Nothing is more curious than one of these repasts, which recall to
mind the feastings described by Homer. Enormous pieces of beef, whole
sheep, monstrous fishes, load an immense table bristling with bottles.
The guests, clothed in black, calm and serious, seat themselves in
silence, and with the air which one takes at a funeral. Behind the
President is placed a functionary called the toast-master. It is he
who is charged to make the speeches. The president whispers to him the
_mot d'ordre_, and 'Gentlemen,' says he with the voice of a Stentor,
'I am about to propose to you a toast which cannot fail to be received
by you with great favour--it is the health of the very honourable,
very respectable, and very considerable Sir Robert Peel, &c. &c.' The
guests then, shaking off their silent apathy, rise all at once, as if
they were moved by springs, and respond to the invitation by thundering
forth frantic cries. While the glasses are being emptied, three young
girls with bare shoulders slip from behind a screen and play a tune on
the piano. The toasts do not cease until the guests, having strength
neither to rise nor to remain seated, roll under the table.--_M. Eugene
Guinot in the Siècle (Paris paper)._