old and endless crusade against hypocrisy and the devil, and they were
lost in the luxury of Corinth, nor longer seek the difficult shores
beyond. A present smile was worth a future laurel. The ease of the
moment was worth immortal tranquillity. They renounced the stern
worship of the unknown God, and acknowledged the deities of Athens. But
the seal of their shame is their own smile at their early dreams, and
the high hopes of their boyhood, their sneering infidelity of
simplicity, their skepticism of motives and of men. Youths, whose
younger years were fervid with the resolution to strike and win, to
deserve, at least, a gentle remembrance, if not a dazzling fame, are
content to eat, and drink, and sleep well; to go to the opera and all
the balls; to be known as "gentlemanly," and "aristocratic," and
"dangerous," and "elegant"; to cherish a luxurious and enervating
indolence, and to "succeed," upon the cheap reputation of having been
"fast" in Paris. The end of such men is evident enough from the
beginning. They are snuffed out by a "great match," and become an
appendage to a rich woman; or they dwindle off into old _roués_, men of
the world in sad earnest, and not with elegant affectation, _blasé_; and
as they began Arthur Pendennises, so they end the Major. But, believe
it, that old fossil heart is wrung sometimes by a mortal pang, as it
remembers those squandered opportunities and that lost life.

From these groups we passed into the dancing-room. We have seen dancing
in other countries, and dressing. We have certainly never seen gentlemen
dance so easily, gracefully, and well, as the American. But the _style_
of dancing, in its whirl, its rush, its fury, is only equaled by that of
the masked balls at the French opera, and the balls at the _Salle
Valentino_, the _Jardin Mabille_, the _Château Rôuge_, and other
favorite resorts of Parisian grisettes and lorettes. We saw a few young
men looking upon the dance very soberly, and, upon inquiry, learned that