Some dishes are easy enough to help oneself to, but there are others which demand cool determination to attack, and care lest a portion land upon the tablecloth instead of in the plate. We are not all gifted with the self-possession of Theodore Hook, who, when carving a tough goose one day let it by chance slip bodily into the lap of his neighbour, and, turning to the unlucky victim, said severely, "Madam, I will trouble you for that goose!"
Fortunately for us, the days of carving at table are over, and we have only to avoid catastrophes with extra hard vol-au-vents, infirm jellies, and pyramids of strawberries.
A story is told of a man who, hopelessly in difficulties as to what he ought to do, pulled some grapes off their stalks and tried to cut each berry with a knife. It puts one's teeth on edge to think of the pips on that occasion, and indeed the idea of steel blades and fruit in juxtaposition is terrible, except in the case of oranges, when silver knives create a feeling not far short of desperation.
As regards wine, persons who have come to years of discretion can observe that discretion as seems good to them; but to those girls who allow themselves wine, I would advise a small quantity of one kind. It does not look well to have odds and ends of wine standing in the various glasses by the side of a girl, neither is it attractive to see her finish up with liqueur at the end of dinner.
In the matter of introductions there is but little of that now, though, of course, unless previously acquainted, the man who takes you down to dinner is first presented to you, and you may be introduced to some one or other of the guests during the evening; but, especially if the party be large, it is by no means certain that you will be. In the act of introduction the name of the person highest in rank—or, if there is no difference in that respect, then the elder of the two—should be mentioned first, as "Lady A.—Mrs. B.," not vice versâ; and when a man is presented to a woman there is generally the proviso, "Mrs. B., may I introduce Mr. C.?" A woman is not taken up to be introduced to a man; always he to her, except in the case of royalty, and then the royal personage has intimated his wish that she should be presented to him.
A fault very common is not being sufficiently careful to pronounce clearly the names of individuals when introducing them, and it is a great oversight, as it prevents the landmarks—if I may so style them—being visible, which are so necessary in this land, where relationships run closely through every stratum of society, and it is almost impossible to go anywhere without finding people either nearly or distantly connected with each other. We cannot be a sort of Bradshaw's Guide through the network of lines of kinship, but the more we understand about it the better, and to know exactly whom one is speaking to is an undoubted help in that direction, enabling us to avoid mistakes in conversation which may plant a sting unremovable by any after-excuse or apology. The only safe course to follow in the absence of such information is to say nothing but what is favourable about people or even nations, lest you should wound the feelings of your neighbour, and oblige him to say hurriedly, "she is my sister" or "perhaps I had better mention my name," to show that he belongs to the country about which you have been holding forth in not over-pleasant terms.
One of the best indeed among the "rules of society" is that which makes it incumbent on everybody not only to furnish his or her quantum of wit, humour, general agreeability, or what not, for the amusement and gratification of the company, but also, by a skilful word or two, to try and turn the conversation away from any topic likely to cause violent discussion or uncomfortable feeling; and nothing marks ignorance of what ought to be done more distinctly than the tactless introduction or continuation of a subject which, like a hedgehog, is covered with prickles and sure to hurt somebody.
A word before concluding this paper to those who now and then give dinners. Not the great banquets in big houses, which are part of the routine of life, and being perfect in every detail go like clockwork; but the modest entertainments in small abodes where the infrequency of "parties" causes some excitement and extra work in the household. The first thing to be remembered when such an event occurs is not to attempt more than can be done properly as regards the number of guests or dishes, and secondly, having settled the quantity and quality of both, and arranged all things to the best of your ability, to leave it alone. That is to say, do not let your mind worry and bother about it, for of all fatal obstacles to the success of a dinner-party, the irrelevant answers and wandering eye of the hostess, due to her thoughts being fixed upon the delay in handing the vegetables, or the non-appearance of a sauce, are the greatest, and moreover call attention to shortcomings which otherwise might pass unobserved. Therefore "assume the virtue" of coolness "if you have it not," and never allow your neighbour to see that while he is trying to interest you and make himself agreeable your mind is elsewhere, and that you have not heard a word of what was said. Remember also that your business at the time is to be hostess, not cook, footman, or parlour-maid, and that the more you attend to your own duties, and do not, to use an expressive word, "fluster" the servants, the more likely are they to get through their part creditably; and finally do not forget that an important rule of society forbids the exhibition of personal annoyances and domestic grievances to our acquaintances or friends.
(To be continued.)