on, respect the young lady? Lucy tells me that if she dances with
James she must with John. I cannot deny it, for I am not sufficiently
familiar with the regulations of the mystery. Only this; if dancing
with sober James makes it necessary to dance with tipsy John--it seems
to me, upon a hasty glance at the subject, that a self-respecting Lucy
would refrain from the dance with James. Why it should be so, I
cannot understand. Why Lucy must dance with every man who asks her,
whether he is in his senses, or knows how to dance, or is agreeable to
her or not, is a profound mystery to Paul Potiphar. Here is a case of
woman's wrongs, decidedly. We men cull the choicest partners, make the
severest selections, and the innocent Lucys gracefully submit. Lucy
loves James, and a waltz with him (as P. P. knows very well from
experience) is "a little heaven below" to both. Now, dearest Lucy, why
must you pay the awful penance of immediately waltzing with John,
against whom your womanly instinct rebels? And yet the laws of social
life are so stern, that Lucy must make the terrible decision, whether
it is better to waltz with James or worse to waltz with John!
"Whether," to put it strongly with Father Jerome, "heaven is
pleasanter than hell is painful."

I say that I watch these graceful gamesters, without bitter
feeling. Sometimes it is sad to see James woo Lucy, win her, marry
her, and then both discover that they have made a mistake. I don't see
how they could have helped it; and when the world, that loves them
both so tenderly, holds up its pure hands of horror, why, Paul
Potiphar, goes quietly home to Mrs. P., who is dressing for Lucy's
ball, and says nothing. He prefers to retire into his private room,
and his slippers, and read the last number of _Bleak House_, or a
chapter in _Vanity Fair_. If Mrs. Potiphar catches him at the
latter, she is sure to say: