meal, there are three distinct species, public, social, and private.  That the grand banquet, celebrating some great man’s birth, or the success of some noble public enterprise, with its assemblages of the great and the good from every part of the country; the Fourth of July festival, in honor of our nation’s independence, with its speeches, its drums, its toasts, and its cannon; the ‘table d’hote,’ or in plain English, the hotel dinner-table, so remarkable for the multitude of its dishes and the meagreness of their contents; the harvest-feast, the exact opposite of the last-named, even to the mellow thirds and fifths that come floating over the valleys from the old-fashioned dinner-horn, calling in the tired laborers; its musical invitation in such striking contrast with the unimagined horrors of the gong that bellows its expectant victims to their meals; the family repast, where one so often feels gratified with the delicate compliment of a mother, a sister, or a wife, in placing some favorite dish or flower near his plate; the annual gatherings of jolly alumni; the delightful concourse of relatives and friends; the gleesome picnic lunch, with its grassy carpet and log seats; the luxurious oyster-supper, with its temptations ‘to carry the thing too far;’ the festival at the donation-party, which, in common parlance, would be called a dish of ‘all sorts;’ the self-boarding student’s desolate corn-cake, baked in a pan of multifarious use:  all these are so many modifications under their respective species.

Let me remark, in conclusion, that there are some meals from which I pray to be delivered.  There is the noisy dinner of the country-town tavern or railroad station, where each individual seems particularly anxious that number one should be provided for, and where, in truth, he is obliged often to make pretty vigorous efforts, if he succeeds.  Again, have you ever observed how gloomy is the look of those who for the first time gather around the table, after the departure of a friend?  The breakfast was earlier than usual, and the dishes were suffered to stand and the beds to go unmade, and housemaid, chamber-maid, cook, and seamstress, all engaged in the melee of packing up, and of course came in for their share of ‘good-bys.’  After the guests were fairly off, ‘things took a stand-still’ for a while.  All hands sat down and rested, and looked very blank, and didn’t know just where to begin.  Slowly, confusion began to relax his hold, and order, by degrees, resumed her sway; (for the life of me, I can’t bring myself to determine the genders in any other way.) But when, at last, the dinner-hour came, how strangely silent were the eaters!  Ah! if the departed one have gone to his long home, how solemn is this first meeting of the family, after their return to their lonely home!  It may be the sire whose place at the head of the table is now vacant, and whose silvery voice we