it, nor to declare our candid conviction, that it was built
upon wrong principles and could not stand. He might believe us, if we
had been in the house, but he certainly would not, if we had never seen
it. Nor would it be a very wise reply upon his part, that we might build
a better if we didn't like that. We are not fond of David's pictures,
but we certainly could never paint half so well; nor of Pope's poetry,
but posterity will never hear of our verses. Criticism is not
construction, it is observation. If we could surpass in its own way
everything which displeased us, we should make short work of it, and
instead of showing what fatal blemishes deform our present society, we
should present a specimen of perfection, directly.

We went to the brilliant ball. There was too much of everything. Too
much light, and eating, and drinking, and dancing, and flirting, and
dressing, and feigning, and smirking, and much too many people. Good
taste insists first upon fitness. But why had Mrs. Potiphar given this
ball? We inquired industriously, and learned it was because she did not
give one last year. Is it then essential to do this thing biennially?
inquired we with some trepidation. "Certainly," was the bland reply, "or
society will forget you." Everybody was unhappy at Mrs. Potiphar's,
save a few girls and boys, who danced violently all the evening. Those
who did not dance walked up and down the rooms as well as they could,
squeezing by non-dancing ladies, causing them to swear in their hearts
as the brusque broadcloth carried away the light outworks of gauze and
gossamer. The dowagers, ranged in solid phalanx, occupied all the chairs
and sofas against the wall, and fanned themselves until supper-time,
looking at each other's diamonds, and criticizing the toilettes of the
younger ladies, each narrowly watching her peculiar Polly Jane, that she
did not betray too much interest in any man who was not of a certain
fortune.--It is the cold, vulgar truth, madam, nor are we in the
slightest degree exaggerating.--Elderly gentlemen, twisting single
gloves in a very wretched manner, came up and bowed to the dowagers, and
smirked, and said it was a pleasant party, and a handsome house, and
then clutched their hands behind them, and walked miserably away,
looking as affable as possible. And the dowagers made a little fun of
the elderly gentlemen, among themselves, as they walked away.

Then came the younger non-dancing men--a class of the