ETIQUETTE.
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."