of the table, is one of the most difficult things in society:
it might indeed be asserted without much fear of
contradiction, that no man has as yet ever reached exact
propriety in his office as host, has hit the mean between
exerting himself too much and too little. His great business
is to put every one entirely at his ease, to gratify all his
desires, and make him, in a word, absolutely contented with
men and things. To accomplish this, he must have the genius
of tact to perceive, and the genius of finesse to execute;
ease and frankness of manner; a knowledge of the world that
nothing can surprise; a calmness of temper that nothing can
disturb, and a kindness of disposition that can never be
exhausted. When he receives others, he must be content to
forget himself; he must relinquish all desire to shine, and
even all attempts to please his guests by conversation, and
rather, do all in his power to let them please one another.
He behaves to them without agitation, without affectation; he
pays attention without an air of protection; he encourages
the timid, draws out the silent, and directs conversation
without Sustaining it himself. He who does not do all this,
is wanting in his duty as host; he who does, is more than
mortal.

When all are seated, the gentleman at the head of the table
sends soup to every one, from the pile of plates which stand
at his right hand. He helps the person at his right hand
first, and at his left next, and so through the whole.

There are an immensity of petty usages at the dinner table,
such as those mentioned in the story of the Abb, Delille and