States we have no fixed rules, but of late years the retirement from the world, after the loss of a near relative, has been much shortened. For one year, no formal visiting is undertaken, and no entertaining nor receiving, save in exceptional cases. Mourning (or black) is worn for a husband or a wife two years: one year deep, one year light. For parents, from one to two years; and for brothers and sisters that have reached maturity, one year. Those who are invited to a funeral, though not related, must go entirely in black, wearing black gloves and a black beaver hat. To appear in hats of felt or straw, is wanting in due respect to customs.

About a week after the funeral, friends call on the bereaved family, and acquaintances within a month. The calls of the latter are not repeated until cards of acknowledgment have been received by the family, the leaving of which announces that they are ready to see their friends. It is the custom for intimate friends to wear no bright colors when making their calls of condolence.

In making the first calls of condolence, none but the most intimate friends ask to sec the family. Short notes of condolence, expressing the deepest sympathy, when genuine, are always acceptable, and help to comfort stricken hearts, like oil poured into bleeding wounds. Formal notes of condolence are no longer sent.

"Console if you will, I can bear it;

'Tis only a waste of breath; Not all the preaching since Adam

Has made death other than death,"

is the language of most hearts in hours of deep bereavement; but those who have known anything of the unsounded depths of sorrow do not attempt consolation. All that they try to do is to find words wherein to express their deep sympathy with the grief-stricken one.

Form of such a Letter, copied from one received.

We have just received's letter and your few touching lines. They almost broke my heart. Oh, that I could fly to you, and in some way be of the least comfort to you. You poor, bereaved mother! I can offer no consolation, for I can feel none. What more than mortal anguish you have gone through! My very heart bleeds for you. May our heavenly Father help you. He only can. Take care of yourself for the sake of all who love you so much. I feel the most distracting solicitude about you.

Such letters are indeed comforting to bruised and breaking hearts, knitting in closer affection the bonds and ties of relationship or friendship. Ah, why is it that sorrow must so often hold the lantern, which out of the darkness and turmoil of the world flashes its light suddenly upon the well-springs of love, and reveals to us the pure and calm depths of its ofttimes neglected waters? A writer in the "New York Evangelist" says: Do not keep the alabaster boxes of your love and tenderness sealed up until your friends are dead. Fill their lives with sweetness. Speak approving, cheering words while their ears can hear them, and while their hearts can be thrilled by them. The flowers you mean to send for their coffins, send to brighten and sweeten their homes before they leave them. I would rather have a bare coffin without a flower, and a funeral without a eulogy, than a life without the sweetness of love' and sympathy. Post-mortem kindnesses do not cheer the burdened spirit. Flowers on the coffin cast no fragrance backward over the weary days.

Nor are they grateful offerings to sensitive hearts, while the dead remain unburied. They seem to mock the grief, instead of lightening it. "I never wish to see a flower

again," was the cry that came from an anguished mother's heart, tortured with the memories that flowers must always bring her, such a sea of garlands had flowed in for her dead son at the time of his burial. The hearts that ached with her own had followed a custom, now, happily for the afflicted, growing daily in disfavor.

A few rose-buds, or white flowers, for a child, or for a young girl, are far more suitable and acceptable than blossoms wired into crowns, crosses, and wreaths.

Let flowers, then, be sent to the bereaved, in token-of sympathy, in due time after the burial, and not for the dead; and let us all so conduct ourselves towards the living that we shall have no memories of unkindness shown them, to add, what Whittier calls "the saddest burden of humanity" to our lives-" remorse over the dead."

If we were only half as lenient to the living as we are to the dead, says Lady Blessington, how much happiness might we render them, and from how much vain and bitter remorse might we be spared, when the grave, the all-atoning grave, has closed over them!

The fear of not showing sufficient respect to the memory of the dead, often causes a longer exclusion from the world than the feelings dictate. Therefore prescribed periods, like those which the nations of Europe decree, ought to be adopted by us, and those who wish could increase the period, according to their desires.

Real grief needs no appointed time for seclusion, or for wearing the habiliments of mourning. It is the duty of every one to interest himself or herself in accustomed objects of care as soon as it is possible to make the exertion; for in fulfilling our duties to the living we best show the strength of our affection for the dead, as well as our submission to the will of Him who knows what is better for our dear ones than we can know or dream. But submis

sion does not come with the blow that smites us. Our

first cry is:

"O Christ! that it were possible

For one short hour to see

The souls we love, that they might tell

Us what and where they be!"

It is only after we have walked with Sorrow, hand in hand, with slow feet, and eyes that see not for the tears, crying for rest and praying for release, that we come at last to the heights of resignation, where her rent veil falls apart, and we behold her, radiant, grand and calm, and learn in her restful embrace that the angel Sorrow is also the angel Peace.

Ah, how much sooner would we reach those heights, could we but have that living faith which would keep in our minds the truth that

"Ever near us, though unseen,

The dear immortal spirits tread;
For all the boundless universe

Is life, there are no dead."

Our Saviour has taught us that death is not the evening, but the morning of life; not a rocky barrier, but an illumined gateway, a covered bridge that opens into light.

"We bow our heads,

At going out; we shrink, and enter straight

Another golden chamber of the King's,

Larger than this we leave, and lovelier."

CHAPTER IX.

SALUTATIONS-THE PROMENADE-INTRODUCTIONS- -AMERICAN MEN-ENGLISHMEN-THE LOBRED TYPE OF

WOMEN-SELF-RESPECT.

"The salutation is the touchstone of good breeding."-St. Loup.

"That self-respect, which is at the same time always so full of respect toward others, is the peculiar ornament of court life."-Auerbach.

man.

"What we call formulas are not in their origin bad; they are indisputably good. Formula is method, habitude; found wherever man is found. Formulas fashion themselves as paths do, as beaten highways, leading toward some sacred or high object, whither many men are bent. Consider it: One man, full of heartfelt, earnest impulse, finds out a way of doing somewhat-were it uttering of his soul's reverence for the Highest, were it but of fitly saluting his fellowAn inventor was needed to do that, a poet; he has articulated the dim, struggling thought that dwelt in his own and many hearts. This is his way of doing that; these are his footsteps, the beginning of a 'path.' And now see, the second man travels naturally in the footsteps of his foregoer; it is the easiest method. In the footsteps of his foregoer, yet with improvements, with changes, where such seem good; at all events with enlargements, the path ever widening itself as more travel it, till at last there is a broad highway, whereon the whole world may travel and drive. While there remains a city or shrine, or any reality to drive to, at the farther end, the highway shall be right welcome."-Carlyle.

"A BOW," says La Fontaine, "is a note drawn at sight. You are bound to acknowledge it immediately, and to the full amount." According to circumstances, it should be respectful, cordial, civil, or familiar. An inclination of the head is often sufficient between gentlemen, or a gesture of the hand, or the mere touching of the hat; but in bow