they were engaged to certain ladies of the corps-de-ballet. Nor did we
wonder that the spectacle of a young woman whirling in a _décolleté_
state, and in the embrace of a warm youth, around a heated room, induced
a little sobriety upon her lover's face, if not a sadness in his heart.
Amusement, recreation, enjoyment! There are no more beautiful things.
But this proceeding falls under another head. We watched the various
toilettes of these bounding belles. They were 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