“Mrs. X. requests the pleasure of Mr. L.’s company at dinner on Thursday, the 16th of February, at eight o’clock.”

“Mr. L. accepts with pleasure Mrs. X.’s kind invitation to dinner on Thursday, the 16th of February.”

These are the preliminaries; the lady’s address being on the sheet of paper or card on which her invitation has been written.

Three weeks’ notice is usual, but sometimes, in the season, when many parties are going on, invitations are sent out four, five, or six weeks beforehand, in order to secure the guests. In the case of “lions” even longer invitations have been given; but as one of the first principles of good breeding is never to “corner” anybody, it is scarcely fair to invite those who are in much request without giving them the option of refusal.

An invitation of seven or eight weeks’ length scarcely allows one to plead a pre-engagement, and often defeats the eager hostess’s own end by inducing the “lion” to accept without any intention of being present, writing later on to “renage,” to use a good old whist term.

But as our young man is scarcely yet a “lion,” and probably not over-burdened with engagements for dinner or any other social function, we may imagine him accepting with a free mind.

Should anything intervene to prevent him carrying out his engagement, he is in duty bound to let his hostess know as early as possible that he cannot be present at her dinner-party. This is more especially and particularly necessary with dinners, though it holds good with regard to all invitations.

But with dinner there is a peculiar obligation laid upon the guests. The choice and arrangement of them involves care on the part of the dinner-giver, more so than in the case of any other meal. In fact, dinner stands alone as an institution sacred to the highest rites of hospitality. To be invited is an honour to the young man who is just beginning his social life. To absent himself would be a gross rudeness, unless he could plead circumstances of a pressing nature. It is considered a great infraction of good manners to wire on the very day of the party that one cannot dine as arranged, unless something has occurred to justify such conduct.

The hostess can with difficulty find a substitute at short notice, and the whole plan of her table is destroyed by the absence of one person. There are few people who would not feel offended at being invited to fill a gap of the kind, and this is what makes it so extremely discourteous to disappoint at the last moment, as it were.

The unfortunate hostess thinks, “Is there any one good-natured enough to come and fill the vacant place?” Sometimes this is the raison d’Être of a young man’s first invitation. Let him accept it by all means, even though he is perfectly aware that he was not his entertainer’s first choice.

Many a young man feels nervous about his first dinner-party. There are a few puzzling things that trouble him in prospect. He wonders if he should wear gloves, as ladies do, taking them off at the dinner-table. Let me set his mind at rest on this small point, at once.

He need not wear gloves. In fact, he must not. Another little matter to be remembered is that a quarter of an hour’s grace is always understood in dinner invitations. Should the hour indicated be 8 o’clock, then care must be taken to time the arrival at five or ten minutes past the hour.

But it is better to be too early than too late. A want of punctuality at this meal is unpardonable. It is the very height of rudeness, annoying to the host and hostess, displeasing to the guests, and regarded as outrageous by the cook.

When our young man is shown into the drawing-room, he at once goes up to his hostess, no matter whether there is any one he knows nearer to the door than the lady of the house. This is always a fixed rule, whether it be on the occasion of a call or visit, or on having been invited to a party of any kind. When he has been greeted by his hostess he looks round the room to see if there is anyone present whom he knows.

If so, he goes up to the ladies first, if there are any of his acquaintance present, and afterwards greets the gentlemen. His host will probably have shaken hands with him immediately after his wife has done so.

He will then be told what lady he is to take down to dinner, and be introduced to her, if he does not already know her. He must bow, not shake hands, and make small talk for her during the interval between his introduction and the announcement of dinner.

Here is his first real difficulty. To converse with a perfect stranger is always one of the initial social accomplishments to be learned, and it is not at all an easy thing at first. It needs practice.

Ninety men out of every hundred offer a remark upon the weather; but unless there has been something very extraordinary going on in the meteorological line, it is better to avoid this subject if possible. A girl at Ascot said to me one lovely day, “That’s the eighth man who has informed me that it’s a beautiful day.” Up came a ninth with the very same observation, and both she and I felt inclined to titter like very schoolgirls. It is far better to start with something more original.

It is as well to keep the pronoun “I” in the background just at first. If your partner is as nice as she might be, she will soon give you abundant opportunity for talking about yourself.

