When you sit down at table, it is not necessary to whisk the napkin gayly about before unfolding it. The concealed roll is certain to fly a considerable distance before alighting, and may even crack the enameling on one of the great ladies at the banquet.
Millionaires of the Chester A. Arthur or Rutherford B. Hayes vintage should pass rapidly through their ancient mansions and demolish the following objects of art and vertu:
The twin conch shells, for fireside use; the embroidered wall mottoes; imitation wax flowers—under glass; ebony and gold whatnots; velvet antimacassars; all crayon portraits—whether pendant or on gold easels; party-colored crazy quilts; all magenta picture sashes; plush photograph albums; red worm lamp-mats; turkish cozy corners, with hanging red lamps, imitation spears, and rusty armor; black hair sofas; hanging tennis racquets ornamented with red bows; folding beds; cuckoo clocks and paper weights containing miniature paper snowstorms.
After destroying these knickknacks, they should pass out on the steps and adjacent lawn spaces and demolish the iron dogs, copper fauns, and the bed of snowdrops spelling out the mansion’s fantastic name—“Slopeoak,” “Munnysunk,” “Sewerside,” or any name in which the following popular “B” forms are included: Brae, Blythe, By-the, Buena, Bel, Bonnie, Beau, Bourne.