e bride
should be permitted to be the conspicuous figure at her own wedding,
and while her friends may pay her the compliment of wearing handsome
toilettes on that occasion, still, other women should dress just a
little less elaborately, rather than commit the solecism of
"out-dressing the bride." Fortunately, one may show all delicate
consideration in this matter, and yet be beautifully and becomingly
dressed.

THE ETHICS OF HOSPITALITY

Hospitality shares what it has. It does not attempt to _give_ what it
_has not_. The finest hospitality is that which welcomes you to the
fireside and permits you to look upon the picture of a home-life so
little disturbed by your coming that you are at once made to feel
yourself a part of the little symphony--the rare bit of color just
needed to complete the harmonic combination. With this flattering fact
impressed upon your glowing memory you will hardly be able to recall
the material adjuncts of the occasion. It is a sign of a gross nature
to measure hospitality by the loaves and fishes, forgetting the miracle
that goes with them. And it is equally a mistake for a host to be
afraid to offer humble entertainment when richer offers are beyond his
means. To a refined perception "the life is more than the meat," and
the personality of the host, not the condition of his larder, decides
whether or not it is an honor to be his guest. Delightful though it be
to be able to afford one's guest a rare and beautiful entertainment,
one must dismiss the idea that a graceful and acceptable hospitality
depends on material things. Sir Launfal, sharing his crust with the
beggar at the gate, was still Sir Launfal. The impoverished hostess
may preside at her frugal board with the spirit and the manner of a
queen, whereas the coarse-fibred vulgarian vainly heaps his platters
with choicest game and rarest fruit, the while he serves the banquet
like the churl that he is.

Whatever your entertainment, rich or poor, remember, first of all, to
give _yourself_ to your guest; then, if he is appreciative, he will not
criticise your simple dinner, nor grumble at the flavor of your wine.
One of the wits of the day has gravely reported that at a banquet in
the Athens of America, "the _menu_ consisted of two baked beans and
readings from Emerson." Despite its grotesque exaggeration, the _mot_
contains the kernel of a dignified truth: that material things are of
secondary importance on all social