ticable, the
utmost simplicity of entertainment must prevail. In a French salon
all is to the last degree informal. The _bouilloire_, the French
tea-kettle, is often tended by one of the gentlemen, who aids his
fair neighbors in the mysteries of tea-making. One nymph is always to
be found at the table dispensing tea and talk; and a basket of simple
biscuit and cakes, offered by another, is all the further repast. The
teacups and cake-basket are a real addition to the scene, because
they cause a little lively social bustle, a little chatter and
motion,--always of advantage in breaking up stiffness, and giving
occasion for those graceful, airy nothings that answer so good a
purpose in facilitating acquaintance.

"Nothing can be more charming than the description which Edmond About
gives, in his novel of 'Tolla,' of the reception evenings of an old
noble Roman family,--the spirit of repose and quietude through all the
apartments; the ease of coming and going; the perfect home-like spirit
in which the guests settle themselves to any employment of the hour
that best suits them: some to lively chat, some to dreamy, silent
lounging, some to a game, others in a distant apartment to music, and
others still to a promenade along the terraces.

"One is often in a state of mind and nerves which indisposes for the
effort of active conversation; one wishes to rest, to observe, to be
amused without an effort; and a mansion which opens wide its
hospitable arms, and offers itself to you as a sort of home, where you
may rest, and do just as the humor suits you, is a perfect godsend at
such times. You are at home there, your ways are understood, you can
do as you please,--come early or late, be brilliant or dull,--you are
always welcome. If you can do nothing for the social whole to-night,
it matters not. There are many more nights to come in the future, and
you are entertained on trust, without a challenge.

"I have one friend,--a man of genius, subject to the ebbs and flows of
animal spirits which attend that organization. Of general society he
has a nervous horror. A regular dinner or evening party is to him a
terror, an impossibility; but there is a quiet parlor where stands a
much-worn old sofa, and it is his delight to enter without knocking,
and be found lying with half-shut eyes on this friendly couch, while
the family life goes on around him without a question. Nobody is to
mind him, to tease him with inquiries or salutations.