travagant recklessness of much-talked-about house parties, or extended yachting trips. It does not mean the holding of gay and festive balls.
No, it means none of these, for even in the most humble home one can find the truest hospitality. There need be no rich display, no obvious effort at ostentation. For hospitality is that open-hearted, open-handed, generous, lovable; beautiful fellow-feeling for fellow-mortals—the kind of feeling that makes you throw open your home, small apartment or mighty mansion, as the case may be, and bid your friends and acquaintances welcome. Welcome, mind you, that has in its greeting none of the sham cordiality, that wealthy people sometimes parade merely for the sake of being able to show their worldly goods to the envious eyes of their guests,—but a whole-souled and whole-hearted welcome that is willing to share everything one has.
And so, the round of hospitality goes endlessly on, host and hostess making the pleasure and comfort of the guest their prime consideration. Parties, receptions, dances, balls, dinners—all are instances of the eagerness of the world, the social world, to entertain, to give pleasure, to amuse. And the guests, in their turn, repay the hospitalities with other hospitalities of their own. And we find, in this glorious twentieth century it is our fortune to be living in, a wholesome, generous hospitality that puts to shame the history-famed achievements of kings and princes of yore.
WHEN TO INVITE
The question naturally arises, what are the occasions that require hospitality? Frankly, there are no definite occasions. Hospitality is the index to breeding and cul-
