her your handkerchief or coat upon which to rest her knees.

You should then take out the dice and "shoot." Your grandmother will look at your "throw" and say, "Oh, boy! He fives—he fives—a three and a two—never make a five—come on, you baby seven!" You should then take up the dice again and shake them in your right hand while your grandmother chants, "A four and a three—a four and a two—dicety dice, and an old black joe—come on, you SEVEN!" You should then again "shoot." This time, as you have thrown a six and a one, your grandmother will then exclaim, "He sevens—the boy sevens—come on to grandmother, dice—talk to the nice old lady—Phoebe for grandma, dice, for grandpa needs a new pair of shoes—shoot a dime!"

She will then "throw," and so the game will go on until the old lady evidences a desire to stop, or, possibly, until either you or she are "cleaned out." In this latter case, however, it would be a customary act of courtesy towards an older person for you to offer to shoot your grandmother for her shawl or her side combs, thus giving her several more chances to win back the money she has lost. It should be recommended that young men never make a mistake in going a little out of their way on occasion to make life more pleasant and agreeable for the aged.

CORRECT BEHAVIOR ON A PICNIC

There often comes a time in the life of the members of "society" when they grow a little weary of the ceaseless round of teas, balls and dinners, and for such I would not hesitate to recommend a "picnic."

A day spent in the "open," with the blue sky over one's head, is indeed a splendid tonic for jaded nerves. But one should not make the mistake of thinking that because he (or she) is "roughing it" for a day, he (or she) can therefore leave behind his (or her) "manners," for such is not the case. There is a distinct etiquette for picnics, and any one who disregards this fact is apt to find to his (or her) sorrow that the "shoe" in this case is decidedly "on the other foot."

A young man, for example, is often asked by a young lady to accompany her on a "family picnic." To this invitation he should, after some consideration, reply either "Yes" or "No," and if the former, he should present himself at the young lady's house promptly on the day set for the affair (usually Sunday).

A "family picnic" generally consists of a Buick, a father, a mother, a daughter, a small son, beef loaf, lettuce sandwiches, a young man (you), two blow-outs, one spare tire, and Aunt Florence.

The father drives with his small boy beside him; in the rear are the mother, the daughter, Aunt Florence, the thermos bottles, the lunch baskets and you. As you take your seat you must remember that it is a distinct evidence of bad breeding to show in any way that you are conscious of the fact that the car has been standing for the last hour and forty-four minutes in the hot July sun.

"We're off!" cries father, pressing his foot on the self-starting pedal. Thirty minutes later you roll away from the curb and the picnic has begun. The intervening time has, of course, been profitably spent by you in walking to the nearest garage for two new sparkplugs.

It should be your duty, as guest, to see that the conversation in the rear seat is not allowed to lag. "It's a great day," you remark, as the car speeds along. "I think it's going to rain," replies Aunt Florence. "Not too fast, Will!" says mother. "Mother!" says the daughter.

Ten minutes later you should again remark, "My, what a wonderful day!" "Those clouds are gathering in the west," says Aunt Florence, "I think we had better put the top up." "I think this is the wrong road," says mother.

"Dear, I know what I'm doing," replies father.

The secret of good conversation lies in discovering the "hobby" of the person with whom one is conversing, and a good talker always throws out several "feelers" in order to find out the things in which his partner is most interested. You should, therefore, next say to mother, "Don't you think this is a glorious day for a picnic?" to which she will reply, "Well, I'm sure this is the wrong road. Hadn't you better ask?" The husband will answer nothing, but Aunt Florence will murmur, "I think I felt a drop of rain, Will. If you don't put the top up now, we'll all be drenched."

The husband will then stop the car, and you and he will proceed to put up the top. In doing this, it is customary for the guest to get the second and third fingers of his right hand so severely pinched that he can not use the hand for several days. As soon as the top is up and the rain curtains are in place the sun will come out and you can at once get out and put the top down, taking care this time to ruin two fingers of the LEFT hand.

No good conversationalist confines himself exclusively to one subject, and when you are once more "under way" you should remark to the mother, "I think that motoring is great fun, don't you, Mrs. Caldwell?" Her answer will be, "I wish you wouldn't drive so fast!" You should then smile and say to Aunt Florence, "Don't YOU think that motoring is great fun, Mrs. Lockwood?" As she is about to reply, the left rear tire will blow out with a loud noise and the car will come to a bumping stop.

The etiquette of changing a tire is fairly simple. As soon as the "puncture" occurs one should at once remark, "Is there anything I can do?" This request should be repeated from time to time, always taking care, however, that no one takes it at all seriously. The real duty of a young man who is a "guest" on a motor trip on which a "blow-out" occurs is, of course, to keep the ladies of the party amused during the delay. This can be accomplished by any of the conventional methods, such as card tricks, handsprings, and other feats of athletic agility, or making funny jokes about the host who is at work on the tire.

When the damage has been repaired and the car is once more speeding along, leaving behind it mile after mile of dusty road as well as father's best "jack" and set of tire tools, the small boy will suddenly remark, "I'm hungry." His father will then reply, "We'll be at a fine place to eat in ten minutes." Thirty minutes later mother will remark, "Will, that looks like a good place for a picnic over there." The father will reply, "No—we're coming to a wonderful place—just trust me, Mary!" Twenty minutes later Aunt Florence will say, "Will, I think that grove over there would be fine for our lunch," to which the husband will reply, "We're almost at the place I know about—it's ideal for a picnic." Forty minutes after this, father will stop the car and point to a clump of trees. "There," he will say, "what do you think of that?" "Oh, we can't eat THERE!" will be the answer of mother, daughter and Aunt Florence. "Drive on a bit further—I think I know a place."

Three hours and thirty minutes later (i. e. four hours past your normal lunch hour) there will be another puncture and as the car stops beside a wheat field it will begin to rain, and the daughter will sigh, "Well, we might as well eat here." The "picnic" will then be held in the car, and nothing really quite carries one back to nature and primeval man as does warm lemonade and a lettuce sandwich in a Buick with the top up and side curtains on.

After lunch it will be time to return home, and after you and father have ruined your clothes in repairing the punctures, the merry party will proceed on its way. The next morning, if you have not caught pneumonia, you will be able to go to your work greatly refreshed by your day's outing in the lap of old Mother Nature.

