There are, of
course, festivities which all cannot share, but our distribution into
small communities favors the possibility of all doing so. Our daily life,
however, is so largely social that we seldom meet by special invitation or
engagement. When we do, it is with the perfect understanding that the
assemblage confers no social distinction, but is for a momentary
convenience. In fact, these occasions are rather avoided, recalling, as
they do, the vapid and tedious entertainments of the competitive epoch,
the receptions and balls and dinners of a semi-barbaric people striving
for social prominence by shutting a certain number in and a certain number
out, and overdressing, overfeeding, and overdrinking. Anything
premeditated in the way of a pleasure we think stupid and mistaken; we
like to meet suddenly, or on the spur of the moment, out-of-doors, if
possible, and arrange a picnic or a dance or a play; and let people come
and go without ceremony. No one is more host than guest; all are hosts and
guests. People consort much according to their tastes--literary, musical,
artistic, scientific, or mechanical--but these tastes are made approaches,
not barriers; and we find out that we have many more tastes in common than
was formerly supposed.
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