it. But women love gentleness in men. It is a most telling piece of the necessary equipment for society. A gentle manner, a gentle voice, and the absence of all self-assertion, that is at the root of the matter, have won more love than good looks.

“Amiable stoics.”

The man of “perfect manners.”

Self-donial not unrewarded.

Carlyle called the members of upperclass society “amiable stoics,” in reference to the equable serenity of countenance and calm self-possession of manner with which they accept those occasionally trying conditions of social life which necessitate self-denial in matters great and small. This placidity is the result of long training. Not just at first does a young man bow to the decree of his hostess which separates him from the girl he admires and tells him off to take some uninteresting dowager to the supper-room. But should he evince any sign of discontent with the arrangement he is at once convicted of ill-breeding. The man of “perfect manners” is he who is calmly courteous in all circumstances, as attentive outwardly to the plain and the elderly as he is to the young and pretty. It is difficult to renounce the delightful tête-à- tête with a charming girl when asked by his hostess to dance with some poor wall-flower who has been neglected for half-a-dozen dances. But it has to be borne, and eventually it brings its own reward. The “duty” dance is a hard thing, and good manners involve a considerable amount of self-denial; but repetition soon makes it comparatively easy, and invitations of an agreeable kind pour in on the young man who shows himself willing to practise those peculiar forms of selflessness, opportunities for which so frequently arise in society.

The wooden stare.

Transatlantic etiquette.

It is probably in imitation of this surface equanimity that the wooden stare has been adopted so universally by our golden youth. This is useful for wearing at one’s club or in the stall of a theatre, and it at once stamps the proprietor of the stare as being “in it.” The fashion is not confined to England. It reigns in New York, and even in far Australia there is a select coterie of golden or gilded youth who are beginning to learn how to abstract every atom of expression from the countenance, and to look on vacancy or seem to do so. As yet, there is no considerable expertness achieved in the matter in Antipodean circles, but in New York a very fair impression of imbecility is conveyed in the look of the ultra-fashionable young man. There are various other important matters on which a transatlantic authority has been instructing the youth of his generation. The one involving the most serious responsibility is connected with carrying a cane or stick, as it is better form to call it. It must be left at home when going to business, to church, or to make calls. The idea of the latter prohibition is that, if a call is made on a lady cane in hand, the inference would be that the caller is on sufficiently intimate terms to look in on her casually at any time. There is certainly subtlety in this view. It is well that the novice should be made aware that the lowest depth of vulgarity is touched by carrying an umbrella in a case. It is also an important item of information that the gloves and cane must be carried in the same hand. To do otherwise is seriously to err in social forms. Our instructor declares that to attend oratorios and philharmonic concerts is thoroughly bad form, indicating a tendency to be pedantic. It is much better to go to a horse show. It is by no means considered correct to shake hands. The proper way is to take hold of the fingers of one’s acquaintance at the second joints, and bestow upon them one or two decisive little jerks, as though testing their strength. “No, I thank you,” is a form of words no longer heard in good society, having some time since been replaced by “No, thanks.” No man with any claim to social position would consent to pronounce the “g” at the end of the present participle of verbs. “Comin’ and goin”’ are the correct forms just now. “Don’t you know” is ridiculously correct. Men of perception do not care to be more accurate than others of their set. “Don’t- chi-know” is more customary, and the pronunciation marks the man as riding on the topmost crest of the social wave. There must be a staccato sound about the phrase, which alternates pleasantly with the