THE DINNER-TABLE.

MY DEAR ELOISE,—I thank you for your kind compliment, but I have always been of opinion that the arrangements and serving of a dinner-table, have as much to do with the happiness and pleasure of a party as the viands which are placed upon it; this I had a practical proof of last week. Mr. B. and myself were invited to dine with Mr. D., a city friend, at Balham Hill; I had before met Mrs. D. at an evening party, at his partner’s, at Hackney, and knew little of her.

Dinner was served pretty punctually, only half an hour after time. On my entrance in the room, my first glance at the table showed me that there was a want of savoir-faire in its management: the plate, very abundant and splendid, was of so yellow a cast that it looked as if it were plated, and the cut glass was exceedingly dim. My first surprise was that there were no napkins, the next the soup plates were quite cold, which I have found often the case in other houses; after being served with fish, and waiting until it was cold for the sauce to eat with it, I was rather sceptical how the rest of the dinner would progress. After the first, the second course made its appearance, which was heavy and too abundant; the plain things were well done, but there was only one servant in the room for the whole party of fourteen, and from the strict formality of the table, it would have been a sacrilege to have handed your plate for any vegetables, or anything else you might require. There were four saltcellars, certainly very massive silver ones, at each corner of the table, and a beautiful cruet-frame in the centre; the hot dishes of this course, like the previous one, became cold and tasteless before being eaten, and during the time the servant was serving the champagne, all the plates were empty; in fact it was a good dinner spoilt. The wine drank with less goÛt than usual, and the long pauses between the courses made the formality appear still greater than it really was, and made you wish for the time to arrive for the cloth to be removed, which was not done, only the slips, a most awkward undertaking for one servant, and should never be practised unless having at least two.

About half an hour after the cloth was removed, and just as the conversation was being thawed from the freezing it received at the dinner-table, Mrs. D. and the ladies withdrew, and for an hour and a half we had to bear the insipid conversation of the drawing-room, the hissing urn on the tea-table bearing a prominent part. Several messages were sent from time to time to the dining-room that coffee was ready; and when at last the gentlemen came, two had had quite wine enough, which caused them to receive sundry angry looks from their wives who were present, and who were glad to get them into their carriages which were waiting, and right glad indeed was I when ours was announced.

This all happened, my dear Eloise, not from meanness; for if money could have purchased it nothing would have been wanting, but solely from want of management; and every one should think before they invite their friends to partake of their hospitality, if they know how to entertain them. Money of course will provide delicacies of all kinds, but to know how to dispose of those delicacies to the best advantage, that your friends may appreciate them, is what is sadly wanting in more than one house I visit.

A very excellent remark is made in Punch by Mr. Brown, in his Letters to a Young Man about Town, on the subject of great and little dinners. He says: “Properly considered the quality of the dinner is twice blest; it blesses him that gives, and him that takes; a dinner with friendliness is the best of all friendly meetings—a pompous entertainment, where no love is, is the least satisfactory.”

Our dinner on which you compliment me so much, we sat down twelve, for although the room and table would accommodate more, yet as my service of plate is for that number, and the arrangements of the kitchen are limited, that is the number I prefer, besides beyond which the conversation becomes partial, which is the bane of a dinner-table. You know we have no regular man-servant, but for these occasions I hire two, and place one on each side the table, and they each have their own side table with a change of everything that is required. The first thing to be looked to is the lights: these ought to be so placed as not to intercept the view of any person at the table, but at the same time they ought to be enough to show everything off to advantage; I prefer removing some of the lights from the table to the sideboard when the cloth is removed, as the light after dinner ought to be more subdued. In laying the cloth we place it over the baize, and remove it after dinner, as Mr. B. says he likes to see the mahogany, for when he asks a city friend to come and put his feet under his mahogany, it looks rather foolish if he never sees it. I have, as you know, my table rather wide, that is, six feet, and I generally place a vase of flowers in the centre, as I think their freshness and odor add greatly to the appearance of the table, and admit a flanc on each side. We prefer the old English plan of taking the top and bottom of the table, instead of I and Mr. B. being together at the side.

The cloth being laid with its proper side uppermost, I order a napkin, two knives, two prongs, two tablespoons, and two wine-glasses to be placed to each person, a saltcellar between every other, that being a condiment which every one uses, though often wrongly; the cruet-frames and other requisites are kept on the sideboards. I then have the fish and soup served together, the potatoes and sauce on the sideboard; I serving the soup, and Mr. B. the fish, and often a little dish of fried fish, such as smelts, &c., to remove the soups. This gives me an opportunity of seeing that my guests are properly attended to, and also leisure of taking wine with any gentleman who challenges me. During the time this course has been progressing, the cook has had time to dish up the removes nice and hot, and get all up close to the door, as I like as little time as possible to intervene in changing the dishes; and these consist generally of variously dressed chickens, which I have before me, as this gives an opportunity for the gentleman on my right to display his gallantry; but, thanks to Soyer’s separator, this is an easy task. This affords me still further leisure to pay attention to my guests. Mr. B., who is a capital carver, either has a saddle or a haunch of mutton, or a quarter of lamb before him, the rest of the dishes consisting of a tongue and entrÉes. I select those most easy to carve, and also easy for the cook to prepare. This is a period of dinner where a great deal depends upon the attendants; they should know almost by the look what this lady or that gentleman require, and what kind of vegetables to hand them; a first-rate butler should be able to judge by the physiognomy to whom he should offer mint sauce with the lamb, and who prefers cayenne; on their attention and hot plates, depends the success of the substantial part of the dinner.

