The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, February 7, 1904, Page 12

THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL AT-HOMDE -VERSUS : AT -HOMES’ ¢ eculiarities of lan- 4 . way that certain ses have wan- s now an expression ry conversa- al meaning. 1 terminate awfully” is adverb to yment s convey could Mrs. this “fine de- ® vhich now s mon coin of therefore, tion ‘o ver- we have " 1o desig- eople who, includ- r are so little at ght together. itation to such elements of tation, no de- company. You untess of Dasb at home” on & & no in Social Farce. rou may enter her if it be an after- you must g0 firm “take it or leave se squares of paste- hich from the right ich crawling is done, rebuffs are endured 1) which is the rue and cour- to carry with 4 boredom, tess is accom- but inevitable is over the bet- d—which, after t the truth. The boredom s as well, and soul and brain tertainment a at home” is, in ar, bad to beat. The eople are not packed rel, or if it is pos- e stairs in less than home is not a ite impossibility ching intelligent at of the crowd, s from the win- .ppy musicians, who, possible it is to make tistic emotions or ap- such conditions, g of the kind ividual tunes gramm as much en- as a musical box; the aim- whole entertainment e of waiting for one's the biessed moment of s, send one home e of mind of the a crown and only ence. Our great-grand- h their usual candid hab- a spade a spade were not n they dubbed such as- * which as Chambers’ us meant “a tumul- a rabble.” It is true tumultuous” no longer, they ely enough to be even that; bble” characteristic still though it be but a melan- gl e choly one Nothing Personal. There is no attempt or idea of per- sonal hospitality or interest on the part of the host or hostess. Three fingers, a fixed smile, “So kind of you to come,” “So charming of you to ask me,” a form of shibboleth which, as it were, passes her guests over the ford, and éuring which the hostess’ eyes are fixed vaguely on the ascending cobort; and for the rest of the evening the individ- usal does not exist for his entertainers. No wonder that foreigners, accus- tomed to the scrupulous and constant good Continental introductions in all * TANGLED By F, B. dociety, are amazed when they come to England, where the habit of intro- ductions is out of fashion, or where they are allowed to wander aimlessly about without any one showing the smallest interest in th presence. The Continental habit may often be a bore when it is overdone, as sometimes hap- pens; but, on the other hand, it is in- ebired by the spirit of hospitality and the desire to make the guests, individ- ually as well as generally, feel at home, by showing interest in them, and giving them, if necessary, fresh ac- quaintances to speak to. Of recent years the misnamed “at home” has reached further development, which makes its title even a greater absurd- ity than before. > ¥ “At homes” are often given not in the home of the entertainers, but at some public hall or gallery, such as the Grafton or New Galleries, or Princes, The entire absence of any feeling of personal interest which is the charac- teristic-in-chief of the modern “at home"” being granted, it must be owned that the hired gallery is a dis- tinct gain to most people concerned The hostess has the immense relief of knowing that her entertainment is simply a question of how much she is inclined to pay for hire, for floral deco- ration, supper, artists and waiters and will not entail any upsetting of her pri- vate house. She “presents” her “at home” as Arthur Collins “presents’” a Drury Lane pantomiime: and she re- turns home after it is all over with the comforting thought that she has done her social duty with the least possible trouble to herself. The guests are equally the gainers, for, unless the reception be given in $uch palac as Stafford House, Bridgewater House, Spencer House or a few of the other great family mansions of repute, the ordinary London house, even when of considerable size, is not well adapted for the circulation of a crowd. At the New Gallery or the Grafton, on the other hand, people can move about at their ease; and there is often the addi- tional attraction of a subject of con- versation being gratuitously supplied: by the pictures exhibited on the walls. Something to Talk About. A subject for conversation is one of the greatest blessings a hostess can THREADS # Wright 5 — -— ©opyright, 1804, by T. C. MoClure) years ago, wasn't it?” Miss Travers sald. “It doesn't seem like it.” he replied, “it seems—thirty.” “Thanks! Have I really aged so much since then?” “I mean until I saw you it seemed thirty,” he