regular beat of the music below, with sardonic sadness, continued. At
last Jane came up, had had the most glorious time, and went down with
mamma to the carriage, and so drove home. Even the last Jane went--the
last noisy youth was expelled, and Mr. and Mrs. Potiphar having duly
performed their biennial social duty, dismissed the music, ordered the
servants to count the spoons, and an hour or two after daylight went
to bed. Enviable Mr. and Mrs. Potiphar!

We are now prepared for the great moral indignation of the friend who
saw us eating our _dinde aux truffes_ in that remarkable
supper-room. We are waiting to hear him say in the most moderate and
"gentlemanly" manner, that it is all very well to select flaws and
present them as specimens, and to learn from him, possibly with
indignant publicity, that the present condition of parties is not what
we have intimated. Or, in his quiet and pointed way, he may smile at
our fiery assault upon edged flounces and nuga pyramids, and the
kingdom of Lilliput in general.

Yet, after all, and despite the youths who are led out, and carried
home, or who stumble through the "German," this is a sober matter. My
friend told us we should see the "best society." But he is a
prodigious wag. Who make this country? From whom is its character of
unparalleled enterprise, heroism and success derived? Who have given
it its place in the respect and the fear of the world? Who, annually,
recruit its energies, confirm its progress, and secure its triumph?
Who are its characteristic children, the pith, the sinew, the bone, of
its prosperity? Who found, and direct, and continue its manifold
institutions of mercy and education? Who are, essentially, Americans?
Indignant friend, these classes, whoever they may be, are the "best
society," because they alone are the representatives of its character