{illustration caption = Nowhere is the etiquette of travel more abused than our subways. The gentleman shown above is en route to his fiancee's flat in the Bronx. He has neglected to purchase the customary bouquet for his intended and has offered his seat to the lady, who is standing, in exchange for her corsage bouquet. Should she accept the proposition without further ado, or should she request the guard to introduce the gentleman first?}

{illustration caption = The young lady has received an invitation to a quilting-bee from a Mrs. Steenwyck and, anxious to make a correct reply, she has bought a Complete Letter Writer to aid her to this end. To her surprise and dismay, she finds that it contains three model replies to such an invitation beginning "Dear Mrs. Peartree," "Dear Mrs. Rombouts," and "Dear Mrs. Bevy," and one invitation to a christening beginning, "Dear Mrs. Steenwyck," but no reply to an invitation to a quilting-bee beginning "Dear Mrs. Steenwyck." PERFECT BEHAVIOR settles such perplexities.}

{illustration caption = Crests or other armorial bearings on notepaper are no longer considered absolutely necessary to establish one's social position. Nevertheless, if one feels that note-paper that does not bear the family escutcheon is not quite all that note-paper should be, it is permissible to have it stamped neatly at the top of the first sheet. Care should be exercised to avoid selecting coats-of-arms that might be recognized, such as that of the United States or Great Britain. Rather solicit the taste of a good stationer than commit the blunders depicted above.}



BOXING IN AMERICAN SOCIETY

Although many of America's foremost boxers have been persons whom one would not care to know socially, yet much fun and pleasure can be had out of the "manly art" if practised in a gentlemanly manner.

"Boxing parties" are generally held in the evening. The ballroom of one's home can be pleasantly decorated for the occasion, with a square ring roped off in the centre surrounded by seats for the ladies and gentlemen who come as invited guests. Evening dress is usually worn.

The contests should be between various members of one's social "set" who are fond of the sport and can be counted on to remember at all times that they are gentlemen.

The matches should be arranged in tournament form, so that the winner of one bout meets the winner of the next bout, et cetera, until all but two have been eliminated. The boxer who wins this final contest shall be proclaimed the "champion."

Great fun can then be had by announcing that the "champion" will be permitted to box three rounds with a "masked marvel." The identity of this "unknown" (who is usually Jack Dempsey or some other noted professional pugilist) should be kept carefully secret, so that all the guests are in a glow of mystified excitement when the contest begins, and you can imagine their delight and happy enthusiasm when the "masked marvel" cleverly knocks the "champion" for a double loop through the ropes into the lap of some tittering "dowager."

Refreshments should then be served and the "champion" can be carried home in a car or ambulance provided by the thoughtful host.

BRIDGE WHIST

"Bridge whist," or "Bridge," as it is often called by the younger generation, is rapidly replacing whist as the favorite card game of good society, and "bridge" parties are much en vogue for both afternoon and evening entertainments. In order to become an expert "bridge" player one must, of course, spend many months and even years in a study of the game, but any gentleman or lady of average intelligence can, I believe, pick up the fundamentals of "bridge" in a short while.

Let us suppose, for example, that you, as a "young man about town," are invited to play "bridge" on the evening of Friday, November seventeenth, at the home of Mrs. Franklin Gregory. Now, although you may have played the game only once or twice in your life, it would never do to admit the fact, for in good society one is supposed to play "bridge" just as one is supposed to hate newspaper publicity, and on the evening of Friday, November seventeenth, you should present yourself in suitable attire at Mrs. Gregory's home.

There you will find fifteen or twenty other guests, and after a few minutes of light social banter a bell will ring and the players will take their places. At your table will be Mrs. F. Jamison Dollings (your partner) and Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Watts. Mrs. Dollings (Sept. 6, 1880) is considered one of the most expert "bridge" players in the city, while Mr. Watts has one of the largest retail clothing stores in the central part of the State. Mrs. Watts was one of the Van Cortlandt girls (the plain one).

As you are probably (next to Mr. and Mrs. Watts) the worst "bridge" player in the room it should be your duty to make up for this deficiency by keeping the other three players conversationally stimulated, for nothing so enlivens a game of "bridge" as a young man or woman with a pleasing personality and a gift for "small talk." Thus, at the very beginning, after you have finished dealing the cards, you should fill in what seems to you an embarrassing pause by telling one of your cleverest stories, at the conclusion of which Mrs. Dollings will remark, "We are waiting for your bid, Mr. S——."

The etiquette of "bidding," as far as you are concerned, should resolve itself into a consistent effort on your part to become "dummy" for each and every game. The minute your partner (Mrs. Dollings) bids anything, it should be your duty as a gentleman to see that she gets it, no matter what the cost.

Thus, on the first hand, you "pass." Mr. Watts then says, "Wait a minute, till I get these cards fixed"; to which Mrs. Watts replies, "Theodore, for Heaven's sake, how long do you want?" Mr. Watts then says, "Which is higher—clubs or hearts?" to which Mrs. Watts replies, "Clubs." Mrs. Dollings then says, "I beg your pardon, but hearts have always been considered higher than clubs." Mrs. Watts says, "Oh, yes, of course," and gives Mr. Watts a mean look. Mr. Watts then says, "I bid—let's see—I bid two spades—no, two diamonds." Mrs. Dollings quickly says, "Two lilies," Mr. Watts says, "What's a lily?" to which Mrs. Watts replies, "Theodore!" and then bids "Two spades," at which Mrs. Dollings says, "I beg your pardon, but I have just bid two spades." Mr. Watts then chuckles, and Mrs. Watts says (but not to Mr. Watts), "I beg your pardon." Mrs. Watts then bids "Three spades," at which you quickly say, "Four spades."

This bid is not "raised." Mrs. Dollings then says to you, "I am counting on your spades to help me out," at which you look at the only spade in your hand (the three) and answer, "Ha! Ha! Ha!" There is then a wait of four minutes, at the end of which Mrs. Dollings wearily says, "It is your first lead, is it not, Mrs. Watts?" Mrs. Watts then blushes, says, "Oh, I beg your pardon!" and leads the four of hearts. You then lay down your "dummy" hand. Before Mrs. Dollings has had time to discover just what you have done to her, you should rise quickly and say, "Excuse me, but I want to use the telephone a minute." You should then go into the next room and wait ten or fifteen minutes. When you return Mrs. Dollings will have disappeared, Mrs. Watts will be looking fixedly at Mr. Watts, and Mr. Watts will be saying, "Well, it's a silly game, anyway."

You and Mr. and Mrs. Watts can then have a nice game of twenty-five cent limit stud poker for the rest of the evening, and it would certainly be considered a thoughtful and gracious "gesture" if, during the next two or three weeks, you should call occasionally at the hospital to see how Mrs. Dollings is "getting on," or you might even send some flowers or a nice potted plant.