explained. ““Thres years—it goes very quickly. You baven't changed much.” “I? I haven't changed at all.” Bhe regarded him critically. baven't—in looks.” “I hgven't o, you in any way,” he replied earnestly, and with an undertone of in- tention in his voice. “And you—you are 21l T imagined.” “You imagined? Then I was not a reality three years ago. ] was a mere figment of your brain. What do you mean?” “I mean—why—that in all these years I have been imagining you—in all sorts of ways, you know.” “Oh! Sometimes as fair-haired, I sup- pose, and sometimes as dark-haired, sometimes with & hump and sometimes cross-eyed “Nonsense!” We it's what you sald—'all sorts and speech of way yvet—do you remember you made me when you the s Oor only it truth.” m very frozen then, but es now, however, at this haven't answered my ch. What was it you was the frozen wasn't silly. It that—what's the use of my over again if your memory our memor; Cont: that's in question, ou don’t remem- ber But 1 do, of course. It was that I wouldn't forget,” he gaid triumphantly. “I'll mark you fifty on that.” gl Miss Travers dropped her eyes, raised them again for a brief fluttering mo- ment, and again dropped them with a pénsive little smile. “And you remember what it was I gald to you then?” he asked impres- sively, leaning nearer and looking down at the bent head. “You said—of course, you were just saying it—but you said you would re- member every word I had sald to you, every look of my eyes, every tone of my voice. You were quite sentimental that night.” “It was meant, every word of it. No man could forget. I know it now.” ow? Didn't you know it then? What do you mean? You talk as though you were not the same man you were. Aren’'t you?” “Well, every man changes, you know, every ven years. Bcientific fact, I believe. it hasn't been seven—only “Oh, of course, not really change.” “Ah! and you have that photograph of me yet?” “Of course. As if I wouldn't! It has never been out of my keeping since I stole it from—" “I thought I gave it to you myself,” she sald, with some surprise in her voice. “Have you forgotten how you begged it from me that night?” “Of course, I haven’t forgotten.” “How beautiful the moonlight was on the water that night, and far oft some boati party was singing! It was perfec “Yes, perfect—at least to me.” “Do you remember when we glided into that stretch of lly pads and I lifted them dripping from the water, each drop like a diamond, and you said—" “And I said I wished they were real 8o that I could give them to you,” he said boldly. “Did you? I thought it was that the drops would spoil my gown—the gown vou admired so much.” “I did admire it. I have always seen you in that gown—and your face luminous in half shadow, the glint of your hair and your arms gleaming in the moonlight as you trailed your fin- sers in the water and made sil v ripples over the polished black mirror of the er—river.” He drew a long breath when he finished, as one who felt relieved. “And it was as we neared home, wasn't it, that you told me that you wanted my picture?” The corners of her mouth twitched a little. “What a splendid memory you have,” she said, “a marvelous memory, I call it. I wish I had one like it, though it's not what I would call accurate—if that's a sample—be- cause, you see, you didn’t ask me for my photograph that night. “But you said yourself—" “Yes, 1 did. I just wanted to test you. Now, I commence to doubt that you really still have my picture.” “I can show it to you.” “Are you certain it's not some other girl that you've mistaken for me? One is liable to mistake one person for another—unless there's some special reason.” “No danger! There’s not another girl in the world like you. I knew you the moment I saw you.” 3 “Knew me?” “Yes—across the ballroom.” “You had forgotten me, then?” “I mean,” he explained slowly, like one who picks his way, “that I knew you—for the one girl I cared about.” “Oh-h! But was it at & ball we first met? I remember your telling me that three years ago, but I didn’t think it ‘was at a ball that that knowledge came to you. We met first—let's see—where was it?” “At—at—it's idiotic, but for the life of me I can’t remember for the moment. You were the ‘mportant matter—all “It's hardly to be expected you should recollect,” she said compassionating his confusion. “It was at the Thorntons’.” “Of course—the Thorntons. I knew but I couldn’t think of the name. I remember Harry te!''