e me don't get much credit for the good they do. Gentlemen
will be introduced into the parlor when they are ready," says the old
hostess, stepping briskly round us, and watching our every movement; we
are new-comers, and her gaudy tabernacle is novel to us.

"Have educated a dozen young men to the law, and made gentlemen of a
dozen more, excellent young men--fit for any society. Don't square my
accounts with the world, as the world squares its account with me," she
continues, with that air which vice affects while pleading its own
cause. She cannot shield the war of conscience that is waging in her
heart; but, unlike most of those engaged in her unnatural trade, there
is nothing in her face to indicate a heart naturally inclined to evil.
It is indeed bright with smiles, and you see only the picture of a being
sailing calmly down the smooth sea of peace and contentment. Her dress
is of black glossy satin, a cape of fine point lace covers her broad
shoulders, and bright blue cap-ribbons stream down her back.

"Listen," says the old hostess--"there's a full house to-night. Both
parlors are full. All people of good society!" she continues,
patronizingly. "Them what likes dancin' dances in the left-hand parlor.
Them what prefers to sit and converse, converses in the right-hand
parlor. Some converses about religion, some converses about
politics--(by way of lettin' you know my position, I may say that I go
for secession, out and out)--some converses about law, some converses
about beauty. There isn't a lady in this house as can't converse on
anything." Madame places her ear to the door, and thrusts her fat
jewelled fingers under her embroidered apron.

"This is my best parlor, gentlemen," she resumes; "only gentlemen of
deportment are admitted--I might add, them what takes wine, and, if they
does get a little in liquor, never loses their dignity." Madame bows,
and the door of her best parlor swings open, discovering a scene of
still greater splendor.

"Gentlemen as can't enjoy themselves in my house, don't know how to
enjoy anything. Them is all gentlemen you see, and them is all ladies
you see," says the hostess, as we advance timidly into the room, the air
of which is sickly of perfumes. The foot falls upon the softest of
carpets; quaint shadows, from stained-glass windows are flitting and
dancing on the frescoed ceiling; curtains of finest brocade, enveloped
in lace, fall cloud-like down the windows. The borderings are