FORMAL AND INFORMAL DRINKING

"Drinking" has, of course, always been a popular sport among the members of the better classes of society, but never has the enthusiasm for this pastime been so great in America as since the advent of "prohibition." Gentlemen and ladies who never before cared much for "drinking" have now given up almost all other amusements in favor of this fascinating sport; young men and debutantes have become, in the last few years, fully as expert in the game as their parents. In many cities "drinking" has become more popular than "bridge" or dancing and it is predicted that, with a few more years of "prohibition," "drinking" will supersede golf and baseball as the great American pastime.

The effect of this has been to change radically many of the fundamental rules of the sport, and the influence on the etiquette of the game has been no less marked. What was considered "good form" in this pastime among our forefathers now decidedly demode, and the correct drinker of 1910 is as obsolete and out of date in the present decade as the "frock-coat."

The game today is divided into (a) formal and (b) informal drinking. "Formal drinking" is usually played after dinner and is more and more coming to take the place of charades, sleight-of-hand performances, magic lantern shows, "dumb crambo," et cetera, as the parlor amusement par excellence. "Formal drinking" can be played by from one to fifteen people in a house of ordinary dimensions; for a larger number it is generally better to provide a garage, a large yard, and special police, fire and plate glass insurance. The game is played with glasses, ice, and a dozen bottles of either whisky or gin.

The sport is begun by the host's wife, who says, "How would you all like to play a little bridge?" This is followed by silence. Another wife then says, "I think it would be awfully nice to play a little bridge." One of the men players then steps forward and says "I think it would be awfully nice to have a little drink."

An "It" is then selected—always, by courtesy, the host. The "It" then says, "How would you all like to have a little drink?" The men players then answer in the affirmative and the "It's" wife says, "Now Henry dear, please—remember what happened last time." The "It" replies, "Yes, dear," and goes into the cellar, while the "It's" wife, after providing each guest with a glass, puts away the Dresden china clock, the porcelain parrot. and the gold fish globe.

Sides are chosen—usually with the husbands on one "team" and the wives on the other. The purpose of the game is for the "husbands', team" to try to drink up all the "It's" liquor before the "wives' team" can get them to go home.

When the "It" returns with the liquor he pours out a portion for each player and at a given signal all drink steadily for several minutes. The "It's" wife then says, "Now—how about a few rubbers of bridge?" She is immediately elected "team captain" for the rest of the evening. It is the duty of the "team captain" to provide cracked ice and water, to get ready the two spare bedrooms, to hold Wallie Spencer's hand, to keep Eddie Armstrong from putting his lighted cigaret ends on the piano, and to break up the party as soon as possible. The game generally ends when (1) the liquor is all gone, (2) the "It" (or three guests) have passed "out," (3) Wallie Spencer starts telling about his war experiences. "Informal" drinking needs, of course, no such elaborate preparations and can be played anywhere and any time there is anything to drink. The person who is caught with the liquor is "It," and the object of the game is to take all the liquor away from the "It" as soon as possible. In order to avoid being "It," many players sometimes resort to various low subterfuges, such as sneaking down alone to the club locker-room during a dance, but this practise is generally looked upon with great disfavor—especially by that increasingly large group of citizens who are unselfishly devoting their lives to the cause of a "dry America" by consuming all of the present rapidly diminishing visible supply.

A JOLLY HALLOWE'EN PARTY

The problem of providing suitable entertainment for one's informal parties is something which has perplexed many a host and hostess in recent years. How often has it happened that just when you had gotten your guests nicely seated around the parlor listening to the Caruso record, some ill-mannered fellow would remark, "Oh, Lord—let's go over to the Tom Phillips' and get something to drink." How many times in the past have you prepared original little "get-together" games, such as Carol Kennicott did in Main Street, only to find that, when you again turned the lights on, half the company had disappeared for the evening.

Of course we cannot all be as startlingly clever as Carol, but Hallowe'en, which comes this year on October 31st, offers a splendid opportunity for originality and "peppy" fun. The following suggestions are presented to ambitious hostesses with the absolute guaranty that no matter what other reactions her guests may have, they will certainly not be bored.

{illustration caption = Few people realize the value of picture post-cards as indicators of the birth, breeding, and character of the sender, yet nothing so definitely "places" a person socially as his choice of these souvenirs. Could you have selected the senders of the above cards?}

{illustration caption = In spite of his haughty airs and fine clothes, the gentleman betrays that he is not much accustomed to good society when, having been asked by his hostess if he would care to remove his coat and waistcoat during the warm evening of bridge, he, in doing so, reveals the presence of several useful cards hidden about his person. This sort of thing, while often tolerated at less formal "stag" poker-parties, is seldom, ever, permissible when ladies are present. The young man was simply ignorant of the fact that Hoyle and not Herman the Great is the generally accepted authority on cards in the "beau monde."}



INVITATIONS

The whole spirit of Hallowe'en is, of course, one of "spooky" gayety and light-hearted ghastliness. Witches and ghosts run riot; corpses dance and black cats howl. "More work for the undertaker" should be the leitmotif of the evening's fun.

The moribund spirit can be delightfully observed, first of all, in the preparation of the invitations. I know of one hostess, for instance, who gained a great reputation for originality by enclosing a dead fish with each bidding to the evening's gayeties. It is, of course, not at all necessary to follow her example to the letter; the enclosure of anything dead will suffice, providing, of course, that it is not TOO dead. There is such a thing as carrying a joke beyond the limits of propriety, and the canons of good taste should always be respectfully observed.

Another amusing way of preparing invitations is to cut out colored paper in the shape of cats, witches, etc., upon which appropriate verses are inscribed. Such as:

"Next Monday night is Hallowe'en, You big stiff." or "On Monday next comes All-Hallows-Even, My grandmother's maiden name was Stephens." or "On Hallowe'en you may see a witch If you don't look out, you funny fellow." or "Harry and I are giving a Hallowe'en party; Harry says you owe him four dollars; please be prompt. or "Monday night the ghosts do dance; Why didn't you enlist and go to France, You slacker?"

Another novel invitation is made by cutting a piece of yellow paper thirteen inches long and four inches wide, and writing on each inch one of the lines given below. Then begin at the bottom and fold the paper up, inch by inch. Fasten the last turn down with a "spooky" gummed sticker, and slip into a small envelope. When the recipient unfolds the invitation, he will be surprised to read the following:

Now what on earth do you suppose is in this little folder keep turning ha ha ha further ha ha ha further ha ha ha, further ha ha ha further

It would perhaps be best to telephone the next day to those guests whom you really want, and give them further details as to the date and time of the party. Additional fun can be gotten out of this invitation by failing to put postage stamps on the envelopes when you mail them; the two cents which each guest will have to pay for postage due can be returned in a novel manner on the night of the party by inserting them in sandwiches or stuffed tomatoes.

