The Senator from Sandpit A man may with more impunity be guilty of an actual breach, either of real good breeding or good morals, than appear ignorant of the most minute points of fashionable eti­quette.-Walter Scott. ETIQUETTE AS SHE USED TO WAS (From Martine's Handbook of Etiquette, 1866.) Men of all sorts of occupations meet in society. As they go there to unbend their minds and escape from the fetters of business, you should never, in an evening, speak to a man about his profession. Do not talk politics to a journalist, of fevers to a physician, of stocks to a broker, nor, unless you wish to en­rage him to the utmost, of education to a collegian. (On the grounds that nobody enjoys being shown up, J suppose.) If you wish to inquire about any­thing, do not do it by asking a ques-- tion, but introduce the subject, and give the person an opportunity of saying as much as he finds it agree­able to impart. Never ask a lady a question about anything whatever. (That bozo knew a thing or two, at that.) A good way to avoid impertinent and pumping inquiries, is by answer­ing with another question. (If some­one asks how old you are, counter by saying, "Do you think it will rain?") We cannot but allude to the prac­tice of using white paints, a habit strongly to be condemned. If for no other reason than that poison lurks beneath every layer, inducing paralytic affections and premature death, they should be discarded be­cause they are a disguise that de­ceives no one, even at a distance; there is a ghastly deathliness in the appearance of the skin after it has been painted, which is far removed from the natural hue of health. (There must have been an epidemic of painter's colic about that time.) 'unjustly, think you a bear. (If you want her to think you're a bear now­adays, you'll have to neck her.) At a private party, a gentleman may offer to dance with a lady with­out an introduction, but at balls the rule is different. A gentleman should not dance with his wife, and not too often with the lady to whom he is engaged. (That is, I suppose, if he wants to enjoy himself.) Ladies may walk unattended in th streets, being careful to pass on becomes their station-neither wit a hurried pace, nor yet affecting ti move slowly. Be careful never t look back, nor to observe too narrow­ly the dresses of such ladies as may pass you. Should any one venture to address you, take no heed, seem not to hear, but hasten your steps. Be careful to reach home in good time. Let nothing ever induce you to be out after dusk, or when the lamps are lighted. Nothing but un­avoidable necessity can sanction such acts of impropriety. (Couldn't the buggy lose a wheel or the horse break a leg in those days?) In street etiquette, when stormy weather has made it necessary to lay a plank across the gutters, which have become suddenly filled with water, it is not proper to crowd a lady off the frail bridge. (Not unless you are sure she can swim.) Never pare an apple or a pear for a lady unless she desire you, and then be careful to use your fork to hold it; you may sometimes offer to divide a very large pear with or for a person. (But never offer to share an apple with a lady-that's her privi­lege.) In dancing, do it quietly; do not kick and caper about, nor sway your body to and fro; dance only from the hips downward; and lead the lady as lightly as you would tread a meas­ure with a gossamer string. Lead your lady through the quadrille; do not drag her, nor clasp her hand as if it were made of wood, lest she, not. When tripping over the pavement, a lady should gracefully raise her dress a little above her ankle. With her right hand she should hold to­gether the folds of her gown and draw them toward the right side. To raise the dress on both sides, and with both hands, is vulgar. This un­graceful practice can be tolerated only for a moment when the mud is very deep. (But suppose you don't make a three-point landing when you trip? Anyway, this will be continued in our next.) HOBBIES You can talk of the Corcoran Art Gallery, the Louvre, or any of the world-famed art exhibits, but for real pleasure, give me Ben L. Rich's collection of etch­ings, oils, water colors and what­nots. More than 200 examples of the painter's, the photographer's, and the etcher's best efforts adorn the walls of his private office. Anything from the carved head of a Maori god to the models of the Hollywood and Paris salons is there. When I asked him how he kept his mind on his work in the midst of such a display, he said: "In time one gets used to anything."