-g- “Harry? What Harry “Er—Harry—Harry Thornton, course.” “Oh—I never k: w there was & brother. And he told you.” “That he.wanted me to meet you. He said, ‘Phil, th-re's a—"" “Why, I thought your name was Harry, but possibly that's changed in three years, too. You used to be called Harry.” il of @ o Rkt ONIIEZRR Liovpan Ar J1orzm IS, 7N - " SR NG VERNACUZZE, Bap 70 FEAFT . P “A man may have mayn't he?” “It seems like it.” “I me: " e may have more than one name. My name is Henry Philip Mor- ton. All my old chums at college called me Phil.” “I might have understood—so stupid of me. So Mr. Thornton was a chum of yours at college?” “Yes, great friends we were.” “And that's how you came to know his sisters? Charming girls, weren't they?” “Very, very charming, only I don’t want to talk about them now. It's such a waste!"” “Why, have you quarreled?” two names, “No-—not exactly.” “I thought perhaps you had, because Clara Thornton just passed and neither of you spoke. I thought it curious.” “Yes—of course, T saw her—but— it's rather a painful subject with me, and so if you don’t mind, let's get off it.” He looked off sadly with a perturbed expression of countenance, due nat- urally to the pain he was feeling. There was silence for a moment or 80, and then, hearing a little sobbing sound, he turned toward her. She was bending over, her face buried in her hands. Like a flash it came over him what was the mat- ter. She cared for him and thought he cared for the Thornton girl. “Margaret!” he sald. “Margaret, dear! It was nothing of that kind. TI've never cared for any other woman but you—honestly.” Suddenly she lifted her face. were traces of tears in her eyes. “Oh, you fraud!” she cried. utter fraud!™ “I tell you a8 “You impostor! And you fancied I believed you?” U She drew a folded letter from the folds of her gown and found a place in it “Read that, then—" Morton read the part she indicated. —"“And now the greatest nmews! Of There “You Philip Morton, and ) - gy -~ course—you sly puss—1 gnow of your flirtation with Harry Morton three years ago and that you gave him your photograph. Wefl, my dear, it seems that Harry's twin brother, Phil, saw the picture and rescued it when Harry was burning his scalps just before his marriage. Phil's kept it on his mantel for three years. Now, he is going West, and what do you think? He pro- poses to stop off at Glendale, and pre- tend he's Harry, stay at the Johnstons and pick up the ends of the affair with you right where he dropped them. Isn’t that impudence? He has made a bet with Harry that he can do this— and he should be taught a lesson. He 1s exactly like Harry—as good looking —and nicer, and I'm afraid—" “You needn’t read the rest,” Miss Travers interrupted. “It's nothing to do with you. She turned a severs countenance toward the culprit. “It is & very nice trick to try and play on & girl, isn’t 1t? So gentlemanly!" suppose it wasn't falr, but—" “But what? I want to be just.” “‘Well, it wasn’t all a lle. The pie- ture was all I said to me, and I have known ever since I met you that I cared for you—but I suppose you are awfully offended—and it's all over.” “It should be—shouldn’t it?—as a punishment. A There ought to be some Ppunishment surely.” “I shall lose my bet. Isn’t that enough—unless—you'll let me win it?" “Why—how can I?" “The threads, you know; let me pick ‘em up where Harry dropped them. Then I'll win. You sald you were go- ing walking—weren’'t You, that day, Mayn't I come to-morrow for you?” “You don’t deserve it—and I won't promisge, but—I shall be at home at 3, and— Your waltz, Mr. Ackerly? Yes, 50 it is. Too bad you had such a hunt for me. I was just going in.” Miss Travers' hand fumbled for a moment adjusting he{ roses—then she moved away to the ballroom, leaving behind her on the floor & bud just open- ing to the world. - Morton picked it up and put it in his buttonhole. “I am quite gure to-morrow will be a pleasant day,” said he. provide for her guests In tne present day, for to judge by the scraps of ut- terances -one hears gs one passes through a crowded “at home” they are absolutely incapable of originating one for themselves. This melancholy fact is the only justification for the inevitable infliction of music, which is the most grewsome feature of the or- dinary “at home.” The best form In which It can be administered Is a string band; it produces the amount of noise necessary to make the company chatter like parakeets, and it does not fill one with sympathetic sadness as when some unhappy singer is called upon to perform amid such surround- ings. For to put a particle of soul into & song sung In a room full of & hot and indifferent crowd is about on a par with “wearing one’s heart on one's sleeve for daws to peck at.” There are only two ways for any musician with an artistic temperament to de- rive enjoyment from his or her gift, either