For those who may wish to send out more elaborate invitations, the following distinctly original plan is suggested: Procure a number of small alarm clocks and a quantity of nitroglycerine or other high explosive. Insert in each clock a small amount of the nitroglycerine, being careful not to put too much; a quantity sufficient to wreck a room 20 X 30 Will generally suffice. Then arrange the alarm mechanism so that the explosion will occur at 12 midnight. Attach to the clock a card, neatly decorated with witches, goblins, etc., on which is written

"Midnight is the mystic hour Of yawning graves and coffins dour. Beneath your bed this clock please hide And when it strikes—-you'll be surprised."

These clocks should then be delivered in the afternoon to those of the guests whom you are merely inviting because they are your husband's business associates, or because they were nice to your mother when she did her own work. Later on, in order to avoid hard feelings on the part of relatives and friends of the deceased, it might be well to explain to them that you sent the clocks only in the spirit of Hallowe'en fun; it might even help to invite them to one of your next parties.

RECEIVING THE GUESTS

On Hallowe'en night great care should be taken in the preparations for receiving the guests in a mystic manner; no pains should be spared in the effort to start the evening off with a "bang."

Several novel ideas are offered for starting the guests off on the right informal spirit. Before they arrive, it is a good plan to take the street number off your house and fasten it to the porch of your next door neighbors, who will, of course, be at home because they are perfectly impossible people whom no one would invite anywhere. Extinguish all the lights in your own house; your neighbor, as he comes downstairs twenty-five or thirty times in the next hour, will obligingly tell your bewildered friends specifically where to go.

When the guest finally learns from the neighborhood policeman which house on the block is really yours he will discover on your door a sign reading:

"If you would be my Valentine, Follow please the bright green line."

Leading from the door is a green cord which the mystified guest proceeds to follow, according to directions. This cord should guide the way to the coal cellar of your other neighbor who has recently purchased an automatic revolver under the delusion that burglars are operating in the neighborhood. As your bewildered guest gropes his way about the cellar, it is quite likely that he will be shot at several times and by the time he emerges (if he does emerge) he will be quite delightfully full of the informal spirit of Hallowe'en and ready for anything.

HOW TO MYSTIFY

At this point, your wife, dressed as a witch, should unexpectedly rush out at him; there is always the delightful possibility that he will pick up a convenient rock and brain her on the spot—an event which often adds an unexpected touch of gayety to the evening's fun. If, however, no such event occurs, the guest should be blindfolded and led into the house. Once inside he is conducted upstairs to the attic, where he will find three or four earlier arrivals also blindfolded.

The hands and feet of these four are then securely tied and they are told that they are to be left there all evening. This is really a great joke, because they do not, of course, at the time, believe what you say, and when you come up to untie them the next morning, their shame-faced discomposure is truly laughable.

The green-cord-into-neighbor's-coal-cellar joke can be cleverly varied by taking the lid off your cistern and making the green line lead in that direction. Great care should be taken, however, to keep an exact account of the number of guests who succumb to this trick, for although an unexpected "ducking" is excruciatingly humorous, drowning often results fatally.

Great fun can be added to the evening's entertainment by dressing several of the guests as ghosts, witches, corpses, etc; these costumes can be quite simply and economically made in the home, or can be procured from some reliable department store.

An "old-fashioned" witch's costume consists of a union suit (Munsing or any other standard brand), corset, brassiere, chemise, underpetticoat, overpetticoat, long black skirt, long black stockings, shoes, black waist and shawl, with a pointed witch's hat and a broomstick. The "modern" witch's costume is much simpler and inexpensive in many details.

A particularly novel and "hair raising" effect may be produced by painting the entire body of one of the male guests with phosphorus. As this glowing nude stalks uncannily through the darkened rooms you may easily imagine the ghastly effect—especially upon his wife.

GAMES

After the guests have sufficiently amused themselves with the ghosts and witches it will be time to commence some of the many games which are always associated with Hallowe'en. "Bobbing for apples" is, of course, the most common of these games and great sport it is, too, to watch the awkward efforts of the guests as they try to pick up with their teeth the apples floating in a large tub. I know of one hostess who added greatly to the evening's fun by pouring twelve quarts of gin into the tub; the effect on the bobbers was, of course, extremely comical, except for the unfortunate conduct of two gentlemen, one of whom went to sleep in the tub, the other so far forgetting himself as playfully to throw all the floating fruit at the hostess' pet Pomeranian.

Most Hallowe'en games concern themselves with delving into the future in the hopes that one may there discover one's husband or bride-to-be. In one of these games the men stand at one end of the room, facing the girls, with their hands behind their backs and eyes tightly closed. The girls are blindfolded and one by one they are led to within six feet of the expectant men and given a soft pin cushion which they hurl forward. The tradition is that whichever man the girl hits, him will she marry. Great fun can be added to the game by occasionally substituting a rock or iron dumb-bell in place of the romantic pin cushion.

Another game based on a delightful old Hallowe'en tradition is as follows: A girl is given a lighted candle and told to walk upstairs into the room at the end of the hall where, by looking in a mirror, she will see her future husband. Have it arranged so that you are concealed alone in the room. When the girl arrives, look over her shoulder into the mirror. She had better go downstairs after ten minutes, though, so that another girl can come up. This tradition dates from before William the Conqueror.

No Hallowe'en is complete, of course, without fortune telling. Dress yourself as a wizard and have the guests led in one by one to hear their fortune told. Hanging in front of you should be a caldron, from which you extract the slip of paper containing the particular fortune. These slips of paper should be prepared beforehand. The following are suggested:

"You will meet a well dressed, good looking man who understands you better than your husband. How about Thursday at the Plaza?"

"You are about to receive a shipment of Scotch whisky that you ordered last month. And it's about time you kicked across with some of your own."

"You will have much trouble in your life if you lie about your golf score as you did last Sunday on Number 12."

Still another pleasing Hallowe'en game, based on the revelation of one's matrimonial future, is played as follows: Seven lighted candles are placed in a row on a table. The men are then blindfolded, whirled around three times and commanded to blow out the candles. The number extinguished at a blow tells the number of years before they meet their bride. This game only grows interesting, of course, when some old goat with long whiskers can be induced to take a blind shot at blowing out the candles. Have Pyrene convenient—but not too convenient to spoil the fun.

For the older members of the party, the host should provide various games of cards and dice. In keeping with the ghastly spirit of the occasion, it would be well to have the dice carefully loaded. Many hosts have thus been able to make all expenses and often a handsome profit out of the evening's entertainment.