By the way, a man must not at his very first dinner-party expect to be given a pretty girl to take down. He may possibly be so fortunate, but those prizes are usually reserved for men of more experience in social life. The young man has probably been invited to make up the necessary number of men, and an unmarried lady of uncertain age or an elderly woman without much claim to consideration will probably fall to his share.

However, there is this consolation, she will be excellent for practising upon. He would not mind making small mistakes so much as if his partner were a young and charming girl.

Nor is the art of making small talk so difficult as it would be with a pair of bright and youthful eyes beaming into your own, and confusing you into forgetfulness of all but their own delightful language.

But what to talk about is the puzzle of the moment.

I have known a good beginning made with some such, remark as, “Do you know everybody here?” This leads perhaps to the acquisition of some information as to the other guests.

At table there will be more to suggest topics. The floral decorations often lead up to conversation. The colours of the flowers remind one of pictures, and the lady on one’s right may be asked if she has been to any exhibitions that may be open. If so, what pictures she liked best. Does she paint? Has she read the novel of the hour? What she thinks of it? Does she bike? At this rate our novice gets on swimmingly, and may safely be left to himself.

I must not omit some small details dealing with the guest on his arrival, and on his way afterwards from the drawing-to the dining-room.

The servant who admits him takes his overcoat and hat, either in the hall or in a room set apart for the purpose.

Should he be accompanied by a lady he follows her upstairs, and she enters the room slightly in advance of him, probably about a yard or so. The young man must not have the appearance of hanging back, however. He walks steadily and rather briskly up the room.

When the move to the dining-room is made, the gentlemen offer to the ladies the arm which will place them on the wall side of the staircase, thus avoiding the contact of their dresses with the balusters. But should the dining-room be, as it very frequently is, on the same floor as the drawing-room, then the right arm is offered.

The lady sits on the right of her escort at table. The servants usually indicate the seats that the guests are to occupy. Sometimes the host, previously instructed by the hostess, comes to the rescue with, “Your seat is here, I believe, Mr. So-and-so,” who immediately takes his lady to the chair on the right of the two the couple are to occupy. The system of name-cards is observed in some circles, but it is not a good one.

It is distressing, in these days of short sight and small rooms, to see several couples wandering about endeavouring to decipher the names on the small cards.

It is much better for the host to have made himself master of the order in which the guests are to be seated, and as he enters the dining-room first with the lady of highest social importance, he is ready to point out their places to each couple as they enter.

The first thing to be done on sitting down is to unfold the table napkin and place it across the knee. The menu is then consulted, and a mental note made of any favourite dish, so that it may not be refused. But all the time a flow of small talk must be kept up with one’s partner of the hour. Sometimes she turns to talk with the man on her right. Then her escort may converse with the lady on his left, if she is disengaged. But he must always remember that his first duty is to her whom he took down.

There will probably be three or four wineglasses on our young friend’s right. One of these—either a long-stemmed, wide-cupped glass or a small tumbler—is for champagne. The coloured glass is for hock, the slenderest and smallest is for sherry, and the claret-glass occupies in dimensions a midway between those of the champagne and claret-glass.

With regard to the knives and forks, everything is now made very easy for the novice by the way in which the table is laid.

The tablespoon is for soup, which must be eaten from the side of the spoon close to the point. The fish knife and fork are placed outside the others, so as to be ready to the hand, the fish course coming directly after the soup.

The dishes are usually all handed round at dinner-parties, the carving being done at the sideboard or in an immediately adjoining room, but sometimes the host carves the joint and game.

There is occasionally a subtle reason for this preference, not wholly unconnected with a taste for those morsels that especially appeal to the gourmand. The host may desire to secure these for some special, appreciative guest—or for himself! In some families the principal dishes are always placed before the master of the house to be carved. Maidservants can rarely carve well, and butlers have gone considerably out of fashion in the upper middle classes of society of late years.

When offered the usual choice of dishes or wines, the guest must decide at once and indicate his choice without delay. Any hesitation gives him the air of being unable to reject either; of being in the position, with regard to food, occupied by the poet who wrote—

So he must be prompt, and, should the dish be handed round, help himself without delay.

On this very point of helping himself I have seen young men endure excruciating agonies of shyness. Sometimes they take the merest morsel of some excellent dish, though they would like very well to have some more. At other times they help themselves to far too much, because they are so confused that they will not take the necessary time to separate for their own share a moderate quantity. Occasionally they drop the spoon or fork with a clatter into the dish, after which they look intensely miserable for ten minutes or so.

