PART I.

The following remarks upon the "Rules of Society" are made for the benefit of those who from one cause or another feel a little uncertain with respect to the small observances which, although not to be counted among the weightier matters in life, yet hold no unimportant place therein, if our daily comfort and well-being are to be considered; but are, indeed, like oil on the wheels, not absolutely essential to movement, but making all the difference as regards smoothness or the reverse.

Life would go on certainly though we were all as rude and uncultivated as could be--sitting on the ground and tearing our food with our hands preparatory to gnawing the bones, and speaking the most terrible home truths to each other without any veil whatever--but it would not be so pleasant. And as civilisation has progressed, so by degrees a sort of code of rules--unwritten in some particulars, but none the less binding--has been evolved very much to the advantage of us all in the way of preventing roughness in manner and making the great machine called Society--which is but another name for an assemblage of human beings--run easily and without friction.

More especially perhaps is an acquaintance with the "code" necessary to women for their own happiness, sensitive and keen by nature as they are and painfully aware of the slightest awkwardness; for, akin to the feeling of discomfort--I may almost say general disorganisation--produced by the consciousness of having on a badly-fitting gown, a hideous hat, or a shoe whose beauties are things of the past, just when there is urgent reason for wishing to look well, is the sensation of nervous depression brought on by suddenly awakening to the fact that one does not know quite "how to behave" or "what to do" in the circumstances of the moment.

I ought, I think, to begin by offering an apology to the many readers of THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER who have no need of any instruction or hints on the matter for choosing a subject which always provokes a smile--either good-natured or cynical--when mentioned, on account doubtless of its being among those things which everybody is supposed to know. But there is no occasion for the already enlightened to wade through this paper. The heading will warn them off, and they can simply skip it all.

Leaving the majority therefore out of the question as in no way concerned, I address myself to the comparatively few; and, on the principle of taking the first step before attempting the second, I begin at the beginning and will try to answer queries which present themselves to my imagination as likely to be asked if people had the opportunity of asking them.

We will consider at starting the very ordinary occurrence of a dinner party about to be given; the invitations being sent out. These may be formal cards--"Mr. and Mrs. A. request the honour"--or the pleasure--"of Mr. and Mrs. B's company at dinner on Tuesday, the 8th of June, at 8 o'clock"--or merely notes--"Dear Mrs. A., will you and Mr. A. give us the pleasure of your company at dinner on," etc.

In either case the answer must be couched in the same terms as the invitation, except when, as sometimes happens, the inviter is a near relative or very intimate friend of the invited, in which event the formality may be disregarded in favour of a note. "Dear Mrs. B."--or the Christian name only--"we have great pleasure in accepting your kind invitation," or "We shall have great pleasure in dining with you," etc.

And here please be careful to notice the difference in the wording, and avoid a mistake constantly made in letters of this sort. People write, "I shall have much pleasure in accepting," not considering that the acceptance refers to the present, and consequently there is no "shall" about it. But if the phrase runs, "I shall have much pleasure in dining with you," it is correct because it refers to the dinner which is in the future.

The date fixed for the party arrives, and you make your appearance in your host's drawing-room, followed by your daughter--if she was asked--and then your husband. Never, on any account, go in arm-in-arm. It is a mistake very seldom made; but, as I have seen it happen occasionally, it must be mentioned. The old-fashioned arm-in-arm is, indeed, pretty nearly obsolete, except when actually going down to dinner or supper, or just through the hall to a carriage. At no other time, unless in some frightful crowd as a protection, is such a thing ever witnessed now.

Dinner is announced and you take your seats. With regard to the mode of eating, it may be roughly laid down that a knife is not to be used when spoon and fork will do, and a spoon should not be employed if a fork alone is sufficient. In the case of fish, silver knives are usually provided, and when they are not it is advisable to use two forks if one will not quite answer the purpose. Curry, properly cooked, requires no knife, only spoon and fork. Quails and cutlets, of course, must have a knife, but many _entrées_ can be perfectly well managed with a fork alone.

It is hardly necessary, perhaps, to say that under no circumstances whatever, whether when eating vegetables, cheese, or any other thing, must a knife approach the mouth. Such an unbecoming as well as dangerous habit would at once mark the person indulging in it as standing in need of some little teaching.

On the other hand, we know that "fingers were made before knives and forks," and custom ordains the exemplification of this adage on certain occasions. Asparagus is eaten in the primitive manner, and requires some dexterity in conveying the end of a rather limp stalk to the mouth. Green artichokes are pulled to pieces leaf by leaf until the "choke" is reached, when fork and spoon come into requisition, and uncooked celery, after the thick end has been cut off, is taken up by the fingers. The fragile pencil-like things called "cheese-straws" must be eaten in the same manner, for they break if touched by any implement, and I well remember watching the dire confusion of a woman who vainly tried to catch some of the straws by pursuing them round and round her plate with a fork, the only result being a collection of unattainable splinters.

