can be brought to bear in
raising the tone of a family; it is impossible not to see about these
young men a reflection of what we found so charming in their mothers. One
despairs at times of humanity, seeing vulgarity and snobbishness riding
triumphantly upward; but where the tone of the younger generation is as
high as I have lately found it, there is still much hope for the future.

No. 32--An Ideal Hostess

The saying that "One-half of the world ignores how the other half lives"
received for me an additional confirmation this last week, when I had the
good fortune to meet again an old friend, now for some years retired from
the stage, where she had by her charm and beauty, as well as by her
singing, held all the Parisian world at her pretty feet.

Our meeting was followed on her part by an invitation to take luncheon
with her the next day, "to meet a few friends, and talk over old times."
So half-past twelve (the invariable hour for the "second breakfast," in
France) the following day found me entering a shady drawing-room, where a
few people were sitting in the cool half-light that strayed across from a
canvas-covered balcony furnished with plants and low chairs. Beyond one
caught a glimpse of perhaps the gayest picture that the bright city of
Paris offers,--the sweep of the Boulevard as it turns to the Rue Royale,
the flower market, gay with a thousand colors in the summer sunshine,
while above all the color and movement, rose, cool and gray, the splendid
colonnade of the Madeleine. The rattle of carriages, the roll of the
heavy omnibuses and the shrill cries from the street below floated up,
softened into a harmonious murmur that in no way interfered with our
conversation, and is sweeter than the finest music to those who love
their Paris.

Five or six rooms _en suite_ opening on the street, and as many more on a
large court, formed the apartment, where everything betrayed the
_artiste_ and the singer. The walls, hung with silk or tapestry, held a
collection of original drawings and paintings, a fortune in themselves;
the dozen portraits of our hostess in favorite roles were by men great in
the art world; a couple of pianos covered with well-worn music and
numberless photographs signed with names that would have made an
autograph-fiend's mouth water.

After a gracious, cooing welcome, more whispered than spoken, I was
presented to the guests I did not know. Before this ceremony was well
over, tw