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 polking 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 with 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 pretence, 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 Duesseldorf Gallery. It was merely to avoid saying how
warm the room was, and how pleasant the party was; facts upon which we
had already sufficiently enlarged. "Yes, they are pretty pictures; but
la! how long it must have taken Mr. Duesseldorf to paint them all;" was
the reply.