IT has been said,—and with an unfortunate amount of truth, that the gracious old-fashioned art of hospitality is dying out. Those who keep open house from year’s end to year’s end, from whose doors the latch-string floats in the breeze, ready for the fingers of any friend who will grasp it, are few.

The “entertaining” that is done now does not compensate us for the loss of what may be called the “latch-string-out” custom of the days gone by. Luncheons, teas, dinners, card-parties, receptions and the like, fill the days with engagements and hold our eyes waking until the morning hours, but this is a kind of wholesale hospitality as it were, and done by contract. Such affairs remind one ludicrously of the irreligious and historic farmer-boy who, reminiscent of his father’s long-winded “grace before meat,” suggested when they salted the pork for the winter that he “say grace over the whole barrel” and pay off a disagreeable obligation all at one time.

Perhaps if our hostess were frank she would acknowledge a similar desire when she sends out cards by the hundreds and fills her drawing-rooms to overflowing with guests, scores of whom care to come even less than she cares to have them. But there seems to be a credit and debit account kept, and once in so often it is incumbent on the society woman to “give something.” Florists and caterers are called to her aid, and, with waiters and assistants hired for the occasion, take the work of preparation for the entertainment off my lady’s hands.

In speaking of hospitality in this chapter, we refer especially to the entertaining of a visitor for one, or many days in the home. Not long ago we made a point of asking several housekeepers why they did not invite friends to visit them. Three out of four interviewed on the subject agreed that the servants were the main drawback. The fourth woman, who was in moderate circumstances, confessed that she did not want guests unless she could “entertain them handsomely.”

To obviate the first-mentioned difficulty, every housekeeper should, when engaging a servant, declare boldly that she receives her friends at will, in her home, and have that fact understood from the outset of Bridget’s or Gretchen’s career with her. At the same time she should remember that extra work should mean extra pay or its equivalent in help. It is astonishing how inconsiderate many women, otherwise kindly, are in their relation to domestic servants.

As to the reason given by the fourth housekeeper, it is too contemptible to be considered by a sensible woman. Our guests come to see us for ourselves, not for the beauty of our houses, or for the elegance of our manner of living. The woman whose house is clean and furnished as her means permit, who sets her table with the best that she can provide for her own dear ones, is always prepared for company. There may be times when the unlooked-for coming of a guest is an inconvenience. It should never be the cause of a moment’s mortification. Only pretense, and seeming to be what one is not, need cause a sensation of shame. If a friend comes, put another plate at the table, and take him into the sanctum sanctorum—the home. With such a welcome the simplest home is dignified.

But as to the invited guest. The hostess knows when she wishes to receive her friend, and, in a cordial invitation, states the exact date upon which she has decided, giving the hour of the arrival of trains, and saying that she or some member of her family will meet the guest at the station. One who has ever arrived at a strange locality, “unmet,” knows the peculiar sinking of heart caused by the neglect of this simple duty on the part of the hostess.

The letter of invitation should also state how long the visitor is expected to stay. This may be easily done by writing—“Will you come to us on the twenty-first and stay for a week?” or, “We want you to make us a fortnight’s visit, coming on the fifteenth.” If one can honestly add to an invitation, “We hope that you may be able to extend the time set, as we want to keep you as long as possible,” it may be done. If not meant, the insincere phrase is inexcusable.

Elaborate preparations should be avoided—preparations that weary the hostess and try the tempers of servants. The guest-chamber will be clean, sweet and dainty. No matter how competent a chambermaid is, the mistress must see for herself that sheets, pillow-slips and towels are spotless, and that there are no dusty corners in the room. A trustworthy thermometer should hang in full view, that the guest may regulate by it the temperature of her room. If the visitor be a woman, and flowers are in season, a vase of favorite blossoms will be placed on the dressing-table. The desk or writing-table will be supplied with paper, envelopes, pens, ink, stamps and a calendar. Several interesting novels or magazines should be within reach. All these trifles add to the home-like feeling of the new arrival.

