twelvemonth, in frantic strains, varying from _basso profundo_ to piping
tenor, had proclaimed their entire willingness to "_mourir pour la
patrie_," were engrossed at their shops; innumerable fascinating
trimmers of bonnets, who, like poor little "Dora," religiously believed
the chief end of man consisted in "dancing continually ta la ra, ta la
ra," sat busily plying the needle, elbow-deep in ribbons; the
consumptive-looking flute-player before the foot-lights trilled out his
spasmodic trickle of melody, and contemplated with melancholy pleasure
the excited audience; the lank danseuse ogled and smirked at it behind
them, and, with passionate gestures of her thin legs, implored its
applause; men, women, and children, of all grades and degrees, crowded
into the murky night; for a day was coming when the youths of the
neck-ties would not agree to _mourir_ on any account; when the
flute-player would cease to be contemplative; when the danseuse would
forget her attenuated extremities; when the whole world, where the grace
of the Redeemer is known, would believe that the chief end of the
_hour_, at least, consisted in "dancing continually ta la ra, ta la ra."

Shall "The Air" ring with the joyous notes of the carols, or breathe low
and soft with the sighs of the suffering?

Shall it burst into mad hilarity at the revelry, or wail with the sharp
cries of the poor?

It was a painted house, but the paint had worn off; it had a garden, but
the garden was choked with weeds; its two rooms were once handsomely
furnished, but the furniture was now common and old. It was once a
fashionable street; but fashion had fled before the victorious eagles of
trade. The tenants of that house were once happy and prosperous. What
are they now?