A MENU OF GUESTS.

POOR John Leech's worthy successor, Mr. Du Maurier, who every week softens the hearts of women towards Punch— they have hated Punch ever since Jerrold's time—by his incom- parable sketches of children, and who, as the domestic humorist of the kingdom, is perhaps more popular than caricaturist ever was, the other day hit a blot in our system of entertainments. He suggested that every guest at an evening party should be treated like an Academy picture, should carry a number affixed to his or her back, and receive a catalogue stating the names to which the numbers were appropriated. The drawing with which he illustrated his proposal, a group of full-dressed persons—all so typical that the sketch should be retained by the collectors for the benefit of some Mr. Wright of the next century—eagerly peering at each other's tickets and exchanging comments behind each other's backs, was of course irresistibly comic ; but very few Londoners looked at it without acknowledging that they wished it were true ; that the idea, if it could be realized in some less grotesque fashion, would distinctly add to the convenience of our social arrangements. It is a bore not to know to whom you are talking, and now that society is civilized enough to abandon some of its ancient defensive ceremonies the first object of etiquette is to prevent bore. The disuse of formal

and universal introductions was of course inevitable. The stiff old formula ceased to be indispensable when the responsibility of the host was admitted, and when it ceased to be rude to talk to a man without an introduction, and nothing but a strong sense of duty could enable an entertainer to go through work so monotonous and so fatiguing. Indeed even duty woeld not nowadays strengthen a London hostess to the task. Iler receptions are too large and too mixed for anything of the kind, and her guests arrive to dinner too nearly at one undivided instant of time. She has enough to do to pair them off comfort- ^

ably and get them seated, and that done, must leave them to find out any information they want by the best device that occurs to

them, usually the very bad one of asking some one as little in-

structed as themselves. There is no remedy in the direction of compulsory introductions, and would be none even if the English

middle-class were not, as it is, in the habit of taking its etiquettes whole and raw from the Upper Two Thousand, who having nothing to do but meet, and nothing to talk about but each other, need, or think they need, no introductions ; but we suspect a good many dinner-givers, as well as diners-out, and all who attend evening parties, would gladly welcome some substitute for the disused etiquette. A mode of introduction without the host's help would seem to be a necessary complement of modern ways.

The annoyance is most felt perhaps at dinner, for at dinner you cannot go away, though at dinner there are mitigations.

You know the name of your next-door neighbour, at all events, and are not likely, as regards her, to commit any extreme Have, to laugh at her husband's last speech, or suggest that her father did not come well out of that last great commercial suit-at-

law, and that security is something. But you may be hopelessly ignorant of the very name of the much pleasanter talker on the other side,—for if your host kindly utters it, you are

pretty certain not to catch it exactly,—and are liable, therefore, for half your dinner existence to all the pitfalls which beset the man or woman who talks the swift Loudon allusive talk

without knowing to whom. Even supposing these all escaped, that you condemn no one in whom your interlocutor is especially

interested, scarify none of her cousins, or at least only the right

ones, and make no unlucky dig at her husband's profession or her own special weakness, there is still in the very sense of restraint a slight loss of power, a small inconvenience, a faint impulse towards talking nothing when you are disposed to make talk improving, a conceivable possibility of petty discomfort, which ought somehow

or other to be obviated. What are etiquettes for, if not to keep sand out of your mental eyes ? The Sybarites have been abused for ages about those crumpled rose-leaves, but after all the Sybarites were quite right. The object being smooth rose-leaves, crumpled rose-leaves were failures, and failures, in small things as well as great, are to be carefully eschewed. A dinner-party is meant to be pleasant, and if a morsel of knowledge makes it a

trifle pleasanter, why is that morsel to be despised, still more to be refused ? Sevens in cookery know the dishes that are being

handed round, and may, if very experienced, predict those which will come by and by ; but to the mass of diners a menu is none the less convenient, and is therefore provided. If it is nice to know what you are eating and what you still have to expect, it is very much nicer to know to whom you are speaking, and within what range of subjects it is safe, or at all events polite, to wander,

so as at least- to avoid talking Fawcettism to a Tory member's

wife, or very liberal theology to the evangelical rector's sister. It is not pleasant to be told at dinner that on your death-bed you will alter that very heretical opinion. As it happens, too, the improvement could be very easily made, and without any visible innovation, such as the introduction of a menu of guests, a card with the names arranged in the same order as at the table, though that, of course would, if it once became popular, be the com- plete and the final substitute for the missing etiquette. Every

one would then see at a glance not only the name of his neigh- bour, but of that capital talker opposite who is to be cultivated, of that pretty woman in grey—second from host—who is making

such eyes at her cavalier, and of that useful bore, fourth from corner, who is drowning everybody else's voice, and therefore allowing everybody to talk as he or she lists. The " table " sketched at the back of the menu is, we submit, the desideratum, the easy, the polite, and the perfect remedy for the diner's great grievance ; but of course it is just a little too good. Somebody very big must adopt the idea before it will be accepted, and even then it will demand some little care to prevent any shuffling of places. There are, however, two still easier changes, which though not so perfect, indeed very imperfect, would in part alleviate ignorance, and would as innovations scarcely be perceived. Suppose servants were taught to pronounce instead of muttering guests' names, and suppose the ticket now often deposited by the diner's plate were written on both sides and mounted on a little silver clip in front of it so as to be as visible as the diner's face.

Neither device would ensure the perfect knowledge which the menu of guests must yield, but still both would help to relieve conversation of a restraint, host and hostess of questionings, and the guests of a frequently tantalizing uncertainty. " Who is that man ? Know him quite well, but can't remember his name." Who is to flavour that new aspic properly under pressure of a doubt like that? Our device is of course inapplicable to an " at-home " or any form of evening party, but then it is not quite so urgently required. The choice of interlocutors is very much greater, the chances of escape are more frequent, and as one can move about the possibilities of gratifying a legiti- mate curiosity are infinitely more numerous. Somebody must know everybody, and the somebody may by good luck not be inacces- sible.

"What nonsense!" snarls the philosopher. 'Well, yes, it is nonsense, if society is nonsense too ; but if not, the absence of sense in our suggestion is not quite so clear. There are not so many innocent pleasures left that men should wilfully spoil one of them, and among them few are so perfect as easy conversation around the dinner-table, when you are just in the mood both to talk and listen, are pleasantly satisfied with good things, have the luxurious sense of nothing to do, and the still more luxurious cer- tainty that you will not do it. Why spoil that enjoyment by introducing into it a needless element of restraint? Keep among the people you know ? As well keep exclusively to family parties for recreation of thought. It is the people you don't know who are recreative as conversers, people whose minds you have not searched, whose phtases are not familiar, who know things you never heard of, and who present to you thoughts which, if not new, have from their novel form all the effect of novelty. To enjoy conversation at dinner perfectly to the ideal degree, the diner should know the person, man or woman, on his right hand a Very little, and know of the person on his left hand a very great deal, and should be known by name to both. Then the talk, if unrestrained, may have a freshness, a faint aroma of pleasantness quite unattainable when you know beforehand the opinion you are going to hear, shrink beforehand from the story on the speaker's lips, and have to think and forget whether or not you have used that favourite illustration before. Only to make

the thing perfect, a man, and still more a woman, should not be utterly ignorant of the person to whom he talks and of whom he

may talk, should have as part of his provender just that knowledge of all around which, in nine cases out of ten, the menu of guests would give.