EX LIBFUS
 
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 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS.
 
 THE 
 
 POTIPHAE PAPERS 
 
 (ftElMlIXTED FROM "PUTXAM S MONTHLY.") 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 111 A. HOPPItf. 
 
 orh : 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM AND COMPANY, 10 PARK PLACK 
 If.DCCC.LIV.
 
 E.ilsivcl ik-cording to Act ofOmjrrK, iu tbr \i-.-ir 1-5 , 1, 
 
 U. P. PL-TIUM A.VU CUMI-AMV, 
 
 lii iho Clerk s Orti-e of |K^ D ltriot Co.iK / I m II,,M,| Sl.-it-. S i ..r Hi- S-, !!!..-., FV-:r 
 N.-v Y..rk.
 
 Imagination fondly stoops to trace 
 The parlor splendors of that festive place. 
 
 Goldsmith s Deserted Village. 
 
 "Manners are what vex or sootlie, corrupt or purify, exalt or debase, 
 barbarize or refine us, by a constant, steady, uniform, insensible opera 
 tion, like that of the air w breathe in. 
 
 Burkes first Letter on a Regicide Peace. 
 
 And I do seriously approve of that saying of yo iru, that you would 
 rather be a civil, well-governed, well-grounded, temperate, poor angler 
 than a drunken lord. But I hope there is none such." 
 
 Walton s Angler. 
 
 " Mon petit faquiu de philosophe. dit le Chevalier do Grammont, tu 
 fais ici le Caton de Normfindie. 
 
 " Est-ce qne je mens ? poursuivit Saint-Evremond." 
 
 Memoires de Grammont.
 
 REV. CREAM CHEESE, 
 
 REV. AND DEAR SIR : 
 
 It is surely unnecessary to call the attention 
 of so astute an observer, and so austere a critic, 
 as yourself, to the fact that the title of the lead 
 ing essay in this little volume (of which, permit 
 me to say, you are so essential an ornament) is 
 marked as a quotation ; and a quotation, as you 
 Avill very well remember, from the lips of our 
 friend, Mrs. Potiphar, herself. 
 
 Therefore, Rev. Sir, your judgment, which, 
 you must allow me to say, is no less impartial 
 than your experience is profound, will suggest 
 to you that the subject of that essay (of the 
 points of which the succeeding sketches are but
 
 VI PREFATORY LETTER TO 
 
 elaborations) is the aspect of what is currently 
 termed " our best society" whether with reason 
 or not, is beside the purpose. 
 
 Your pastoral charity, I am convinced, will 
 persuade j?o\i to direct the attention of your 
 parishioners to this fact, and to assure them, 
 that, when you prepared your timely treatise 
 upon the progress of purple chasubles among 
 the Feejee islanders, you were not justly 
 amenable to the charge of omitting all notice 
 of the cultivation of artificial flowers by the 
 Grim Tartars. The latter are, I believe, a very 
 estimable people, but they were not the sub 
 jects of your consideration. 
 
 To those in your parish, and elsewhere, who 
 have thought fit to suppose that Mrs. Potiph ai 
 ls Mrs. Somebody-else, what can we say? con 
 scious as we are, that they who have once 
 known that lady could never confound her 
 with another. 
 
 But for those who have actually supposed 
 you, yourself, Reverend Sir, to be, not some 
 body else, but nobody, (!) we can only smile 
 compassionately, and express the hope that a
 
 REV. CREAM CHEESE. Vll 
 
 broader experience may give them greater 
 wisdom. 
 
 In taking leave of you, Sir, I know that I 
 express the warmest wish of a large, a very 
 large parish, (I might almost say, diocese,) that 
 you may long survive. For your parish is 
 fully, and, as I think, most correctly persuaded, 
 that while there is a Cream Cheese, there will 
 always be a Mrs. Potiphar. 
 
 With all proper regard, 
 
 I am, 
 
 Eeverend and Dear Sir, 
 Your very obedient, 
 
 humble servant, 
 THE EDITOR. 
 
