I will answer this question. Be attentive, readers. Gasterea, the most attractive of the muses, inspires me. I will be as clear as an oracle, and my precepts will live for centuries:-- "Let the number of guests never exceed twelve, so that the conversation may be general. "Let them he so chosen that their occupations may be varied, their tastes analogous, and that they may have such points of contact that introduction may be useless. "Let the dining-room be furnished with luxury, the table clean, and the temperature of the room about 16 degrees Reaumur. "Let the men be intelligent, but not pedantic--and the women pretty, but not coquettes. "Let the dishes be of exquisite taste, but few in number at the first course; let those of the second be as pleasant and as highly perfumed as possible. "Let the coffee be hot, and let the master select his own wines. "Let the reception-room be large enough to permit those who cannot do without the amusement, to make up a card party, and also for little COTERIES of conversation. "Let the guests be retained by the pleasures of society, and by the hope that the evening will not pass without some ulterior enjoyment "The tea should not be too strong, the roast dishes should be loaded artistically, and the punch made carefully. "None should begin to retire before eleven o'clock, and at midnight all should have gone to bed. "If any one has been present at an entertainment uniting all these conditions, he may boast of having witnessed his own apotheosis. He will enjoy it the more, because many other apotheosis have been forgotten or mistaken." I have said that the pleasure of the table, as I have described it, was susceptible of long duration, and I am about to prove it by the history of the longest meal I ever was present at. It is a BONBON I give the reader as a reward for patient attention to me. Here it is:- I had a family of kinsfolk in the Rue de Bac, constituted as follows: a doctor, who was seventy-eight; a captain, who was seventy-six; and their sister, Jeannette, who was sixty-four. I used to visit them sometimes, and they always received me kindly. "PARBLEU!" said Doctor Dubois, rising on his toes one day to tap me on the shoulder; "you have a long time been bragging about your FONDUES, (eggs and cheese,) and you always make our mouths water. The captain and I will come to dine with you, and we will see what your famous dish is." (This took place about 1801.) "Willingly," said I, "and to enable you to see it in all its glory, I will cook it myself. I am delighted with your proposition, and wish you to come punctually at ten to-morrow."