Take your coat off in the hall, but never give up your umbrella. If the servant offers to take it down stairs to dry it, tell him to mind his own business; and if he says another word, threaten to report him to his missus, and he will soon be quiet. The robberies of umbrellas in London is something awful! [Illustration: A University Chair of Music. ] If you go to the opera don't call out for "Music!" or tell "Nosey," or any of the "catgut scrapers," to strike up. Be careful also not to insult the box-keeper, by giving him a penny to run and fetch a playbill. If you take a lady, dispense with the usual gallantry of a bag of oranges. Should you take any, however, it is usual to offer them to all the ladies round you—after you have peeled them. It is no longer the fashion for a stranger to call at Buckingham Palace; but if there should be a Drawing Room, you had better go, by all means, and present your homage to your Sovereign, for otherwise it might look disrespectful. You have only to go in costume, with the sword and cocked hat, and send in your card, "with your compliments." If you are invited out to dinner, you must refrain as much as you can from taking a snooze directly the cloth is removed; and you should be above drinking the warm water that is given you, in a blue bowl, for your fingers. 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. [Illustration: 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.