Never devour spinach with a mustard-spoon, spear beans with a wooden tooth-pick, or mistake the gravy for another course of soup. Take your cue from such of your neighbors as appear least like hogs.
Never clean up and polish off your plate, as if it were a magnifying lens, before sending it for a second installment. There are scullions in the kitchen, or ought to be.
Never spit back rejected morsels on your plate, nor toss fruit-stones under the table, nor hide fish-bones under the ornamental center-pieces. An obdurate piece of gristle should be bolted at all hazards, fruit-stones may be dexterously transferred to your neighbor’s plate, and fish-bones may be cleverly utilized as a garniture for the salt-cellars and butter-plates.
Never hurry matters when fully half-gorged, when there is a ringing in your ears, and things begin to swim before your eyes. These are warnings to taper off slowly, in preparation for dessert.
Never adhere wholly to champagne throughout the repast. A few glasses of claret as between-drinks, with now and then a quencher of brown sherry, afford an agreeable variety.
Never forget to occasionally look after the lady under your care. She may, moreover, be useful in passing you dishes during the temporary vanishings of the servant.
Never attempt a flirtation, or even a sustained conversation, during the repast. Gastronomy is a noble but jealous mistress, who permits no division of your allegiance.
Never, when dessert is served, wade into the jellies and riot amid the tarts and cakes as if you were just getting up your wind for a fresh onslaught. Be moderate.
Never ask for a soup-plate of ice-cream. It is better form to have your saucer replenished again and again.
Never talk when your mouth is fairly crammed, nor in a smothered, wheezy tone of voice. It is more dignified to bow blandly, point to your mouth in explanation of your predicament, and wag your head.