The best way to avoid all this is to preserve absolute self-possession by reflecting that the other guests are all too well occupied to pay any attention to such trifling matters. The self-consciousness of which shyness is the outward and visible sign, makes a young man feel that every one is observing him, especially when he is awkward in handling things. But he may console himself with the conviction that he is of much less importance to them than their own dinner, to say nothing of the ladies who sit beside them.

When asked to choose between claret or hock, he may either mention one or indicate the glass.

“Sherry, sir,” is the first wine handed round. Then comes the choice between claret and hock.

Afterwards “champagne, sir?” usually answered by slightly drawing the champagne-glass forward, or by a nod; sometimes by a shake of the head.

An occasional “Thanks” to the servant is not amiss, but it is unnecessary to keep on expressing gratitude. Some people never dream of saying “Thank you.” Others say it out of pure graciousness of manner and gentleness of mind. So our young man may take his choice.

I have observed that when a neat and pretty parlourmaid waits at table she is more likely to be thanked than a manservant; and this not only by gentlemen, but by ladies as well. I offer no explanation of why this should be so. I merely record the fact as I have noted it.

The perfection of service resolves itself into absolute accuracy of machinery united to the observant watchfulness of long training. One barely discovers that one needs bread when it is presented at one’s elbow.

In the same way, vegetables, wine, aËrated waters, or whatever one may be drinking, arrives at exactly the right moment. The mechanism or organisation of such waiting is so good that there is no interruption of conversation. The servants understand that a mere turning away from the dish means rejection. Should any guest find a difficulty in helping himself, they simplify matters for him as much as possible.

As the dishes are not named when they are handed round, it is necessary to study the menu in order to know what they are. Some young people appear to think that it looks “greedy” to pay much attention to the information given on the dainty little bill of fare; but this, of course, is one of youth’s delusions. I have seen a short-sighted young man straining his eyes in the endeavour to read furtively the names of the dishes on his menu. He would have done far better if he had boldly taken it up in his hand to examine it.

However hungry one may be, the duty of keeping up a conversation must not be neglected. The

The viands must never be chosen as a topic, for either praise or blame. If one knows a girl very well, one may ask, “Do you like sweets?” or some such question, but it is safer with strangers to avoid the subject of the food provided.

It is scarcely necessary to remark that drinking too much wine is a very bad phase of ill manners. At one time it was actually fashionable to become intoxicated after dinner, but those days are gone, I am thankful to say. The young man who exceeds in this way is soon made aware of the fact that he has given his hostess dire offence. He is never invited again, or not for a long time.

The wineglass is never drained at a draught in polite society; nor is it considered polite to eat very quickly.

The knife, fork, and spoon are handled as noiselessly as possible. Scraping the edge of the knife against the plate is unpardonable. It produces a grating noise that is excessively unpleasant. In sending a plate away to be replenished, the diner leaves his knife and fork or his spoon, as the case may be, upon it.

In dealing with bread, use neither knife nor fork.

It must be broken with the fingers. There is a story of an absent-minded and short-sighted prelate who, with the remark, “My bread, I think?” dug his fork into the white hand of a lady who sat beside him. He had been badly brought up, or he would not have used his fork, and the white hand would have experienced nothing worse than a sudden grasp.

It requires some expertness and practice for a man with a moustache to take soup in a perfectly inoffensive manner. The accomplishment is worth some trouble.

Some men, who should know better (and some women, too), forget that the mouth should be kept closed while mastication is going on. This is a very important matter.

Nature teaches us to keep the mouth open, as any one may see from the way in which children and uncultivated persons eat, but good manners enjoin upon us that to adopt the natural mode is to disgust and annoy those with whom we sit at meat. If these little things have not been learned in childhood, it is difficult to master them afterwards. Mothers should also teach their boys (and girls) never to speak while food is in the mouth, and never to drink until it is quite empty. Who would not be mortified if he were to choke ignominiously at the dinner-table?

The correct way to eat a curry is with a spoon and fork; but this is the only meat dish that is eaten in this way. Sweetbreads and many other entrÉes are eaten with the fork alone. It is then held in the right hand. Should a knife be found necessary it can, of course, be used. Vegetable entrÉes are always eaten with a fork, held in the right hand. Fish is eaten with a silver (or plated) knife and fork.