Some dishes are easy enough to help oneself to, but there are others which demand cool determination to attack, and care lest a portion land upon the tablecloth instead of in the plate. We are not all gifted with the self-possession of Theodore Hook, who, when carving a tough goose one day let it by chance slip bodily into the lap of his neighbour, and, turning to the unlucky victim, said severely, "Madam, I will trouble you for that goose!"

Fortunately for us, the days of carving at table are over, and we have only to avoid catastrophes with extra hard _vol-au-vents_, infirm jellies, and pyramids of strawberries.

A story is told of a man who, hopelessly in difficulties as to what he ought to do, pulled some grapes off their stalks and tried to cut each berry with a knife. It puts one's teeth on edge to think of the pips on that occasion, and indeed the idea of steel blades and fruit in juxtaposition is terrible, except in the case of oranges, when silver knives create a feeling not far short of desperation.

As regards wine, persons who have come to years of discretion can observe that discretion as seems good to them; but to those girls who allow themselves wine, I would advise a small quantity of one kind. It does not look well to have odds and ends of wine standing in the various glasses by the side of a girl, neither is it attractive to see her finish up with liqueur at the end of dinner.

In the matter of introductions there is but little of that now, though, of course, unless previously acquainted, the man who takes you down to dinner is first presented to you, and you may be introduced to some one or other of the guests during the evening; but, especially if the party be large, it is by no means certain that you will be. In the act of introduction the name of the person highest in rank--or, if there is no difference in that respect, then the elder of the two--should be mentioned first, as "Lady A.--Mrs. B.," not _vice versâ_; and when a man is presented to a woman there is generally the proviso, "Mrs. B., may I introduce Mr. C.?" A woman is not taken up to be introduced to a man; always he to her, except in the case of royalty, and then the royal personage has intimated his wish that she should be presented to him.

A fault very common is not being sufficiently careful to pronounce clearly the names of individuals when introducing them, and it is a great oversight, as it prevents the landmarks--if I may so style them--being visible, which are so necessary in this land, where relationships run closely through every stratum of society, and it is almost impossible to go anywhere without finding people either nearly or distantly connected with each other. We cannot be a sort of _Bradshaw's Guide_ through the network of lines of kinship, but the more we understand about it the better, and to know exactly whom one is speaking to is an undoubted help in that direction, enabling us to avoid mistakes in conversation which may plant a sting unremovable by any after-excuse or apology. The only safe course to follow in the absence of such information is to say nothing but what is favourable about people or even nations, lest you should wound the feelings of your neighbour, and oblige him to say hurriedly, "she is my sister" or "perhaps I had better mention my name," to show that he belongs to the country about which you have been holding forth in not over-pleasant terms.

One of the best indeed among the "rules of society" is that which makes it incumbent on everybody not only to furnish his or her quantum of wit, humour, general agreeability, or what not, for the amusement and gratification of the company, but also, by a skilful word or two, to try and turn the conversation away from any topic likely to cause violent discussion or uncomfortable feeling; and nothing marks ignorance of what ought to be done more distinctly than the tactless introduction or continuation of a subject which, like a hedgehog, is covered with prickles and sure to hurt somebody.

A word before concluding this paper to those who now and then give dinners. Not the great banquets in big houses, which are part of the routine of life, and being perfect in every detail go like clockwork; but the modest entertainments in small abodes where the infrequency of "parties" causes some excitement and extra work in the household. The first thing to be remembered when such an event occurs is not to attempt more than can be done properly as regards the number of guests or dishes, and secondly, having settled the quantity and quality of both, and arranged all things to the best of your ability, to leave it alone. That is to say, do not let your mind worry and bother about it, for of all fatal obstacles to the success of a dinner-party, the irrelevant answers and wandering eye of the hostess, due to her thoughts being fixed upon the delay in handing the vegetables, or the non-appearance of a sauce, are the greatest, and moreover call attention to shortcomings which otherwise might pass unobserved. Therefore "assume the virtue" of coolness "if you have it not," and never allow your neighbour to see that while he is trying to interest you and make himself agreeable your mind is elsewhere, and that you have not heard a word of what was said. Remember also that your business at the time is to be hostess, not cook, footman, or parlour-maid, and that the more you attend to your own duties, and do not, to use an expressive word, "fluster" the servants, the more likely are they to get through their part creditably; and finally do not forget that an important rule of society forbids the exhibition of personal annoyances and domestic grievances to our acquaintances or friends.

(_To be continued._)

FROM LONDON TO DAMASCUS.

I suppose most girl-readers will understand the thrill of surprise and delight with which I read the following sentences from a friend's