The Potiphar Papers | Page 8

there were lingering farewells. A few papas were in the
supper-room, sitting among the _débris_ of game. A few young
non-dancing husbands sat beneath gas unnaturally bright, reading
whatever chance book was at hand, and thinking of the young child at
home waiting for mamma who was dancing the "German" below. A
few exhausted matrons sat in the robing-room, tired, sad, wishing Jane
would come up; assailed at intervals by a vague suspicion that it was
not quite worth while; wondering how it was they used to have such
good times at balls; yawning and looking at their watches; while the
regular beat of the music below, with sardonic sadness, continued. At
last Jane came up, had had the most glorious time, and went down with
mamma to the carriage, and so drove home. Even the last Jane
went--the last noisy youth was expelled, and Mr. and Mrs. Potiphar
having duly performed their biennial social duty, dismissed the music,
ordered the servants to count the spoons, and an hour or two after
daylight went to bed. Enviable Mr. and Mrs. Potiphar!
We are now prepared for the great moral indignation of the friend who
saw us eating our dinde aux truffes in that remarkable supper-room. We
are waiting to hear him say in the most moderate and "gentlemanly"
manner, that it is all very well to select flaws and present them as
specimens, and to learn from him, possibly with indignant publicity,
that the present condition of parties is not what we have intimated. Or,
in his quiet and pointed way, he may smile at our fiery assault upon
edged flounces and nuga pyramids, and the kingdom of Lilliput in
general.
Yet, after all, and despite the youths who are led out, and carried home,
or who stumble through the "German," this is a sober matter. My friend
told us we should see the "best society." But he is a prodigious wag.
Who make this country? From whom is its character of unparalleled
enterprise, heroism and success derived? Who have given it its place in

the respect and the fear of the world? Who, annually, recruit its
energies, confirm its progress, and secure its triumph? Who are its
characteristic children, the pith, the sinew, the bone, of its prosperity?
Who found, and direct, and continue its manifold institutions of mercy
and education? Who are, essentially, Americans? Indignant friend,
these classes, whoever they may be, are the "best society," because they
alone are the representatives of its character and cultivation. They are
the "best society" of New York, of Boston, of Baltimore, of St. Louis,
of New Orleans, whether they live upon six hundred or sixty thousand
dollars a year--whether they inhabit princely houses in fashionable
streets (which they often do), or not--whether their sons have graduated
at Celarius' and the Jardin Mabille, or have never been out of their
fathers' shops--whether they have "air" and "style," and are "so
gentlemanly" and "so aristocratic," or not. Your shoemaker, your
lawyer, your butcher, your clergyman--if they are simple and steady,
and, whether rich or poor, are unseduced by the sirens of extravagance
and ruinous display, help make up the "best society." For that mystic
communion is not composed of the rich, but of the worthy; and is
"best" by its virtues, and not by its vices. When Johnson, Burke,
Goldsmith, Garrick, Reynolds, and their friends, met at supper in
Goldsmith's rooms, where was the "best society" in England? When
George the Fourth outraged humanity and decency in his treatment of
Queen Caroline, who was the first scoundrel in Europe?
Pause yet a moment, indignant friend. Whose habits and principles
would ruin this country as rapidly as it has been made? Who are
enamored of a puerile imitation of foreign splendors? Who strenuously
endeavor to graft the questionable points of Parisian society upon our
own? Who pass a few years in Europe, and return skeptical of
republicanism and human improvement, longing and sighing for more
sharply emphasised social distinctions? Who squander with profuse
recklessness the hard-earned fortunes of their sires? Who diligently
devote their time to nothing, foolishly and wrongly supposing that a
young English nobleman has nothing to do? Who, in fine, evince by
their collective conduct, that they regard their Americanism as a
misfortune, and are so the most deadly enemies of their country? None
but what our wag facetiously termed "the best society."
If the reader doubts, let him consider its practical results in any great

emporium of "best society." Marriage is there regarded as a luxury, too
expensive for any but the sons of rich men, or fortunate young men. We
once heard an eminent divine assert, and only half in sport, that the rate
of living was advancing so incredibly, that weddings in his experience
were perceptibly diminishing. The reasons