A welcome should be cordial and honest. A hostess should take time to warm her guest’s heart by telling her that she is glad, genuinely glad, to have her in her home. She should also do all she can to make the visitor forget that she is away from her own house.

All this done, the guest should be let alone! We mean this, strange as it may seem. Many well-meaning hostesses annoy guests by following them up and by insisting that they shall be “doing something” all the time. This is almost as wearing and depressing as neglect would be. Each person wants to be alone a part of the time. A visitor is no exception to this rule. She has letters to write, or an interesting book she wants to read, or, if she needs the rest and change her visit should bring her, it will be luxury to her to don a kimono and relax on the couch or bed in her room for an hour or two a day. The thought that one’s hostess is noting and wondering at one’s absence from the drawing-room, where one is expected to be on exhibition, is to a nervous person akin to torture.

Allow all possible freedom as to the hour for rising, provide a certain amount of entertainment for the visitor in the way of outdoor exercise (if she likes it), callers, amusements and so forth, and then (again) in plain English, let her alone!

One must never insist that a guest remain beyond the time set for her return, if the guest declares sincerely that to remain longer is inadvisable. To speed the parting guest is an item of true hospitality. The hostess may beg her to stay when she feels that the visitor can conveniently do so, and when her manner shows that she desires to do so. But when the suggestion has been firmly and gratefully declined, the matter should be dropped. A guest who feels that she must return to her home for business, family or private reasons, is embarrassed by the insistence on the part of her entertainers that such return is unnecessary.

Of course, the visitor in one’s house should be spared all possible expense. The porter who brings the trunk should be paid by the host, unless the guest forestalls him in his hospitable intention. Car-fares, hack-hire and such things, are paid by the members of the family visited. All these things should be done so unobtrusively as to escape, if possible, the notice of the person entertained.

If a woman have two maids, the second maid should, shortly before the retiring hour, go to the guest’s room, turn down the covers of the bed and provide a pitcher of fresh drinking-water. In the event of having one maid only, the hostess will perform these offices herself.

No matter what happens—should there be illness and even death in the family—a hospitable person will not allow the stranger within her gates to feel that she is in the way, or her presence an inconvenience. There is no greater cruelty than that of allowing a guest in the home to feel that matters would run more smoothly were she absent. Only better breeding on the part of the visitor than is possessed by her hostess will prevent her leaving the house and returning to her home. Should sudden illness in the family occur, the considerate person will leave. But this must be permitted only under protest. To invite a friend to one’s house, and then seem to find her presence unwelcome is only a degree less cruel than confining a bird in a cage, where he can not forage for himself, and slowly starving him. If one has not the hospitable instinct developed strongly enough to feel the right sentiment, let him feign it, or refuse to attempt to entertain friends. The person under one’s roof should be, for the time, sacred, and the host who does not feel this is altogether lacking in the finer instincts that accompany good breeding.

We know one home in which hospitality is dispensed in a way no guest ever forgets. From the time the visitor enters the doors of this House Beautiful she is, as it were, enwrapped in an atmosphere of loving consideration impossible to describe. One guest, visiting there with her children, was horrified at their being taken suddenly ill with grippe,—so ill that to travel with them just then was dangerous. She was hundreds of miles away from home with the possibility of the children’s being confined to the house for some days to come. The physician summoned confirmed her fears. The distressed mother knew only too well what an inconvenience illness is,—especially in a friend’s house instead of in one’s own home.

All the members of the household united in making the disconcerted woman feel that this home was the one and only place in which the little ones should have been seized with the prevailing epidemic; that it was a pleasure to have them there under any circumstances; that to wait on them and their mother was a privilege. The sweet-voiced, sweet-faced hostess, herself an invalid at this time, drew the anxious visitor down on the bed beside her and kissed her as she said:

“Dear child! try to believe that you and yours are as welcome here as in your own dear mother’s home.”

Surely of such is the Kingdom of Heaven!