MONTH ago I bought a book,

Brimful of good advice,

('Twas labell'd sixpence, but they took

A somewhat smaller price.)

The cover carried signs of age,

But ne'er can I forget *

The name upon the title-page—

'Twas "Hints on Etiquette."

You can't conceive the change of tone

That volume wrought in me;

Or what an alter'd man I've grown,

From what I used to be.

This mark'd improvement in my ways

Compels me to regret

I never heard in earlier days

Of "Hints on Etiquette."

'Tis true I cling to Bass's pale,

But I redeem the fault,

By asking for "a glass of ale,"

Not "half a pint of malt."

Of old the pewter pot conferr'd

A zest on "heavy wet."

But that was long before I heard

Of "Hints on Etiquette."

When dining out, in early life,

I often used to stoop

To taking peas up with my knife,

And asking twice for soup.

I'm fast improving, though I doubt

If I am perfect yet

In all the feeding-laws set out

In "Hints on Etiquette."

I don for evening parties now

The whitest of cravats;

The blackest suit; and, on my brow

The neatest of crush-hats.

And yet, I was the oddest kind

Of guy you ever met,

Before I chanced to give my mind

To "Hints on Etiquette."