Of course you have. For the St. Cecilia typifies Charleston--the social life of the place, which is all there is left to it since her monumental tragedy of half a century ago. In Charleston there is no middle ground. You are either recognized socially--or else you are not. And the St. Cecilia Society is the sharply-drawn dividing point. Established somewhere before the beginning of the Revolution it has dominated Charleston society these many years. Invitations to its three balls each year are eagerly sought by all the feminine folk within the town. And the privilege of being invited to these formal affairs is never to be scorned--more often it is the cause of many heart-burnings. No one thing shows Charleston the more clearly than the fact that on the following morning you may search the columns of the venerable _News and Courier_ almost in vain for a notice of the St. Cecilia ball. In any other town an event of such importance would be a task indeed for the society editor and all of her sub-editresses. If there was not a flashlight photograph there would be the description of the frocks--a list of the out-of-town guests at any rate. Charleston society does not concede a single one of these things. And the most the _News and Courier_ ever prints is "The ball of the St. Cecilia Society was held last evening at Hibernian Hall," or a two-line notice of similar purport. Charleston society concedes little or nothing--not even these new-fashioned meal hours of the upstart Northern towns. In Charleston a meal each four hours--breakfast at eight, a light lunch at sharp noon, dinner at four, supper again at eight. These hours were good enough for other days--ergo, they are good enough for these. And from eleven to two and again from five to seven-thirty remain the smart calling hours among the elect of the place. Those great houses do not yield readily to the Present. Charleston society is never democratic--no matter how Charleston politics may run. Its great houses, behind the exclusion of those high and forbidding walls, are tightly closed to such strangers as come without the right marks of identification. From without you may breathe the hints of old mahogany, of fine silver and china, of impeccable linen, of well-trained servants, but your imagination must meet the every test as to the details. Gentility does not flaunt herself. And if the younger girls of Charleston society do drive their motor cars pleasant mornings through the crowded shopping district of King street, that does not mean that Charleston--the Charleston of the barouche and the closed coupé--will ever approve. * * * * *