As soon as I see that all are served, and words are few in consequence of the organ which utters them being employed in another way, I give a look to the two servants, which they understand, and immediately two reports are heard,—they are from two bottles of champagne, opened at the same time by the attendants, who have each a salver with six glasses on it; this takes but a short time to serve, and prepares the palate for the entrÉes, which generally get praised; indeed my cook would think something was wrong if two of the dishes did not go down empty. By having the champagne thus, I find it goes much further than if only one bottle was opened at the time, there being sufficient left in the bottles for a gentleman to challenge a lady to take champagne with him. If I have game I remove the top and bottom dishes with them, and make the sweets a separate course, taking care to have cold plates for the jelly, and having the liquors handed round when the sweets are on the table; one cheese I place opposite Mr. B., and macaroni opposite myself. Objections have been made to the use of napkins, as being of no service at an English dinner-table, and only a copy of the dirty manners of our neighbors. If we are more cleanly at the table than they are (which I question), there is no reason why we should not use that which would make us still more so; but Mr. B. is so well pleased with the rose water which he has at the court dinners of his company, that he made me a present of those two beautiful dishes which you admired so much. The outside compartment holds rose-water, and the inner one a little eau-de-cologne; these are placed on salvers, and pass down each side of the table, the corner of each napkin being dipped into it. They seem to be absolutely required, and I must say they form a delightful adjunct to the dinner-table.

He[9] has also introduced at our table, but only at Christmas, another city custom, which the gentlemen seem very much to like,—I cannot say so for the ladies; it is what he calls a loving cup; he has it placed before him when the cheese is put on; and after filling the glass of the lady on each side of him, he rises and drinks to their health and the rest of the company, and then passes it to the gentleman on the left, who, in like manner, fills the glass of the lady on his left, rises, drinks to her health and the company, and thus it goes round the table. Your husband, my dear Eloise, thought that the contents were exceedingly good, or, as he expressed it, nectar fit for the gods, and would like to have the receipt,—here it is as Mr. B. prepares it:—The cup holds two quarts; he places in it half a teacupful of capillaire; if he has none, he uses dissolved lump sugar, with a few drops of orange-flower water in it, one pint of brown sherry, one bottle of good Edinburgh ale, mixing these together, and a minute before placing on the table, adding one bottle of soda water, stirring it well up till it froths; he then grates some nutmeg on the froth, and places a piece of toast in it, and sends it to the table with a napkin through the handle of the cup. I must say, since we have had this, it has produced some most interesting conversation as regarded the antiquity of the custom, &c. In addition, Mr. B. bought the cup at a sale, and it is stated to have been drunk out of by Henry the Eighth: this of itself is a subject of conversation, and draws out the talents and conversational powers of our guests, and one in which ladies can join, as there is hardly one of our sex who has not read Miss Strickland’s “Queens of England.” You have often made the remark, that the time always appears short whilst we are at table; this is, no doubt, from the animated conversation which is kept up, for that is the real motive of meeting together, to enjoy the conversation of one another, to gain and impart information, and amuse ourselves with the wit and talent of those around us, and not for the sake of eating and drinking; yet without the assistance of both of these, the most sparkling wit would be as heavy as a bad soufflÉ, and the brightest talent as dull as my looking-glass on a foggy day.

In order to prolong the time, and to enjoy the gentlemen’s society as much as possible, I do not have the dessert placed on the table until ten or twenty minutes after the cloth is removed; this also gives an opportunity for my guests to admire the beautiful Sevres dessert plates, containing views of the French chateaux; this of course gives a subject for conversation to those who have visited them. In the dessert I generally introduce some new importation, such as bananas, sugar-cane, American lady apples, prickly pears, &c.; these also give a subject for the gentlemen to talk about when the ladies have left, as free trade, colonial policy, &c. About half an hour after the dessert is on the table, and when I see that the conversation is becoming less general, I retire to the drawing-room; the servants then remove the dirty glass and plates, and Mr. B. introduces some of his choice claret or Burgundy in ice coolers.

You know, my dear Eloise, I allow very little more than half an hour for us to talk about the last new fashions, or of Mrs. A. and B.’s cap, and the young ones about their partners at the last ball, and other nothings, when the tea and coffee are brought up on salvers; it is always made down stairs, and sent up in cups to the drawing-room, although Mr. B. had a very handsome silver service presented to him just after we were married, for serving as an honorary secretary to some grand masonic festival, yet the milk ewer and sugar basin are all I allow in the room. This does away with the formality of the tea-table and the hissing of the tea-urn; it allows some young gentlemen with a Byron collar and a little down under his chin to turn over the pages of a music-book for a young lady at the piano, and make his coffee at the same time; it allows my dear mamma and Mr. P. to make up their whist table, and have their tea whilst playing; or, if we make up a quadrille, to have a few turns of a waltz or polka, the coffee is serving during the time; whilst this is going on the hand of the clock advances, and half-past ten soon arrives, and with it Mrs. C.’s fly; Dr. D.’s brougham is at the door; the party breaks up, delighted with the evening they have passed in each other’s society: and this you see done with trifling management.