year of grace, is not at all ugly. It may be — and sometimes is — almost a thing of beauty. The modern dinner-table approaches as nearly to the old Greek type as is com- patible with the widely divergent character of the two civilisations. It certainly follows the classic pattern in two valuable particulars — beauty and repose. True, we do not wreathe our heads in roses, nor carry doves nestling in the folds of our robes, nor pour libations of wine over one another (such a messy habit !), but we have done away, for good and all, let us hope, with the dreadful mid- Victorian table decorations. Instead of hideous dish- covers, branching candelabra, hideous epergnes, and appalling " set pieces," we have Hawthorn bowls of roses, delicate Venetian glass, beaten copper finger-bowls, perfectly plain silver, and the simplest of white china. Everything perfect of its kind, and its kind the non-ostentatious. We have also become franker in the honest avowal of our appetites. Even in our grandmothers' time it was considered some- what immodest to take a second helping without being pressed. Pressure was expected 196 THE CHAFING DISH as a politeness from the host. An old manual of table etiquette says : " Offer every; dish at least thrice to each guest. Timid appetites must be tempted, for they exist still, especially among literary folk ! " Altogether we are much politer, outwardly at any rate, than we used to be. Even a Royal Duke has manners. So he had for- merly — but they were mostly bad. It is told of one of the Royal Family, of a couple of generations ago, that he was dining at Bel- voir, and his host, noticing His Royal High- ness studying the menu at dinner, asked him if he would like anything that did not appear on the bill of fare. " Yes ; roast pig and apple dumpling," was the gracious reply. The daring simplicity of the royal appe- tite is splendid, but the pity is that it was not more pleasantly put. Another reform in our dining arrange- ments is the greater love which folks now bear to fresh air. Formerly dining-rooms were heated up as though the guests were early cucumbers, and wanted forcing. This, I am sure, contributed greatly to the dulness of the average dinner-party. As the result AMENITIES OF THE TABLE 197 of careful observation, I have found, by ex- perimenting with a thermometer, that at a temperature of 62° Fahrenheit conversation flows easily and every one's wits are^ at their best and sharpest, - At 75° or higher the most elastic spirits become subdued. If any one says to me : "So-and-so was not himself last night at dinner," I am always tempted to ask : " What was the temperature ?" Why will people, when they dine -out in public pJaces, insist on having music? It seems to me a. confusion of the arts, and "with little ear for music I cannot bring myself to take my soup in polka time, or masticate my whitebait to the Intermezzo from " Cavalleria Rusticana." It is quite a modern fad, for in 1874 G. A. Sala discusses music at dinner in a magazine, and only- refers to it in royal palaces* With all deference to those who know better, it seems to me to. be rather rude to good music, and to a good" dinner. All the foregoing is in direct relation to the art. of the Chafing Dish, because the refinement of modern cookery is nowhere more evident than in dealing with ChafKnda. I have. been. to. a. dinner-party .where two 198 THE CHAFING DISH Chafing Dishes were brought on to the table after the sweets, one being placed before the host and the other before the hostess. Deft servants handed the necessary ingredients, and in five minutes, the guests (we were eight, I think) were enjoying a little egg savoury, piping hot, and cooked before their eyes. This sort of thing may become quite common. Who knows ?

AI-modernized reading of the original text

year of grace, is not at all ugly. It may be — and sometimes is — almost a thing of beauty. The modern dinner-table approaches as nearly to the old Greek type as is compatible with the widely divergent character of the two civilisations. It certainly follows the classic pattern in two valuable particulars — beauty and repose. True, we do not wreathe our heads in roses, nor carry doves nestling in the folds of our robes, nor pour libations of wine over one another (such a messy habit !), but we have done away, for good and all, let us hope, with the dreadful mid- Victorian table decorations. Instead of hideous dish- covers, branching candelabra, hideous epergnes, and appalling " set pieces," we have Hawthorn bowls of roses, delicate Venetian glass, beaten copper finger-bowls, perfectly plain silver, and the simplest of white china. Everything perfect of its kind, and its kind the non-ostentatious. We have also become franker in the honest avowal of our appetites. Even in our grandmothers' time it was considered somewhat immodest to take a second helping without being pressed. Pressure was expected as a politeness from the host. An old manual of table etiquette says : " Offer every; dish at least thrice to each guest. Timid appetites must be tempted, for they exist still, especially among literary folk ! " Altogether we are much politer, outwardly at any rate, than we used to be. Even a Royal Duke has manners. So he had formerly — but they were mostly bad. It is told of one of the Royal Family, of a couple of generations ago, that he was dining at Belvoir, and his host, noticing His Royal Highness studying the menu at dinner, asked him if he would like anything that did not appear on the bill of fare. " Yes ; roast pig and apple dumpling," was the gracious reply. The daring simplicity of the royal appetite is splendid, but the pity is that it was not more pleasantly put. Another reform in our dining arrangements is the greater love which folks now bear to fresh air. Formerly dining-rooms were heated up as though the guests were early cucumbers, and wanted forcing. This, I am sure, contributed greatly to the dulness of the average dinner-party. As the result of careful observation, I have found, by experimenting with a thermometer, that at a temperature of 62° Fahrenheit conversation flows easily and every one's wits are at their best and sharpest, - At 75° or higher the most elastic spirits become subdued. If any one says to me : "So-and-so was not himself last night at dinner," I am always tempted to ask : " What was the temperature ?" Why will people, when they dine out in public places, insist on having music? It seems to me a. confusion of the arts, and "with little ear for music I cannot bring myself to take my soup in polka time, or masticate my whitebait to the Intermezzo from " Cavalleria Rusticana." It is quite a modern fad, for in 1874 G. A. Sala discusses music at dinner in a magazine, and only- refers to it in royal palaces* With all deference to those who know better, it seems to me to be rather rude to good music, and to a good dinner. All the foregoing is in direct relation to the art. of the Chafing Dish, because the refinement of modern cookery is nowhere more evident than in dealing with Chafing Dish. I have been to a dinner-party where two Chafing Dishes were brought on to the table after the sweets, one being placed before the host and the other before the hostess. Deft servants handed the necessary ingredients, and in five minutes, the guests (we were eight, I think) were enjoying a little egg savoury, piping hot, and cooked before their eyes. This sort of thing may become quite common. Who knows ?

The cult of the chafing dish