If the crap game goes particularly well, many hosts do not hesitate to provide elaborate refreshments for the guests. Here, too, the spirit of fun and jollity should prevail, and great merriment is always provoked by the ludicrous expression of the guest who has broken two teeth on the cast-iron olive. Other delightful surprises should be arranged, and a little Sloan's liniment in the punch or ground glass in the ice cream will go a long way toward making the supper amusing. And finally, when the guests are ready to depart and just before they discover that you have cut cute little black cats and witches out of the backs of their evening wraps and over coats, it would perhaps be well to run up stairs and lock yourself securely in your room.



CHAPTER EIGHT: CORRESPONDENCE AND INVITATIONS

CORRESPONDENCE

It is narrated of a well-known English lady (who is noted on the other side of the Atlantic for the sharpness of her wit) that on one occasion, when a vainglorious American was boasting of his country's prowess in digging the Panama Canal, she calmly waited until he had finished and then replied, with an indescribable smile, "Ah—but you Americans do not know how to write letters." Needless to say the discomfited young man took himself off at the earliest opportunity.

There is much truth, alas, in the English lady's clever retort, for the automatic typewriter, the telegraph, and the penny postal card have done much to cause a gradual decline in the gentle art of correspondence. As one American woman recently remarked to a visitor (with more wit, however, than good taste), "Yes, we do have correspondents here—but they are all in the divorce courts."

CORRESPONDENCE FOR YOUNG LADIES

There are certain rules in regard to correct letter-writing which must be followed by all who would "take their pen in hand." Young people are the most apt to offend in this respect against the accepted canons of good taste and it is to these that I would first address the contents of this chapter. A young girl often lets her high spirits run away with her amour propre, with the result that her letters, especially those addressed to strangers, are often lacking in that dignity which is the sine qua non of correct correspondence.

Consider, for example, the following two letters composed by Miss Florence ......, a debutante of New York City, who is writing to a taxidermist thanking him for his neat work in having recently stuffed her deceased pet Alice. The first of these letters illustrates the evil to which I have just referred, viz., the complete absence of proper dignity. The second, written with the aid of her mama, whose experience in social affairs has been considerable, shows the correct method of corresponding with comparative strangers.

An Incorrect Letter from a Debutante to a Taxidermist Thanking Him for Having Stuffed Her Pet Alice

DEAR MR. Epps:

Aren't you an old PEACH to have gone and stuffed Alice so prettily! Really, Mr. Epps, I never saw such a knockout piece of taxidermy, even in Europe, and I simply adore it. Mother gave a dinner party last night and EVERYBODY was just wild about it and wanted to know who had done it. How on EARTH did you manage to get the wings to stay like that? And the eyes are just too priceless for words. Honestly, every time I look at it, it's so DARNED natural that I can't believe Alice is really dead. I guess you must be pretty dog-goned crazy about birds yourself to have done such a lovely job on Alice, and I guess you know how perfectly sick I was over her death. Honestly, Mr. Epps, she was such a PEACH of an owl. But I suppose it had to be, and anyway, thanks just heaps for having done such a really perfectly gorgeous bit of taxidermy. Gratefully, FLORENCE CHASE. 593 Fifth Avenue, New York City.

The above is, you observe, quite lacking in that reserve with which young ladies should always treat strange gentlemen and especially those who are not in their own social "set." Slang may be excusable in shop girls or baseball players, but never in the mouth of a young lady with any pretensions to breeding. And the use of "darned" and "dog-goned" is simply unpardonable. Notice, now, the way in which Miss Florence writes the letter after, her mama has given her the proper instruction.

A Correct Letter from a Debutante to a Taxidermist Thanking Him for Having Stuffed Her Pet Alice

Mr. Lloyd Epps, Taxidermist, New York City. DEAR SIR:

It is with sincere pleasure that I take my pen in hand to compliment you upon the successful manner in which you have rendered your services as taxidermist upon my late owl Alice. Death in the animal kingdom is all too often regarded with an unbecoming levity or, at least, a careless lack of sympathetic appreciation, and it is with genuine feelings of gratitude that I pen these lines upon the occasion of the receipt of the sample of the excellent manner in which you have performed your task. Of the same opinion is my father, a vice-president of the Guaranty Trust Co., and himself a taxidermist of no inconsiderable merit, who joins me in expressing to you our most grateful appreciation. Sincerely yours, FLORENCE ELIOT CHASE. December 11, 1922.

{illustration caption = The young man is leaving the home of his host in "high dudgeon." He is of the type rather slangily known among the members of our younger set as "finale hopper" which means, in the "King's English," one who is very fond of dancing. His indignation is well founded, since it is not the custom among members of the socially elite to comment in the presence of the guest on either the quantity of soup consumed or the method of consumption adopted. These things should be left for the privacy of the boudoir or smoking den where they will afford much innocent amusement. Nor is the host mending matters by his kindly meant but perhaps tactless offer of a nickel for carfare.}

{illustration caption = The gentleman with the excellent teeth has just been guilty of a gross social error. Wrongly supposing that the secret of popularity lies in a helpful spirit and having discovered that the son of his hostess is about to enter a dental school, he has removed the excellent teeth (false) from his mouth and passed them around for inspection. The fact that the teeth are of the latest mode does not in any way condone the breach. Leniency in such matters is not recommended. "Facilis descensus Averni" as one of the great poets of the Middle Ages so aptly put it.}



COLLEGE BOYS

It is the tendency of the age to excuse many social errors in young people, and especially is this true of the mischievous pranks of college boys. If Harvard football heroes and their "rooters," for example, wish to let their hair grow long and wear high turtle-necked red "sweaters," corduroy trousers and huge "frat" pins, I, for one, can see no grave objection, for "boys will be boys" and I am, I hope, no "old fogy" in such matters. But I also see no reason why these same young fellows should not be interested in the graces of the salon and the arts of the drawing-room. Consider, for example, the following two letters, illustrating the correct and incorrect method in which two young college men should correspond, and tell me if there is not some place in our college curriculum for a Professor of Deportment:

An Incorrect Letter from a Princeton Student to a Yale Student Congratulating the Latter on His Football Victory

DEAR MIKE:

Here's your damn money. I was a fool to give you odds. ED. P. S. What happened at the Nass? I woke up Sunday with a terrific welt on my forehead and somebody's hat with the initials L. G. T., also a Brooks coat. Do you know whose they are? P. P. S. Please for God's sake don't cash this check until the fifteenth or I'm ruined.

And here is the way in which I would suggest that this same letter be indited.

