The Wit and Humor of America, Volume II | Page 9

rich and tasteful.
But a man at our elbow, of experience and shrewd observation, said,
with a sneer, for which we called him to account, "I observe that
American ladies are so rich in charms that they are not at all chary of
them. It is certainly generous to us miserable black coats. But, do you
know, it strikes me as a generosity of display that must necessarily
leave the donor poorer in maidenly feeling." We thought ourselves
cynical, but this was intolerable; and in a very crisp manner we
demanded an apology.
"Why," responded our friend with more of sadness than of satire in his
tone, "why are you so exasperated? Look at this scene! Consider that

this is, really, the life of these girls. This is what they 'come out' for.
This is the end of their ambition. They think of it, dream of it, long for
it. Is it amusement? Yes, to a few, possibly. But listen and gather, if
you can, from their remarks (when they make any), that they have any
thought beyond this, and going to church very rigidly on Sunday. The
vigor of polkaing and church-going are proportioned; as is the one so is
the other. My young friend, I am no ascetic, and do not suppose a man
is damned because he dances. But life is not a ball (more's the pity,
truly, for these butterflies), nor is its sole duty and delight dancing.
When I consider this spectacle--when I remember what a noble and
beautiful woman is, what a manly man,--when I reel, dazzled by this
glare, drunken by these perfumes, confused by this alluring music, and
reflect upon the enormous sums wasted in a pompous profusion that
delights no one--when I look around upon all this rampant vulgarity in
tinsel and Brussels lace, and think how fortunes go, how men struggle
and lose the bloom of their honesty, how women hide in a smiling
pretense, and eye with caustic glances their neighbor's newer house,
diamonds or porcelain, and observe their daughters, such as these--why,
I tremble, and tremble, and this scene to-night, every 'crack' ball this
winter, will be, not the pleasant society of men and women, but--even
in this young country--an orgie such as rotting Corinth saw, a frenzied
festival of Rome in its decadence."
There was a sober truth in this bitterness, and we turned away to escape
the sombre thought of the moment. Addressing one of the panting
houris who stood melting in a window, we spoke (and confess how
absurdly) of the Düsseldorf Gallery. It was merely to avoid saying how
warm the room was, and how pleasant the party was, facts upon which
we had already enlarged. "Yes, they are pretty pictures; but la! how
long it must have taken Mr. Düsseldorf to paint them all;" was the
reply.
By the Farnesian Hercules! no Roman sylph in her city's decline would
ever have called the sun-god, Mr. Apollo. We hope that houri melted
entirely away in the window; but we certainly did not stay to see.
Passing out toward the supper-room we encountered two young men.

"What, Hal," said one, "you at Mrs. Potiphar's?" It seems that Hal was a
sprig of one of the "old families." "Well, Joe," said Hal, a little
confused, "it is a little strange. The fact is I didn't mean to be here, but I
concluded to compromise by coming, and not being introduced to the
host." Hal could come, eat Potiphar's supper, drink his wines, spoil his
carpets, laugh at his fashionable struggles, and affect the puppyism of a
foreign lord, because he disgraced the name of a man who had done
some service somewhere, while Potiphar was only an honest man who
made a fortune.
The supper-room was a pleasant place. The table was covered with a
chaos of supper. Everything sweet and rare, and hot and cold, solid and
liquid, was there. It was the very apotheosis of gilt gingerbread. There
was a universal rush and struggle. The charge of the guards at Waterloo
was nothing to it. Jellies, custard, oyster-soup, ice-cream, wine and
water, gushed in profuse cascades over transparent precipices of tulle,
muslin, gauze, silk and satin. Clumsy boys tumbled against costly
dresses and smeared them with preserves; when clean plates failed, the
contents of plates already used were quietly "chucked" under the
table--heel-taps of champagne were poured into the oyster tureens or
overflowed upon plates to clear the glasses--wine of all kinds flowed in
torrents, particularly down the throats of very young men, who evinced
their manhood by becoming noisy, troublesome, and disgusting, and
were finally either led, sick, into the hat room, or carried out of the way,
drunk. The supper over, the young people, attended by their matrons,
descended to the dancing-room for the