wn than in any other for
adopting this pompous and formal view of the duties of society, because
there are very few unoccupied people in such a place. My own
occupations, such as they are, fill the hours from breakfast to
luncheon and from tea to dinner; men of sedentary lives, who do a good
deal of brainwork, find an hour or two of exercise and fresh air a
necessity in the afternoon. Indeed, a man who cares about his work, and
who regards it as a primary duty, finds no occupation more dispiriting,
more apt to unfit him for serious work, than pacing from house to house
in the early afternoon, delivering a pack of visiting-cards, varied by
a perfunctory conversation, seated at the edge of an easy-chair, on
subjects of inconceivable triviality. Of course there are men so
constituted that they find this pastime a relief and a pleasure; but
their felicity of temperament ought not to be made into a rule for
serious-minded men. The only social institution which might really
prove beneficial in a University is an informal evening salon. If
people might drop in uninvited, in evening dress or not, as was
convenient, from nine to ten in the evening, at a pleasant house, it
would be a rational practice; but few such experiments seem ever to be
tried.

Moreover, the one thing that is fatal to all spontaneous social
enjoyment is that the guests should, like the maimed and blind in the
parable, be compelled to come in. The frame of mind of an eminent
Cabinet Minister whom I once accompanied to an evening party rises
before my mind. He was in deep depression at having to go; and when I
ventured to ask his motive in going, he said, with an air of
unutterable self-sacrifice, "I suppose that we ought sometimes to be
ready to submit to the tortures we inflict on others." Imagine a circle
of guests assembled in such a frame of mind, and it would seem that one
had all the materials for a thoroughly pleasant party.

I was lately taken by a friend, with whom I was staying in the country,
to a garden party. I confess that I think it would be hard to conceive
circumstances less favourable to personal enjoyment. The day was hot,
and I was uncomfortably dressed. I found myself first in a hot room,
where the host and hostess were engaged in what is called receiving. A
stream of pale, perspiring people moved slowly through, some of them
frankly miserable, some with an air of false geniality, which deceived
no one, written upon their faces. "So pl