A Correct Letter from a Princeton Student to a Yale Student Congratulating the Latter on His Football Victory

MY DEAR "FRIENDLY ENEMY":

Well, well, it was a jolly game, wasn't it, and it was so good to see you in "Old Nassau." I am sorry that you could not have come earlier in the fall, when the trees were still bronze and gold. I also regret exceedingly that you did not stay over until Sunday, for it would have been such a treat to have taken you to see the Graduate School buildings and the Cleveland Memorial Tower. However, "better luck next time."

The enclosed check is, as you may well guess, in payment of our wager on the result of the gridiron-contest. Truly, I am almost glad that I lost, for I can not but think that gambling in any form is at best an unprofitable diversion, and this has taught me, I hope, a lesson from which I may well benefit. Do not think me a "prig," dear Harry, I beg of you, for I am sure that you will agree with me that even a seemingly innocent wager on a football match may lead in later life to a taste for gambling with dice and cards or even worse. Shall we not agree to make this our last wager—or at least, next time, let us not lend it the appearance of professional gambling by giving "odds," such as I gave you this year.

You must have thought it frightfully rude of me not to have seen you to the train after that enjoyable evening at the Nassau Inn, but to tell you the truth, Harry, the nervous excitement of the day proved too much for me and I was forced to retire. My indisposition was further accentuated by a slight mishap which befell me outside the Inn but which need cause you no alarm as a scalp wound was the only result and a few days' rest in my cozy dormitory room will soon set matters to rights. I trust, however, that you will explain to your friends the cause of my sudden departure and my seeming inhospitality. Such jolly fellows they were—and I am only too glad to find that the "bulldogs" are as thoroughly nice as the chaps we have down here. Incidentally, I discovered, somewhat to my dismay, as you may well imagine, that in taking my departure I inadvertently "walked off" with the hat and overcoat of one of your friends whose initials are L. G. T. I am mortified beyond words and shall send the garments to you by the next post with my deepest apologies to the unlucky owner.

Rest assured, Harry my friend, that I am looking forward to visiting you some time in the near future, for I have always been curious to observe the many interesting sights of "Eli land." Particularly anxious am I to see the beautiful trees which have given New Haven its name of "the City of Elms," and the collection of primitive paintings for which your college is justly celebrated. And in closing may I make the slight request that you postpone the cashing of my enclosed check until the fifteenth of this month, as, due to some slight misunderstanding, I find that my account is in the unfortunate condition of being "overdrawn."

Believe me, Harry, with kindest regards to your nice friends and yourself and with congratulations on the well deserved victory of your "eleven," Your devoted friend and well wisher, EDWARD ELLIS COCHRAN.

LETTERS TO PARENTS

Of course, when young people write to the members of their immediate family, it is not necessary that they employ such reserve as in correspondence with friends. The following letter well illustrates the change in tone which is permissible in such intimate correspondence:

A Correct Letter from a Young Lady in Boarding School to Her Parents

DEAR MOTHER:

Of course I am terribly glad that you and father are thinking of coming to visit me here at school next week, but don't you think it would be better if, instead of your coming all the way up here, I should come down and stay with you in New York? The railroad trip up here will be very hard on you, as the trains are usually late and the porters and conductors are notorious for their gruffness and it is awfully hard to get parlor-car seats and you know what sitting in a day-coach means. I should love to have you come only I wouldn't want you or father to get some terrible sickness on the train and last month there were at least three wrecks on that road, with many fatalities, and when you get here the accommodations aren't very good for outsiders, many of the guests having been severely poisoned only last year by eating ripe olives and the beds, they say, are extremely hard. Don't you really think it would be ever so much nicer if you and father stayed in some comfortable hotel in New York with all the conveniences in the world and there are some wonderful things at the theaters which you really ought to see. I could probably get permission from Miss Spencer to come and visit you over Saturday and Sunday if you are stopping at one of the five hotels on her "permitted" list.

However, if you do decide to come here, perhaps it would be better to leave father in New York because I know he wouldn't like it at all with nothing but women and girls around and I am sure that he couldn't get his glass of hot water in the morning before breakfast and he would have a much better time in New York. But if he does come please mother don't let him wear that old gray hat or that brown suit, and mother couldn't you get him to get some gloves and a cane in New York before he comes? And please, mother dear, make him put those "stogies" of his in an inside pocket and would you mind, mother, not wearing that brooch father's employees gave you last Christmas?

I shall be awfully glad to see you both but as I say it would be better if you let me come to New York where you and father will be ever so much more comfortable. Your loving daughter, JEANNETTE.

LETTERS FROM PARENTS

THE same familiarity may be observed by parents when corresponding with their children, with, of course, the addition of a certain amount of dignity commensurate with the fact that they are, as it were, in loco parentis. The following example will no doubt be of aid to parents in correctly corresponding with their children:

A Correct Letter from a Mother to Her Son Congratulating Him on His Election to the Presidency of the United States

DEAR FREDERICK:

I am very glad that you have been elected President of the United States, Frederick, and I hope that now you will have sense enough to see Dr. Kincaid about your teeth. It would be well to have him give you a thorough looking over at this time. And Mrs. Peasely has given me the name of a splendid throat specialist in New York whom I wish you would see as soon as possible, for it has been almost a year since you went to Dr. Ryan. Are you getting good wholesome food? Mrs. Dennison stopped in this morning and she told me that Washington is very damp in the spring and I think you had better get a new overcoat—a heavy warm one. She also told me the name of a place where you can buy real woolen socks and pajamas. I hope that you aren't going to be so foolish as to wear those short B. V. D.'s all winter because now that you are president you must take care of yourself, Edward dear. Are you keeping up those exercises in the morning? I found those dumb-bells of yours in the attic yesterday and will send them on to you if you wish. And, dear, please keep your throat covered when you go out—Mrs. Kennedy says that the subways are always cold and full of draughts. I saw a picture of you at the "movies" the other evening and you were making a speech in the rain without a hat or rubbers. Your uncle Frederick was just such a fool as you are about wearing rubbers and he almost died of pneumonia the winter we moved to Jefferson Avenue. Be sure and let me know what Dr. Kincaid says and tell him EVERYTHING. Your LOVING mother. P. S. What direction does your window face?

LETTERS TO PROSPECTIVE FATHERS-IN-LAW

A young man desiring to marry a young girl does not, in polite society, "pop the question" to her by mail, unless she happens, at the time, to be out of the city or otherwise unable to "receive." It is often advisable, however, after she has said "yes," to write a letter to her father instead of calling on him to ask for his permission to the match, as a personal interview is often apt to result unsatisfactorily. In writing these letters to prospective fathers-in-law, the cardinal point is, of course, the creation by the young man of a good impression in the mind of the father, and for this purpose he should study to make his letter one which will appeal irresistibly to the older gentleman's habits and tastes.

