outs in advertising
columns as "supper-champagne," has puzzled sager brains than mine.
Surely, bad wine is not less injurious taken in repeated draughts in the
small hours of the morning than it would be sipped in small doses at
dinner-time; yet it's only here and there a logically-minded individual
produces his dinner-champagne at his wife's dancing-parties; and
everywhere else old and young with equal caution demand a prudent
admixture of the seltzer that will, if anything can, avert a
next-morning headache. The chaperon, warrantably hungry, taking her time
over her supper in a comfortable corner, is often not to be tempted by
any sparkling liquid; but the dancers want the nervous exhilaration that
champagne, however inferior, at least temporarily supplies, and are
rarely careful enough to shun the danger altogether.

"Are you going on anywhere?" is a query that not unfrequently meets
one's ears about halfway through the evening. "Going on" is an
essentially town practice. In the country, houses lie too far scattered
for it, and there is seldom such a press of gayeties on foot together as
to make it likely that two or more engagements will have been made for
one night. But in London, owing to the limited number of evenings
comprised in a season, as compared with the host of people who want to
give their parties in the course of it, it constantly happens that folk
who go out much find themselves invited to a dinner, a drum and a couple
of dances, all on one and the same evening. Ay, and they manage to
achieve them all, too, thanks to determination and broughams. To the
dinner at eight P. M.; away at a quarter to eleven to put in an
appearance and for ten minutes swell the hurried and promiscuous chatter
at the drum; thence off again to one of the balls--to stay if it is
good, or if it isn't to go on after a dance or two to the other. The
custom is so thoroughly recognized that no hostess would ever dream of
being offended with any of her guests for "going on" elsewhere whenever
they think fit. Not that she is ever likely to know whether this or that
individual does or does not do so; for it's not at all necessary before
one goes off to say any formal good-night to the hostess, and in fact
men very seldom do so. When they have had dancing enough, or,
remembering some disagreeable necessity of being up and alert for work
next morning, feel it's about time to be going bedward, they quietly
slink down stairs to the cloak-r