to be entirely separated and apart from the audience as on a stage in a theater or concert hall, or else among a small company of intimate and understanding friends. The “at home” gives neither condi- tion, therefore the musician’s feelings suffer, while the hostess desperately gays “Hush!” to procure a moment's pause, after which the chatter breaks out again, for it is one of the most re- markable paradoxes about those who flock to “at homes” that the less they really have to say the more they want to say. It is, indeed, with somewhat of an underlying feeling of resentment that they listen to a really fine and continuous programme of music at an “at home,” if the hostess is so unwise as to provide it. They much prefer, as I have said, a string band, which in- cites in them the canary-like desire to shout it down, or they will listen like children to the stories so delightfully told by those popular favorites, Miss Helen Marr or Frederick Upton; but any fine music, vocal or instrumental, is listened to with a certaln amount of impatience, for it demands concen- trated attention, and concentration of any kind is the very last thing the or- dinary “at homer” either wants or is capable of. Some recalcitrant spirit once ;de- scribed going to an “at home” as “put- ting on clothes I don't want to wear, * MARING ; By The Teacher . © 1o go somewnere 1 don’t want to g0, to say something I don’t want to say to yome one who doesn’t want to hear " and It is not a bad definition of the attitude toward these popular functions, where the wise man usually proves his wisdom by his conspicuous The larger and broader pos- absence. : sibilities of life to man make him far more impatient of boredom than is She, poor soul, is so accus- tomed to being bored that, so long as she is bored in company and in her best clothes she is hardly aware of the fact. She has nothing better to do, she is pleasantly conspicuous that sha |s being seen In the right house, in the right frock, among the right people; and even If she does become aware of the fact that the whole entertainment |s as dull as ditch water, she looks upon It as part of the daily soc round. But the healthier minded animal—man, wisely looks upon all boredom as waste. which it is; for one need not be bored unless one chooses to go wheére bore- dom broods and yawns. Nowhere does that fell shape preside more palpabiy than at “at homes,” and wise is man tn his generation for eschewing them. A Striking Contrast. Such are the abomigations of the miscalled and gregarious “at home: fortunately for those who love the so- clety of their kind when well chosen, there are other houses, few it is true, but all the more precious therefors, where the hostess is really at home, and makes her circle of friends and worshipers feel at home aiso. A house where there Is appreciation of every- thing, but mest of all of conversation, of that bright attack and riposte which is almost a lost art among “the “rabble rout” of the formal t home."” A house where selection of the fittest |s carried out with Darwinian force, and where one does not go to air one's best frocks, or the latest thing In walistcoats, but one’s best brains, se- cure of finding recognition, and thad atmosphere of comprehending sympa- thy which is llke a forcing-house for the wits. A house where every one Is “gey quick at the uptake,” where the serious questions of the Jay are as clearly handled as the criticisms on the latest play, poem or picture, where things more than people are the sub- jects of conversation;: where men gain inspiration from the sparkle and poetio suggestiveness of women, and women gain strength and lucidity from the logic of men. The foreign habit of certain iIntelli- gent hostesses who let their intimates know that they are to be found at home on one particular evening in the week is an admirable one for forming a nucleus of intelligence such as & have described. There is no formal re- ception; a general feeling of envelops the guests as they drop in, certain of meeting Intelligent personali- ties, of hearing the latest news, ary, political, artistic, or general, dis cussed with point and freedom, and perhaps some musie from thossa who will only give their best amid certain surroundings, just as some orchids give or withhold their perfume as best pleases them. An Informal weekly sa- lon of this kind is one of the most charming social Institutions imagin- able. Fortnightly gatherings are not the same thing, and many subjects of interest and amusement are stale in a fortnight; and monthly ones become at once formal matters of Invitation, and lose the elemental charm of the week'y causerie. Such