Thus, in writing to a father who is above everything else a "business man," the following form is suggested:

A Correct Letter to a Prospective Father-in-Law Who Is a Business Man

My letter, 10-6-22 Your letter, In reply please refer to: ———— File—Love—personal— N. Y.—1922 No. G, 16 19 Mr. Harrison Williams, Vice-Pres. Kinnear-Williams Mfg. Co., Buffalo, N. Y.

DEAR SIR:

Confirming verbal message of even date re: being in love with your daughter, this is to advise that I am in love with your daughter. Any favorable action which you would care to take in this matter would be greatly appreciated. Yours truly, EDWARD FISH. Copy to your Daughter per E. F. " " " Wife EF/F

Or, should the girl's father be prominent in the advertising business, the following would probably create a favorable impression, especially if printed on a blotter or other useful article:

A Correct Letter to a Prospective Father-in-Law Who Is in the Advertising Business

JUST A MOMENT!

Have you ever stopped to consider the problem of grandchildren?

Do you know, for example, that ONLY 58% of the fathers in America are GRANDFATHERS?

Did it ever occur to you that only 39% of the grandfathers in America EVER HAVE GRANDCHILDREN?

Honestly, now, don't there come moments, after the day's work is done and you are sitting in your slippers before the fire, when you would give any thing in the world for a soft little voice to call you GRANDPA?

Be fair to your daughter Give her a College educated husband! COMPLIMENTS OF EDWARD FISH

Perhaps, if the old gentleman is employed in the Credit Department of Brooks Brothers, Frank Brothers, or any one of the better class stores, the following might prove effective:

A Correct Letter to a Prospective Father-in-Law Who Is Employed in a Credit Department

MY DEAR MR. ROBERTS: 10-6-22

I am writing you in regard to a little matter of matrimony which no doubt you have overlooked in the press of business elsewhere. This is not to be considered as a "dun" but merely as a gentle reminder of the fact that it would be extremely agreeable if you could see fit to let me marry your daughter before the first of next month. I feel sure that you will give this matter your immediate attention. Yours truly, ED. FISH.

11-2-22 DEAR MR. ROBERTS:

As you have not as yet replied to my communication of 10-6-22 regarding marriage to your daughter, I presume that you were not at the time disposed to take care of the matter to which I referred. I feel sure that upon consideration you will agree that my terms are exceedingly liberal and I must therefore request that you let me have some word from you before the first of next month. Yours truly, EDWARD FISH.

(Registered Mail) 12-2-22 DEAR SIR:

You have not as yet replied to my communication of 10-6-22 and 11-2-22. I should regret exceedingly being forced to place this matter in the hands of my attorneys, Messrs. Goldstein and Nusselmann, 41 City Nat'l Bank Bldg. E. FISH.

Of course, it would never do to carry this series to its conclusion and if no reply is received to this last letter it might be well to call on the gentleman in his place of business—or, possibly, it might even be better to call off the engagement. "None but the brave deserve the fair"—but there is also a line in one of Byron's poems which goes, I believe, "Here sleep the brave."

LOVE LETTERS

A young man corresponding with his fiancee is never, of course, as formal as in his letters to other people. This does not mean, however, that his correspondence should be full of silly meaningless "nothings." On the contrary, he should aim to instruct and benefit his future spouse as well as convey to her his tokens of affection. The following letter well illustrates the manner in which a young man may write his fiancee a letter which, while it is replete with proper expressions of amatory good will, yet manages to embody a fund of sensible and useful information:

A Correct Letter from a Young Man Traveling in Europe to His Fiancee

MY DEAREST EDITH:

How I long to see you—to hold tight your hand—to look into your eyes. But alas! you are in Toledo and I am in Paris, which, as you know, is situated on the Seine River near the middle of the so-called Paris basin at a height above sea-level varying from 85 feet to 419 feet and extending 7 1/2 miles from W. to E. and 5 1/2 miles from N. to S. But, dearest, I carry your image with me in my heart wherever I go in this vast city with its population (1921) of 2,856,986 and its average mean rainfall Of 2.6 inches, and I wish—oh, how I wish—that you might be here with me. Yesterday, for example, I went to the Pere Lachaise cemetery which is the largest (106 acres) and most fashionable cemetery in Paris, its 90,148 (est.) tombs forming a veritable open-air sculpture gallery. And what do you think I found there which made me think of you more than ever? Not the tombs of La Fontaine (d. 1695) and Moliere (d. 1673) whose remains, transferred to this cemetery in 1804, constituted the first interments—not the last resting place of Rosa Bonheur (d. 1899) or the victims of the Op<ra Comique fire (1887)—no, dearest, it was the tomb of Abelard and Heloise, those late 11th early 12th century lovers, and you may well imagine what thoughts, centering upon a young lady whose first name begins with E, filled my heart as I gazed at this impressive tomb, the canopy of which is composed of sculptured fragments collected by Lenoir from the Abbey of Nogent-sur-Seine (Aube).

Edith dearest, I am sitting in my room gazing first at your dear picture and then out of my window at the Eiffel Tower which is the tallest structure in the world, being 984 feet high (Woolworth Building 750 feet, Washington Obelisk 555 feet, Great Pyramid 450 feet). And although it may sound too romantic, yet it seems to me, dearest, that our love is as strong and as sturdy as this masterpiece of engineering construction which weighs 7,000 tons, being composed of 12,000 pieces of metal fastened by 2,500,000 iron rivets.

Farewell, my dearest one—I must go now to visit the Catacombs, a huge charnelhouse which is said to contain the remains of nearly three million persons, consisting of a labyrinth of galleries lined with bones and rows of skulls through which visitors are escorted on the first and third Saturday of each month at 2 P. M. I long to hold you in my arms. Devotedly, PAUL.

CORRESPONDENCE OF PUBLIC OFFICIALS

Congressmen and other public officials are as a rule more careful correspondents than are men whose letters are never to be seen by the public at large. There is a certain well-defined form for a letter meant for public consumption which distinguishes it from correspondence of a more private nature. Thus a Congressman, writing a "public letter," would cast it in the following form:

A Correct "Public Letter" from a Congressman

Mr. Ellison Lothrop, Vice-Pres. Washington Co.. "Better Citizenship" League,

MY DEAR MR. LOTHROP:

You have requested that I give to the Washington County Better Citizenship League, of which you are an active vice-president, some expression of my views upon the question of Prohibition.

