CHAPTER IX. DINNER.

The hour of dinner has been said, by Dr. Johnson, to be the
most important hour in civilized life. The etiquette of the
dinner-table has a prominence commensurate with the dignity
of the ceremony. Like the historian of Peter Bell, we
commence at the commencement, and thence proceed to the
moment when you take leave officially, or vanish unseen.

In order to dine, the first requisite is--to be invited. The
length of time which the invitation precedes the dinner is
always proportioned to the grandeur of the occasion, and
varies from two days to two weeks. To an invitation received
less than two days in advance, you will lose little by
replying in the negative, for as it was probably sent as soon
as the preparations of the host commenced, you may be sure
that there will be little on the table fit to eat. Those
abominations, y'clept "plain family dinners," eschew like the
plague.

You reply to a note of invitation immediately, and in the
most direct and unequivocal terms. If you accept, you arrive
at the house rigorously at the hour specified. It is equally
inconvenient to be too late and to be too early. If you fall
into the latter error, you find every thing in disorder; the
master of the house is in his dressing-room, changing his
waistcoat; the lady is still in the pantry; the fire not yet
lighted in the parlour. If by accident or thoughtlessness you
arrive too soon, you may pretend that you called to inquire