that
might have been wit, under better conditions--compels a smile, in spite
of a dignified disapproval of the performance. A young student, unused
to such scenes, standing a little apart from such a group once remarked
judicially to a lady near him, "I do not care for such _dare-devil
sociability_." Nor would other young people cherish it as their ideal
of a "good time" if they could learn how much more charming altogether
it is to exchange the delicate courtesies that make up refined social
companionship. The difference in social culture is what distinguishes
the vulgar wag from the urban wit. The crude humor of the former,
often marred by coarseness, is like ore in which the dross greatly
out-weighs the pure metal. The brilliant _mots_ of the latter, refined
by the processes of culture, are like the gold nuggets separated from
their base surroundings.

How to eliminate the "dare-devil" from the sociability of country life,
without substituting an artificial stiffness, is the problem for every
thoughtful and refined man and woman in rural circles. How to "be
kindly affectioned one to another, in brotherly love, in honor
preferring one another"--perhaps that would furnish the keynote of it
all, alike for the citizen and the rustic.

THE TWENTIETH CENTURY

The preceding chapters describe established customs in home
entertaining. Such rules remain in force for the home conditions.

But who can live in this electric-motor age without noting the gradual
variation in "the ways of doing things"--changes that are directly
traceable to the influence of modern inventions? The trolley lines
have brought large areas within the city limits; the swift automobile
has reduced miles to furlongs. Town and country are intermingled as
never before, and each is sensibly modified by the other. By its very
name, the "Town and Country" club recognizes this new community of
interests. Its members, living even twenty miles away, outdo
Sheridan's ride, in arriving at the club on time for luncheon, golf, or
dinner.

Which brings to mind this fact: that to-day a large part of formal
entertaining in cities is no longer _at home_. Elaborate dinners,
teas, and luncheons are given at one's club, or at _cafes_, exclusive
"tea rooms," and in the elegantly appointed private dining-rooms now
provided by the best hotels. After-theatre suppers are almost
invariably taken at a fashionable restaurant--doubtless greatly to the
relief