d and enjoyed ourselves. Or sometimes some of us
would go into town to a matinee, and coming home tingling with cold
would find a hot and savory supper awaiting us in the bright
dining-room, prepared by those who had stayed at home, and who were
eager to hear everything about the play which we were eager to tell.
There was no servant to trouble us, and we all enjoyed ourselves
together in washing the dishes. We sat up as long as we pleased and
toasted our feet, and in zero weather even wrapped up a hot brick to
take to our chilly beds.

But this lady was not without ambition. She wished she could entertain
more as other people did. She thought she ought to give some parties,
especially as she liked to go to other people's entertainments. And so,
on one occasion, she did give a party. It was a grand affair. The whole
house was set in order and decorated. Caterers came from the city, and
her tables were beautifully laid with exactly the same salads and cakes
that she was in the habit of eating at other houses. Her cards of
invitation were of the choicest style, and her house was filled with
fashionable people, since, in spite of her reduced circumstances, she
had a perfectly assured position in society, and there was also a
respectable number of unfashionable people present, for she was too
truly hospitable to leave out anybody she liked. She was a skillful
manager, and succeeded in carrying through her undertaking for half the
expense usual in such a case; but it cost her sleepless nights. Of
course, "The labor we delight in physics pain," and I am sure she
thoroughly enjoyed her grand party which everybody said was perfect in
all its appointments. Nevertheless, her bills amounted to one sixth of
the yearly income of the family, so that she never gave another party
till later in life, when fortune suddenly smiled upon her again and put
her in possession of a million. I do not condemn her party, but merely
use it to point my statement that we cannot often exercise hospitality
except as we admit our friends to our daily life.

A friend of mine who was making a tour of the South bethought her of a
cousin in New Orleans whom she had not seen since the war. She wrote to
her, "I am going to New Orleans for a week or two and wish you might
find me a boarding-place near you, so that I could see you as well as
the sights." The Southern cousin at once replied with a cordial
invitation that the Northern cousin should visit her. Th