gatherings are not In any way to be confused with the or« dinary afternoon ‘‘at home” day, to which the world's wife and dsughters are free to go. The evening weekly re- union should be strictly selected, foi all its essence and charm is the cama- raderie of Intelligence and intimaay, & meeting ground for equal brains; and even a few of the colossal bores who bother one and frequent the ordinary “at homes” would be sufficlent to spell and upset the whole atmosphers. Per- haps if a few hostesses tried what could be done on these lines the ex- pression “at homes™ would lose its ter- rors, and something of the glamour and charm of the famous salons of bygone days might yet be revived in the real “at home.”™ IT GOOD woman. HIS Is another of those popular phrases of, the day that em- bodies good sense and moral ideals. As used between man and man it calls atten- tion to the sacredneas of pledges and promises. And after you have been associated with another per- son for a year or a decade you have a right to ask how faithfully he has ful- filled his share of the contract. Has the one who on a fair June day In the long ago promised so heartily “to love and to cherish in sickness and in health” made good that promise? Has my employer done as well by me as he Jed me to expect when I began my service of him? Has that son on whose education I spent thousands of dollars justified so great an expenditure? Has that friend who said he would stand by me in any crisis or emergency met my confidence in him? The same test may be as fairly ap- plied to undertakings and movements which at their start seemed auspicious and fraught with benefits for mankind. Has the reform administration in New York which has so recently gone out of power made good its pre-election prom- ises? Has the Civic Federation, organ- ized two years ago to promote a better understanding between capital and la- bor, done anything commensurate with the high hopes cherished regarding it at the beginning? Has the United States in its dealings with its new dependen- cles made good the pledges implied or definitely stated when first it extended its benevolent influence over them? People or nations who in the long run make good their pretensions are usual- 1y pretty cautious about assuming obli- gations. And so this phrase is a great encourager of modesty. One who uses it and lives up to its requirements will not at the beginning of his career In- dulge in many flourishes of the trumpet to impress upen his fellow men the size and the glittering glory of his far- reaching plans. The Scripture well says, “Let not him that buckleth on his armor boast himself as he who layeth it down." The office-holder who knows that by and by he will be called upon to make his record tally with his pledges will not outline in advance a sweeping, compre- hensive and {temized budget of project- ed reforms. The young minister com- Ing to a new parish will not flame forth with a lurid manifesto touching his programme. He will not intimate that his predecessor was an old fogy, and that he himself has come to the king- dom just in the nick of time to save the whole institution from going to pleces, The phrase makes also for sincerity. Th :re are too many people in the world who at the moment when they make their pledges know that they will never be able to redeem them. They either consider that a certain amount of cam- paign buncombe is perfectly legitimate or else their moral sense has become dulled to the sacredness of an obliga- tion. But when a man onc> adopts the “making good” idea as a part of his working principles, how it does set him to searching his heart to discover what his bottom intentions are. If it is borne in upon hi. that he must make go-d whatever he says he will do, then he will sift out all the Insincerities and weak and worthless desires and leave only the residuum of sincerity and straightforward purpose. And how the phrase does challenge one to «Yort! If you - ow that you have an appointment to meet at 7:30 o'clock to-night, or that you have told your little 4-year-old girl that you will bring her a present next Saturday, or that you have promised yoyr church or your lodge to serve it in certain defl- nite ways, then.you will strain every nerve and perhaps go without your dinner, if necessary, to make good your promise. A minister who had just finished preaching met outside the church a belated attendant, who quired anxiously, “Is it done? o madam,” was his polite and keen reply: “it has been said. It mains to be done.” Let us remember tha’ what- ever we say about our intentions, it always remains for us to do what we say we will do