The audience at a parlor lecture in a Beacon Street drawing room is apt to be rather intense and rapt in its attention, and discreet in its enthusiasm, with the emphasis of discernment which subdued, well-bred applause confers. At Mrs. Reginald Beveridge Vincent’s this is always particularly noticeable, for Mrs. Vincent is one of the social law givers of the “smart” set, and her rooms on these occasions are thronged with all sorts of ambitious social strugglers, who pay insidious homage to their hostess in their admiration of the idols for whom she stands sponsor. There are all sorts of people here, and among them many of the great army of the small celebrities, who are somewhat more distinguished than prosperous, and who would fain pass from the appreciation of imaginative literature to the serious consideration of dining. The fact is, the socially nebulous, who rebel against their birth’s invidious bar and strive to get out of the obscurity of the mass of humanity, are really the backbone of the enthusiasm for letters in fashionable society. These rather dubious folk, with no redeeming big bank account, are spurred by ambition to attach themselves to some sort of superiority--the superiority not always inherently residing in them; and so literature becomes their easy spoil. They constitute the one stable element in all literary gatherings out of Grub Street; and even Mrs. Vincent, with all her social prestige, could not dispense with them. And so they come, and dream of passing the rubicon, and so on to more important functions. There are many who are considered good enough and worthy to sit at a feast of reason and a flow of soul, who would never be deemed eligible for the holier function of stuffing with baked meats and wines. These literary afternoons, it may be noted, for the benefit of the ambitious, serve an incidental purpose as a sort of preliminary investigation into the character, standing and desirability of new acquaintances. Many are called to the feast of literature--but few are chosen to break bread at dinner. But the success of parlor lectures, at the most dispiriting hour of the afternoon in winter when the city streets are sunless and melancholy and depressing, depends almost entirely upon the lure of social hopes, that influence the more or less obscure to give up the comfort of their mediocre leisure to swell the triumph of those who secure the glory of the passing show of life. The woman who wants to shine as a patron of the fine arts must not neglect these mixed social elements, or her rooms will be empty. Exemplary activity in church politics and an interest in letters, are the humble beginnings, the corduroy roads, as it were, of many who ultimately shine with more certain lustre as leaders of the german. Therefore, every wise blue stocking is affable and accessible to the crowd of dubious persons whose admirations may be depended upon--unless hope burns stronger in some other quarter. One thing is certain: the