Sauces are never taken very plentifully. The sauce ladle, filled, will be generally sufficient. I once saw a man, in helping himself to oyster sauce, look scrutinisingly in the sauceboat and carefully fish about for as many oysters as he could collect in the ladle. This caused some covert amusement, except, perhaps, to the last persons to whom the sauce was handed. They probably found few oysters.

Bread, biscuits, olives, asparagus, celery, and bonbons are the forms of food that may be touched with the fingers. There used once to be a rule that a bone might be picked, if only the finger and thumb were used in holding it. But that was in the days when table cutlery was far from having been brought to its present condition of perfection. There is now no excuse for handling bones—knives and forks suffice; and it is only in the lowest grades of society that they are found inadequate.

In helping oneself to salad, it must be placed on the crescent-shaped plate laid down for that purpose before it is handed round. This plate is put at the left side of the round plate. Both knife and fork are often necessary with salads, but if they are sent to table as they should be, with the lettuce and other vegetables broken small, the fork is quite sufficient. It is always disagreeable to see a steel knife used with vinegar, and it should be avoided whenever possible to do so.

Oysters served on the shell are eaten with a fish-knife and fork. Other fish hors d’oeuvres are eaten with a fish-fork.

It is not always possible to tell, either from the appearance or name of the hors d’oeuvre, whether it consists of fish or meat. In that case it is safer to use an ordinary fork; and for this reason: the fish-knife has been laid for a fish course, and if it should have been previously unnecessarily used for the hors d’oeuvre, it will be needful for the servant to bring another. Fish rissoles may be eaten with a fish-fork only—in fact, any preparation that does not need the knife.

It is a safe rule never to use either knife or spoon if the fork will do. With ice-pudding or ices in any form a small spoon is used.

Now let us take the dinner from the very beginning, and go through the courses.

First, there may be hors d’oeuvres, small morsels of various kinds which are found ready to hand when the guests sit down. I have already referred to these.

Next comes soup, generally one thick and one clear. The attendant offers the diner a choice, and he must promptly make it. When it is set before him he begins at once, not waiting till every one is served.

He takes up the tablespoon, placed ready at his right hand, and it is not considered very good form to immediately put some salt into the soup before tasting it. People who pride themselves on the possession of a clever cook sometimes feel annoyed at the distrust of her powers shown in this simple action.

With soup small addenda are often handed. The guest helps himself to these, whether they are croÛtons, fried bread-crumbs or other supplementary provision, with the spoon handed round on the dish.

It is a very old-fashioned piece of good manners to wait till every one is served. So old-fashioned is it that it survives at present only among the uncultured classes. The correct thing to do nowadays is to begin eating without reference to others. The old style must not only have been trying in consequence of seeing one’s food grow cold before one’s eyes, but it must also have been responsible for making dinner a very slow and tedious meal. Now the attendants remove the plates from the guests first helped directly the fork is laid down, and this greatly accelerates the service.

The soup-plate, if tilted at all, is raised at the side nearest the eater, so that the soup collects at the furthest point from him. It is generally unnecessary to tilt the plate, however. But the thing to avoid is passing the left hand round it in a half-embrace and tilting it towards the eater. This is highly incorrect; it is also dangerous. The soup has been known to spill on the cloth, and even over the diner.

When the servant is removing your soup-plate he will sometimes ask, “Any more, sir?” to which you must reply in the negative. A shake of the head will suffice.

Soup is never helped twice. Nor is fish. This is the next course. Bread is always eaten with fish. I have already explained that a silver knife and fork are used.

The sauce handed is almost invariably accepted. Sometimes the cruet is handed round, containing some sort of condiment suitable to the fish served. It is, of course, a matter of choice whether this be accepted or not.

Very few diners work straight through a menu without omitting some dishes.

The idea of giving so many is that there may be some to suit all tastes. No one is expected to take of all, though it is quite permissible to do so.

After the soup and fish the entrÉes are handed round. The dishes are presented at the left side of the diner, and he helps himself with his right hand, a tablespoon being placed on the dish for that purpose; or with both hands, using spoon and fork, should the nature of the dish render this necessary.

When slices from a joint, or game, or poultry are handed round, the vegetables, gravies, and sauces accompanying them are handed after. It is usual to wait for these etceteras before beginning upon the meat, fowl, venison, or game. For instance, no one would commence upon a slice of roast beef or mutton without potatoes or gravy, nor upon a piece of pheasant without browned bread-crumbs, or bread sauce, or gravy. I say “no one” would do it, but I have seen it done, whether in absence of mind or from pressure of appetite I cannot pretend to say. It is a mistake, however.

