To one examining the society notes of the various cities, it is very evident that never before were we, who are in society, living so sumptuously as at present. Our dinners have become banquets, our teas feasts. The magnificence, the notoriety, the cost, are astounding. One involuntarily rubs his eyes and looks to see some gallant dissolving pearls for his liege lady. This elaborate effort to feast one’s guests is not only prevalent among the millionaires and epicureans of our cities, it is a feature of entertaining which prevails even in small communities. In a village of some six hundred people, well known to us, we have had the opportunity to study the effect of extravagant hospitality upon the society. The people almost without exception are well-to-do, well educated, congenial, a set in every way suited to form a pleasant society. Among them are a few wealthy families. In such a town one would expect to find almost ideal social life—full of good will, of pleasant thought, new amusements, not overcrowded, thoroughly enjoyable; but to our surprise we found very little. A few evenings out, a few questions, and we understand the cause. At a small party given by a leading lady, we were astounded to be called out to a table loaded with every conceivable delicacy; meats, salads, cakes, creams, fruits in every variety. The supper was a work of art, a mammoth undertaking, and it had been prepared by the lady herself and her one servant, with such assistance as is to be found in a small village, off the railroad. Further experience taught us that when any one entertained friends there such refreshments were considered necessary. The effects upon the social life of the town were disastrous. Where there was the possibility of most delightful companionships there was an absolute dearth of social gatherings. A lady of culture remarked: “I can not entertain, simply because I can not afford it. If it were possible I should receive weekly, but our customs demand such outlays for all social affairs that I am obliged to deny myself what otherwise would be a pleasure.” Another, a lady of wealth remarked: “I am handicapped in my social life by the extravagant habits of our people. What I would be glad to do, were I in a city where I could obtain efficient help, it is impossible to do with our servants. I can not prepare my own dinners, and our town requires such extensive preparations for even a small company, that I have ceased entertaining.” But even this feature is not the worst. Social life is virtually killed when the table becomes the feature of the evening, when on the merits of pastry and salads depends the social status of the family. The hostess comes to her guest’s room, worn with the care of the thousand details of a great dinner. The possibility of friction or failure destroys the ease, the mirth, the abandon, that makes her charm. Her spirit oftentimes is contagious, and her guests, too, feel the responsibility which oppresses her.