On entering the dining hall, we notice that around the table,--or tables, for there will be many if the company is a large one,--in place of chairs, are couches with an abundance of soft pillows. These couches are placed on three sides of the table; for it was the custom of the Romans to recline at their meals. When this custom was first introduced from Asia, the women did not think that it comported with their modesty to adopt this new style, and until the end of the Republic they retained the old habit of sitting at table, while the men lay on the couches; but at the time of Poppæa women had entirely relinquished this relic of their former scrupulousness of demeanor and were accustomed to follow the habit for which the lassitude resulting from the bath prepared them and which these prolonged feasts made necessary for comfort. Having taken our places at the table, our attention is first drawn to the fact that all the slaves, as they move about the room on their various errands, are singing in a low voice. This is the custom of the house; at the banquet everything must be done to the sound of music. All the guests receive a crown or a wreath of flowers, which is worn upon the head during the feast. Roses are to be seen everywhere in great profusion. We are first served with some dishes which are designed to excite rather than appease the appetite; these consist of dormice covered with honey and pepper, hot sausages, and a large pannier filled with both white and black olives. On the dishes in which these viands are served we notice not only the host's name, but also the number of ounces of silver of which the utensils are composed. An ostentatious display of excellence was always sought after by the Romans. A banquet must always begin with eggs; so, having picked a little of the afore-mentioned dainties to sharpen our hunger, the repast really commences. A table is brought in, on which we see a large hen, carved in wood, sitting as on a nest. The slaves search in the straw and bring forth the eggs, which are handed around. The host, after examining these simple articles of diet, says that he commanded to have them placed under a hen for a short time, but he is afraid that they are half hatched. Just as we are inclined to put ours aside, we discover that what appears to be the shell is nothing but paste, and, breaking it open, find inside a delicately cooked little bird of the wheatear species. We must be prepared for such culinary surprises. Then the music strikes up, and the slaves clear the table, dancing instead of walking. If a slave drops a valuable dish, she will not be scolded so much for the loss as she will be if she stops to pick up the fragments, as though the loss were of consequence. Wine is now brought in. It is contained in sealed glass vessels, each with a label setting forth the age of the vintage. Wine is plentiful; it is even passed to us in place of water in which to wash our hands.