Cheese is handed round after the sweets in order to prepare the palate for the enjoyment of dessert wines. This, at least, was the original meaning of introducing it at this stage of the meal.

But now ice-pudding, when served, follows it, thus contradictorily re-establishing the reign of sweets.

Savouries are handed round with the cheese course. These are eaten with a fork. Even a cheese fondu is eaten with a fork, though the cook occasionally fails to bring it to the requisite firmness of consistency, in which case it looks more suited to a spoon; but the fork must do.

Celery is eaten with the fingers, like asparagus.

This last-named, by the way, if too much cooked, and consequently very soft and unmanageable, may be eaten with the fork, but must not be touched with the knife. And again, should asparagus be served with the melted butter thrown over it, it must be eaten with a fork. It very seldom is so served, but I have met with this mode in some houses.

Cheese ramequins are eaten with the fingers.

Cheese itself is handed round on a dish or plate with the pieces cut ready to one’s hand.

The diner helps himself with the knife laid ready beside the pieces of cheese, not with his own knife. If watercress is handed round, it is taken up in the fingers and eaten in the same way. Cheese is cut in small pieces and conveyed to the mouth on a piece of bread or biscuit. Very few persons continue to eat it in the old-fashioned way by carrying it to the mouth with the knife. I have seen it taken up with the fingers, but as cheese is apt to smell rather strongly it is better to avoid touching it.

With regard to sweets, it is a safe rule to use the fork only when it suffices for the work in hand. With tarts, as a rule, both spoon and fork are necessary, especially when there is syrup. Cold tart can often be comfortably eaten with a fork. Jellies and creams are eaten with a fork only; ice-pudding with an ice-spoon, or, failing that, a teaspoon.

From the moment one has unfolded one’s napkin and placed the bread it contained at one’s left, there is nothing more to do that concerns the “cover,” as the preparation for each diner’s convenience is called, until the dessert-plate, with its d’oyley, finger-glass, silver knife and fork—and perhaps ice-plate and spoon in addition—is set down before one.

Before the or dessert are handed round, one must place the dessert-knife and fork at right and left, respectively, of one’s plate, and, taking up the finger-glass carefully in one hand, with the other place the d’oyley on the cloth to the left of one’s plate, then setting the finger-glass down upon it. I say “carefully,” because these glasses are often of the lightest possible kind, and are occasionally of a costly description. Besides, rough handling might tend to spill the water they contain.

With regard to the dessert fruits, &c., there are a few puzzles to be found among them for the inexperienced.

Grapes present one of these.

They are taken up singly, and afterwards the skin and seeds have to be expelled as unobtrusively as possible. It is a matter of great difficulty to accomplish this by any other method than using the hand, therefore this is the accepted custom. The forefinger is curved above the mouth in a manner which serves to conceal the ejectment, and the skin and seeds are in this way conveyed to the plate, the fingers being afterwards wiped with the napkin.

Bananas are peeled with the knife and fork, and the pieces are conveyed to the mouth by means of the fork.

Oranges are cut in two, then in four, and with the aid of knife and fork the contents of each section are extracted in two or more parts, and carried to the lips on the fork.

Apples and pears are peeled with the knife and fork; peaches, apricots, and nectarines in the same way.

Strawberries are taken by the stem, dipped in sugar and cream, and carried to the lips with the fingers.

If the fruit has been picked free of husks and stem, it may be bruised on the plate with sugar and cream, and eaten with a spoon. Preserved ginger is eaten with the knife and fork.

A spoon is necessary with pines, melons, and very juicy strawberries, after they have been prepared with the knife and fork.

Nuts are cracked with the nutcrackers, and then extracted by the fingers. With filberts and Brazil nuts the knife and fork are called into requisition in order to free them from skin, but walnuts are too intricate for anything less wonderful in mechanism than the human hand. In view of this, they are sometimes prepared before being sent to table, and of late years they have been sold ready cracked and peeled for this purpose.

Almonds are never sent to table in their shells, so that they present no difficulties to the novice. At dessert they are usually accompanied by raisins, which, like the almonds, are carried to the mouth in the fingers.

Crystallised fruits are cut with the knife and fork, unless they happen to be of a small size, such as cherries. In that case they are eaten whole, being carried to the lips on the fork.