Sir, can there be any doubt as to the belief of every right thinking American citizen in this matter? The Eighteenth Amendment is here and here, thank God, to stay! The great benefit which Prohibition has done to the poor and the working classes is reason enough for its continued existence. It is for the manufacturers, the professional class, the capitalists to give up gladly whatever small pleasure they may have derived from the use of alcohol, in order that John Jones, workingman, may have money in the bank and a happy home, instead of his Saturday night debauch. In every democracy the few sacrifice for the many—"the greatest good of the greatest number" is the slogan. And I, for one, am proud to have been a member of that legislative body which passed so truly God-bidden and democratic an act as the Eighteenth Amendment.

I beg to remain, with best wishes to your great organization, Sincerely yours, WALTER G. TOWNSLEY.

A Correct Private Letter of a Congressman

DEAR BOB:

Tell that fellow on Mulberry Street that I will pay $135 a case for Scotch and $90 for gin DELIVERED and not a cent more. W. G. T.

{illustration caption = The problem of an introduction when there is no mutual acquaintance is sometimes perplexing. But the young man, having had the good taste to purchase a copy of PERFECT BEHAVIOR, is having no difficulty. He has fastened a rope across the sidewalk in front of the lady's house and, with the aid of a match and some kerosene, has set fire to the house. Driven by the heat, the young lady will eventually emerge and in her haste will fall over the rope. To a gentleman of gallantry and ingenuity the rest should be comparatively simple.}

{illustration caption = A knowledge of the language of flowers is essential to a successful courtship and may avoid much unnecessary pain. With the best intentions in the world the young man is about to present the young lady with a flower of whose meaning he is in total ignorance. The young lady, being a faithful student of PERFECT BEHAVIOR, knows its exact meaning and it will be perfectly correct for her to turn and, with a frigid bow, break the pot over the young man's head. Alas, how differently this romance might have ended if the so-called "friends" of the young man had tactfully but firmly pointed out to him the value of a book on etiquette such as PERFECT BEHAVIOR.}



LETTERS TO NEWSPAPERS, MAGAZINES, ETC.

Another type of public correspondence is the letter which is intended for publication in some periodical. This is usually written by elderly gentlemen with whiskers and should be cast in the following form:

A Correct Letter from an Elderly Gentleman to the Editor of a Newspaper or Magazine

To the Editor: SIR:

On February next, Deo volente, I shall have been a constant reader of your worthy publication for forty-one years. I feel, sir, that that record gives me the right ipso facto to offer my humble criticism of a statement made in your November number by that worthy critic of the drama, Mr. Heywood Broun. Humanum est errare, and I am sure that Mr. Broun (with whom I have unfortunately not the honour of an acquaintance) will forgive me for calling his attention to what is indeed a serious, and I might say, unbelievable, misstatement. In my younger days, now long past, it was not considered infra dig for a critic to reply to such letters as this, and I hope that Mr. Broun will deem this epistle worthy of consideration, and recognize the justice of my complaint.

I remember well a controversy that raged between critic and public for many weeks in the days when Joe Jefferson was playing Rip Van Winkle. Ah, sir, do you remember (but, of course, you don't) that entrance of Joe in the first act with his dog Schneider? That was not my first play by many years, but I believe that it is still my favorite. I think the first time I ever attended a dramatic performance was in the winter of '68 when I was a student at Harvard College. Five of us freshmen went into the old Boston Museum to see Our American Cousin. Joe Chappell was with us that night and the two Dawes boys and, I think, Elmer Mitchell. One of the Dawes twins was, I believe, afterwards prominent in the Hayes administration. There were many men besides Will Dawes in that Harvard class who were heard from in later years. Ed Twitchell for one, and "Sam" Caldwell, who was one of the nominees for vice president in '92. I sat next to Sam in "Bull" Warren's Greek class. THERE was one of the finest scholars this country has ever produced—a stern taskmaster, and a thorough gentleman. It would be well for this younger generation if they could spend a few hours in that old classroom, with "Bull" pacing up and down the aisle and all of us trembling in our shoes. But Delenda est Carthago—fuit Ilium—Requiescat in pace. I last saw "Bull" at our fifteenth reunion and we were all just as afraid of him as in the old days at Hollis.

But I digress. Tempus fugit,—which reminds me of a story "Billy" Hallowell once told at a meeting of the American Bar Association in Minneapolis, in 1906. Hallowell was perhaps the most brilliant after-dinner speaker I have ever heard—with the possible exception of W. D. Evarts. I shall never forget the speech that Evarts made during the second Blaine campaign.

But I digress. Your critic, Mr. Heywood Broun, says on page 33 of the November issue of your worthy magazine that The Easiest Way is the father of all modern American tragedy. Sir, does Mr. Broun forget that there once lived a man named William Shakespeare? Is it possible to overlook such immortal tragedies as Hamlet and Othello? I think not. Fiat justitia, ruat colum. Sincerely, SHERWIN G. COLLINS.

A Correct Letter from an Indignant Father to an Editor of Low Ideals

To the Editor: Sir:

I have a son—a little fourteen-year-old boy who proudly bears my name. This lad I have brought up with the greatest care. I have spared no pains to make him an upright, moral, God-fearing youth.

I had succeeded, I thought, in inculcating in him all those worthy principles for which our Puritan fathers fought and—aye—died. I do not believe that there existed in our neighborhood a more virtuous, more righteous boy.

From his earliest childhood until now Mrs. Pringle and I have kept him carefully free from any suggestion of evil. We have put in his hands only the best and purest of books; we have not allowed him to attend any motion picture performances other than the yearly visit of the Burton Holmes travelogues, and, last year, a film called Snow White and Rose Red; we have forbidden him to enter a theater. Roland (for that is his name) has never in his life exhibited any interest in what is known as sex.

Sir, you may imagine my chagrin when my Roland—my boy who, for fourteen years, I have carefully shielded from sin—rushed in last night to where Mrs. Pringle and I were enjoying our evening game of Bezique, bearing in his hand a copy of your magazine which, I presume, he had picked up at some so-called friend's house. "Papa, look," said my boy to me, pointing to the cover of the magazine. "What are these?"

Sir, I looked. Mrs. Pringle gave a shriek, and well may she have. My boy was pointing to a cover on which was what is called—in barroom parlance—a "nude." And not ONE nude but TWELVE!

Sir, you have destroyed the parental labors of fourteen years. I trust you are satisfied. Yours, etc., EVERETT G. PRINGLE.

A Letter from a Member of the Lower Classes. Particular pains should be taken in answering such letters as it should always be our aim to lend a hand to those aspiring toward better things.