sit to me; and it was the first time,
therefore, that I observed a queer thing. Just at this point he rose
rather suddenly and bade me good evening. I begged him to stay, but had
to repeat my invitation twice. His hand was on the handle of the door
before he turned back. Then he sat down, and we went on talking; but
before long he did the same thing again, and then again.

At last I was provoked, and said: "What is the custom of your country?
Do you have to take a walk every eleven minutes and a quarter?"

George laughed again, and indeed blushed. "Do you know what a bore is?"
said he.

"Alas! I do," said I.

"Well," said he, "the universal custom here is, that an uninvited guest,
who calls on another man on his own business, rises at the end of eleven
minutes, and offers to go. And the courts have ruled, very firmly, that
there must be a _bona fide_ effort. We get into such a habit of it,
that, with you, I really did it unawares. The custom is as old as
Cleisthenes and his wedding. But some of the decisions are not more than
two or three centuries old, and they are very funny.

"On the whole," he added, "I think it works well. Of course, between
friends, it is absurd, but it is a great protection against a class of
people who think their own concerns are the only things of value. You
see you have only to say, when a man comes in, that you thank him for
coming, that you wish he would stay, or to take his hat or his
stick,--you have only to make him an invited guest,--and then the rule
does not hold."

"Ah!" said I; "then I invite you to spend every evening with me while I
am here."

"Take care," said he; "the Government Almanac is printed and distributed
gratuitously from the fines on bores. Their funds are getting very low
up at the department, and they will be very sharp on your friends. So
you need not be profuse in your invitations."

* * * * *

This conversation was a clew to a good many things which I saw while I
was in the city. I never was in a place where there were so many
tasteful, pretty little conveniences for everybody. At the quadrants,
where the streets cross, there was always a pretty little sheltered seat
for four or five people,--shaded, stuffed, dry, and always the morning
and evening papers, and an advertisement of the times of boats and
trains, for any one who might be waiting for a car or for a friend.
Sometimes these were votive offerings, where public sp