sight--is it not quite time to ponder a little upon the Court of Louis
XIV, and the "merrie days" of King Charles II? Is it not clear that, if
what our good wag, with caustic irony, called "best society," were
really such, every thoughtful man would read upon Mrs. Potiphar's
softly-tinted walls the terrible "mene, mene" of an imminent
destruction?

Venice in her purple prime of luxury, when the famous law was passed
making all gondolas black, that the nobles should not squander fortunes
upon them, was not more luxurious than New York to-day. Our hotels have
a superficial splendor, derived from a profusion of gilt and paint, wood
and damask. Yet, in not one of them can the traveler be so quietly
comfortable as in an English inn, and nowhere in New York can the
stranger procure a dinner, at once so neat and elegant, and economical,
as at scores of cafés in Paris. The fever of display has consumed
comfort. A gondola plated with gold was no easier than a black wooden
one. We could well spare a little gilt upon the walls, for more
cleanliness upon the public table; nor is it worth while to cover the
walls with mirrors to reflect a want of comfort. One prefers a wooden
bench to a greasy velvet cushion, and a sanded floor to a soiled and
threadbare carpet. An insipid uniformity is the Procrustes-bed, upon
which "society" is stretched. Every new house is the counterpart of
every other, with the exception of more gilt, if the owner can afford
it. The interior arrangement, instead of being characteristic, instead
of revealing something of the tastes and feelings of the owner, is
rigorously conformed to every other interior. The same hollow and tame
complaisance rules in the intercourse of society. Who dares say
precisely what he thinks upon a great topic? What youth ventures to say
sharp things, of slavery, for instance, at a polite dinner-table? What
girl dares wear curls, when Martelle prescribes puffs or bandeaux? What