 NEW YORK, December, 1853.
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 PAQI 
 
 I. " Orn BEST SOCIETT," 1 
 
 II. OUR NEW LIVERY, AND OTHER THINGS; A LETTER FROM 
 
 MRS. POTIPHAR TO MlS3 CAROLINE PETTITOES, . 47 
 
 III. A MEDITATION BY PAUL POTIPHAR, ESQ., ... 97 
 
 IV. FROM THE SUMMER DIARY OF MINERVA TATTLE, . . 135 
 V. THE POTIPHAKS IN PARIS, 183 
 
 VI. KURZ PACHA TO THE KING OF SENNAAR, UPON RECEIV 
 ING HIS LETTERS OF EECALL, (now Jirst translated.) 237 
 VII. THE EEV. HENRY DOVE TO MRS. POTIPHAR, (private.) . 247 ^
 
 I. 
 
 ur
 
 " ur $Jt 
 
 IF gilt were only gold, or sugar-candy common 
 sense, what a fine thing our society would 
 be ! If to lavish money upon cibjets de vertu, 
 to wear the most costly dresses, and always to 
 have them cut in the height of the fashion ; to 
 build houses thirty feet broad, as if they were 
 palaces ; to furnish them with all the luxurious 
 devices of Parisian genius ; to give superb ban 
 quets, at which your guests laugh, and which 
 make you miserable ; to drive a fine carriage 
 and ape European liveries, and crests, and coats- 
 of-arms ; to resent the friendly advances of your 
 baker s wife, and the lady of your butcher (you 
 being yourself a cobbler s daughter) ; to talk 
 
 much of the " old families " and of your aris- 
 l
 
 2 THE J OTll HAK I APKKS. 
 
 tocratic foreign friends ; to despise labour ; to 
 prate of "good society;" to travesty and parody, 
 in every conceivable way, a society which \ve 
 know only in books and by the superficial 
 observation of foreign travel, which arises out 
 of a social organ ization entirely unknown to us, 
 and which is opposed to our fundamental and 
 essential principles ; if all this were line, what 
 a prodigiously fine society would ours be ! 
 
 This occurred to us upon lately receiving a 
 card of invitation to a brilliant ball. "We 
 were quietly ruminating over our evening lire, 
 with Disraeli s Wellington speech, "all tears," 
 in our hands, with the account of a great man s 
 burial, and a little man s triumph across the 
 channel. So many great men gone, we mused, 
 and such great crises impending ! This demo 
 cratic movement in Europe; Kossuth and Maz- 
 zini waiting for the moment to give the word ; 
 the Russian bear watchfully sucking his paws ; 
 the Napoleonic empire redivivus; Cuba, and 
 annexation, and slavery; California and Aus 
 tralia, and the consequent considerations of 
 political economy ; dear me ! exclaimed we,
 
 "OUR BEST SOCIETY." 3 
 
 putting on a fresh hodful of coal, we must look 
 a little into the state of parties. 
 
 As we put down the coal-scuttle there was a 
 knock at the door. We said, "come in," and 
 in came a neat Alhambra- watered envelope, 
 containing the announcement that the queen 
 of fashion was " at home" that evening week. 
 Later in the evening, came a friend to smoke a 
 cigar. The card was lying upon the table, and 
 he read it with eagerness. " You ll go, of 
 course," said he, " for you will meet all the best 
 society. " 
 
 Shall we, truly ? Shall we really see the 
 " best society of the city," the picked flower of 
 its genius, character, and beauty ? What makes 
 the " best society" of men and women ? The 
 noblest specimens of each, of course. The men 
 who mould the time, who refresh our faith in 
 heroism and virtue, who make Plato, and Zeno, 
 and Shakspeare, and all Shakspeare s gentle 
 men, possible again. The women, whose beauty, 
 arid sweetness, and dignity, and high accom 
 plishment, and grace, make us understand the 
 Greek Mythology, and weaken our desire to
 
 THE POTIl HAR 1 APEUS. 
 
 have some glimpse of the most famous women 
 of history . The " best society" is that in which 
 the virtues are most shining, which is the most 
 charitable, forgiving, long-suffering, modest, 
 and innocent. The " best society" is, in its 
 very name, that in which there is the least 
 hypocrisy and insincerity of all kinds, which 
 recoils from, and blasts, artificiality, which is 
 anxious to be all that it is possible to be, 
 and which sternly reprobates all shallow pre 
 tence, all coxcombry and foppery, and insists 
 upon simplicity as the infallible characteristic 
 of true worth. That is the "best society," which 
 comprises the best men and women. 
 
