If you intend to dance, do not, as a matter of pride, fill your pockets with halfpence; and if you have a new pair of Berlins, put them on, and do not keep them folded up in your hands, as if you were too shabby to use them.
If Joseph Ady sends you an invitation, write back word that you will come and take tea with him. You will find him a good sovereign fellow, and you may probably hear of something to your advantage.
Shakspeare, after Curling.
Have your hair curled; but if you take a lady down to the refreshment-room, you must know her extremely well before you can presume to ask her if "she'll have a drop of beer," or else she will certainly be offended.
When you are leaving, supposing the servant at the door puts his hand out, shake it by all means, or else the poor fellow will fancy you are proud.
You are not bound to answer any public questions in the street, as to "Who are you?" or to put any stranger in possession of personal facts relating to "your mother."
If you are in doubt about a cab fare, or want to know some particular fact about the twopenny omnibuses, or the age of an actress, or a point at cribbage, or where the best glass of ale is to be had—write to the Duke of Wellington, and you will have an answer from the F. M. the same day.
You are not bound to go to every theatre, or to see every exhibition in London. In fact, please yourself, and do not stop in town a day longer than you choose; for you will find the "boots" generally very reluctant to call you the morning you intend to start. For better precaution, you had better shave over night, and tie a piece of string to your big toe for the policeman to pull the first thing in the morning.