Liqueurs are handed round at dessert, poured out ready into the small glasses that are called after them. There is generally a choice, such as “Chartreuse or BÉnÈdictine, sir?” to which it is unnecessary to reply, “Both, please,” as a historic young man did once.

The servants often leave the dining-room when the dessert is placed on the table, and when this is so, the wine is passed round from hand to hand, each gentleman attending first to the lady he has escorted and then helping himself before passing on the decanter, claret jug, or champagne bottle. The good old fashion of using silver decanter-stands has long disappeared, to the detriment of many a good tablecloth. So has the genial and hospitable fashion of drinking wine with one’s guests, and they with each other. But this may be rather a good thing in the interests of temperance.

Apropos to this subject, I may remark that there is now nothing singular in drinking nothing but water. The days are gone when a man was thought a milksop because he could not “drink his bottle,” or if he refused wine or spirits. Should any young man prefer water, he asks for it when the servants offer him wine. He is then offered Apollinaris or distilled water or soda-water, or some other preparation of filtered and distilled water, and may choose some of these in preference to plain water.

Claret is the favourite dessert wine of the day, but port is still seen at some tables, and it is usual to offer champagne, as many prefer to drink only one kind of wine throughout the meal, from start to finish. In fact, this is becoming quite a fashion in some sets.

The host provides cigars and cigarettes for his guests, and it would not be necessary or advisable to produce one’s own supply.

When the ladies rise to leave the dining-room, the gentleman nearest the door opens the door for them, and stands beside it until they have all passed through, when he closes it after them. However anxious he may be to join them in the drawing-room, he must not do so until the others make a move. Sometimes, if he is very young and rather “out of it” when politics or sport are under discussion, his host says to him, “I’m afraid you are bored. If you would like to join the ladies, don’t stand on ceremony.” But on the other hand he may dread the ordeal of entering the drawing-room alone, and feel that the safer way is to wait for a convoy. This he must decide for himself.

Perhaps his host may wish to talk confidentially with some other guest. If he makes this apparent to the younger man, the latter must accept any such intimation as the above, understanding it to be a courteous mode of dismissing him.

The ordinary rule is that the gentlemen join the ladies all together, the man of highest position leaving the dining-room first, the host last. Tea is then carried round in the drawing-room, and the gentlemen take the empty cups from the ladies and put them down in some safe place, out of the way of risk of accident.

Should any lady sing or play, the gentleman nearest to her escorts her to the piano and helps her to arrange her music, to dispose of her gloves, fan, handkerchief, &c.

It is scarcely etiquette for young men to leave first after a dinner-party. It is more usual for the elders of the party to make the first move towards departure. But should the young man have an engagement of a pressing kind, such as a promise to escort ladies to a ball, he must withdraw in good time, explaining the position to his hostess.

No one leaves after a dinner-party without saying “Good-night” to his host and hostess. Even in the case of an early departure, before the gentlemen have left the dining-room, the guest must visit the drawing-room to make his adieux, not only to the lady of the house, but to any others who may be of his acquaintance. Those whom he has met for the first time that evening may be saluted with a parting bow.

At a formal dinner-party the evening suit is imperative, with dress-coat, white or black waistcoat, black trousers, and white tie. When dining with friends with whom one is on terms of familiarity, the dinner-jacket may be substituted for the coat. Black ties often take the place of white. Patent-leather shoes or boots must be worn. It would be unpardonable to appear in thick walking-boots or shoes; and the necessity for immaculately polished footgear has cost the young man of the present day many a cab. His varnished shoes must show no trace of mud or dust. To tell the truth, he often carries a silk handkerchief in his pocket wherewith to obliterate the traces of the latter.

The pocket-handkerchief used with evening dress must be of white cambric, and of as good a colour as one’s washerwoman will permit. It ought to be of fine quality. The hair must be short and very well brushed.

It used to be the custom to tip the servants on leaving the house where one had dined as a guest, but this has fallen into disuse. There are many men who hand a silver coin to the butler, or footman, or waiting-maid who helps them into their coats, calls up their carriage, or hails a cab for them, seeing them into it, or rendering any other service of a similar kind. This is a matter that each man must decide for himself. It is only necessary to remark that the custom of giving shillings or half-crowns to the servants after a dinner-party no longer reigns; though there are always good-natured folk who will not let it absolutely die out.