“The hint about the money is not lost, for he is looking for a fortune, it saves the trouble of making one; and he whispers something in her ear that pleases her uncommonly, for she sais,
“‘Ah now, the severest thing you can do is to flatter me that way.’
“They don’t discourse of the company anymore; they have too much to say to each other of themselves now.
“‘My! what a smash! what in the world is that?’
“‘Nothing but a large mirror. It is lucky it is broken, for if the host saw himself in it, he might see the face of a fool.’
“‘How uproariously those young men talk, and how loud the music is, and how confounded hot the room is! I must go home. But I must wait a moment till that noisy, tipsy boy is dragged down-stairs, and shoved into a hack.’
“And this is upstart life, is it? Yes, but there are changing scenes in life. Look at these rooms next morning. The chandelier is broken; the centre table upset, the curtains are ruined, the carpets are covered with ice-creams, jellies, blancmanges, and broken glass. And the elegant album, souvenirs, and autograph books, are all in the midst of this nasty mess.1 The couches are greasy, the silk ottoman shows it has been sat in since it met with an accident which was only a trifle, and there has been the devil to pay everywhere. A doctor is seen going into the house, and soon after a coffin is seen coming out. An unbidden guest, a disgusting levelling democrat came to that ball, how or when no one knew; but there he is and there he will remain for the rest of the summer. He has victimized one poor girl already, and is now strangling another. The yellow fever is there. Nature has sent her avenging angel. There is no safety but in flight.
1 Whoever thinks this description over-drawn, is referred to a remarkably clever work which lately appeared in New York, entitled “The Potiphar Papers.” Mr Slick has evidently spared this class of society.
“Good gracious! if people will ape their superiors, why won’t they imitate their elegance as well as their extravagance, and learn that it is the refinement alone, of the higher orders which in all countries distinguishes them from the rest of mankind? The decencies of life, when polished, become its brightest ornaments. Gold is a means, and not an end. It can do a great deal, still it can’t do everything; and among others I guess it can’t make a gentleman, or else California would be chock full of ’em. No, give me the country, and the folks that live in it, I say.”