to the Father of his Country.  Merely in the item of keeping an account of the visits paid and due, a woman needs a bookkeeper.  Only to know the etiquette of how and when and to whom and in what order the visits are to be paid is to be well educated in a matter that assumes the first importance in her life.  This is, however, only a detail of bookkeeping and of memory; to pay and receive, or evade, these visits of ceremony is a work which men can admire without the power to imitate; even on the supposition that a woman has nothing else to do, it calls for our humble gratitude and a recognition of the largeness of nature that can put aside any duties to husband or children in devotion to the public welfare.  The futile round of society life while it lasts admits of no rival.  It seems as important as the affairs of the government.  The Drawer is far from saying that it is not.  Perhaps no one can tell what confusion would fall into all the political relations if the social relations of the capital were not kept oiled by the system of exchange of fictitious courtesies among the women; and it may be true that society at large—­men are so apt, when left alone, to relapse—­would fall into barbarism if our pasteboard conventions were neglected.  All honor to the self-sacrifice of woman!

What a beautiful civilization ours is, supposed to be growing in intelligence and simplicity, and yet voluntarily taking upon itself this artificial burden in an already overtaxed life!  The angels in heaven must admire and wonder.  The cynic wants to know what is gained for any rational being when a city-full of women undertake to make and receive formal visits with persons whom for the most part they do not wish to see.  What is gained, he asks, by leaving cards with all these people and receiving their cards?  When a woman makes her tedious rounds, why is she always relieved to find people not in?  When she can count upon her ten fingers the people she wants to see, why should she pretend to want to see the others?  Is any one deceived by it?  Does anybody regard it as anything but a sham and a burden?  Much the cynic knows about it!  Is it not necessary to keep up what is called society?  Is it not necessary to have an authentic list of pasteboard acquaintances to invite to the receptions?  And what would become of us without Receptions?  Everybody likes to give them.  Everybody flocks to them with much alacrity.  When society calls the roll, we all know the penalty of being left out.  Is there any intellectual or physical pleasure equal to that of jamming so many people into a house that they can hardly move, and treating them to a Babel of noises in which no one can make herself heard without screaming?  There is nothing like a reception in any uncivilized country.  It is so exhilarating!  When a dozen or a hundred people are gathered together in a room, they all begin to raise their voices and to shout like pool-sellers in the noble rivalry of “warious