it is not a ceremony to do honour to
you, but to themselves,--not due to your position, but to theirs. If one
of a friend's children die, the formal couple are as sure and punctual in
sending to the house as the undertaker; if a friend's family be
increased, the monthly nurse is not more attentive than they. The formal
couple, in fact, joyfully seize all occasions of testifying their
good-breeding and precise observance of the little usages of society; and
for you, who are the means to this end, they care as much as a man does
for the tailor who has enabled him to cut a figure, or a woman for the
milliner who has assisted her to a conquest.

Having an extensive connexion among that kind of people who make
acquaintances and eschew friends, the formal gentleman attends from time
to time a great many funerals, to which he is formally invited, and to
which he formally goes, as returning a call for the last time. Here his
deportment is of the most faultless description; he knows the exact pitch
of voice it is proper to assume, the sombre look he ought to wear, the
melancholy tread which should be his gait for the day. He is perfectly
acquainted with all the dreary courtesies to be observed in a
mourning-coach; knows when to sigh, and when to hide his nose in the
white handkerchief; and looks into the grave and shakes his head when the
ceremony is concluded, with the sad formality of a mute.

'What kind of funeral was it?' says the formal lady, when he returns
home. 'Oh!' replies the formal gentleman, 'there never was such a gross
and disgusting impropriety; there were no feathers.' 'No feathers!'
cries the lady, as if on wings of black feathers dead people fly to
Heaven, and, lacking them, they must of necessity go elsewhere. Her
husband shakes his head; and further adds, that they had seed-cake
instead of plum-cake, and that it was all white wine. 'All white wine!'
exclaims his wife. 'Nothing but sherry and madeira,' says the husband.
'What! no port?' 'Not a drop.' No port, no plums, and no feathers!
'You will recollect, my dear,' says the formal lady, in a voice of
stately reproof, 'that when we first met this poor man who is now dead
and gone, and he took that very strange course of addressing me at dinner
without being previously introduced, I ventured to express my opinion
that the family were quite ignorant of etiquette, and very imperfectly
acquainted with the decencies of life. You have now had a good
o