 Had we recently arrived from the moon, we 
 might, upon hearing that we wore to meet the 
 " best society," have fancied that we were about to 
 enjoy an opportunity not to be overvalued. But 
 unfortunately we were not so freshly arrived. 
 We had received other cards, and had perfected 
 our toilette many times, to meet this same so 
 ciety, so magnificently described, and had found 
 it the least "best" of all. Who compose it? 
 Whom shall we meet if we go to this ball ?
 
 ;( OUR BEST SOCIETY." 5 
 
 We shall meet three classes of persons : first, 
 those who are rich, and who have all that mo 
 ney can buy ; second, those who belong to what 
 are technically called "the good old families," 
 because some ancestor was a man of mark in 
 the state or country, or was very rich, and has 
 kept the fortune in the family ; and, thirdly, a 
 swarm of youths who can dance dexterously, 
 and who are invited for that purpose. Now 
 these are all arbitrary and factitious distinc 
 tions upon which to found so profound a social 
 difference as that which exists in American, or, 
 at least, in New York society. First, as a gen 
 eral rule, the rich men of every community 
 who make their own money are not the most 
 generally intelligent and cultivated. They 
 have a shrewd talent which secures a fortune, 
 and which keeps them closely at the work of 
 amassing from their youngest years until they 
 are old. They are sturdy men of simple tastes 
 often. Sometimes, though rarely, very generous, 
 but necessarily with an altogether false and ex 
 aggerated idea of the importance of money. 
 They .are a rather rough, unsympathetic, and,
 
 6 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 perhaps, selfish class, who, themselves, de?pise 
 purple and fine linen, and still prefer a cot-Led 
 and a bare room, although they may be worth 
 millions. But they are married to scheming, or 
 ambitious, or disappointed women, whose lite is 
 a prolonged pageant, and they are dragged 
 hither and thither in it, are bled of their golden 
 blood, and forced into a position they do not 
 covet and which, they despise. Then there are 
 the inheritors of wealth. How many of them 
 inherit the valiant genius and hard frugality 
 which built up their fortunes; how many ac 
 knowledge the stern and heavy responsibility 
 of their opportunities; how many refuse to 
 dream their lives away in a Sybarite luxury ; 
 how many are smitten with the lofty ambition 
 of achieving an enduring name by works of a 
 permanent value ; how many do not dwindle 
 into dainty dilettanti, and dilute their manhood 
 with factitious sentimentality instead of a hearty, 
 human sympathy ; how many are not satisfied 
 with having the fastest horses and the " crackest" 
 carriages, and an unlimited wardrobe, and a weak 
 affectation and puerile imitation of foreign life?
 
 "OUR BEST SOCIETY. 7 
 
 And who are these of our secondly, these 
 " old families" ? The spirit of our time and of 
 our country knows no such thing, but the ha 
 bitue of " society 1 hears constantly of " a good 
 family." It means simply, the collective mass 
 of children, grandchildren, nephews, nieces, and 
 descendants of some man who deserved well 
 of his country, and whom his country honors. 
 But sad is the heritage of a great name ! The 
 son of Burke will inevitably be measured by 
 Burke. The niece of Pope must show some 
 superiority to other women (so to speak), or her 
 equality is inferiority. The feeling of men at 
 tributes some magical charm to blood, and we 
 look to see the daughter of Helen as fair as 
 her mother, and the son of Shakspeare musi 
 cal as his sire. If they are not so, if they are 
 merely names, and common persons if there 
 is no Burke, nor Shakspeare, nor Washington, 
 nor Bacon, in their words, or actions, or lives, 
 then we must pity them, and pass gently on, 
 not upbraiding them, but regretting that it is 
 one of the laws of greatness that it dwindles all 
 things in its vicinity, which would otherwise
 
 8 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 show large enough. Nay, in our regard for the 
 great man, \ve may even admit to a compas 
 sionate honor, as pensioners upon our charity, 
 those who bear and transmit his name. But if 
 these heirs should presume upon that fame, and 
 claim any precedence of living men and women 
 because their dead grandfather was a hero, 
 they must be shown the door directly. We 
 should dread to be born a Percy, or a Colonna, 
 or a Bonaparte. We should not like to be the 
 second Duke of Wellington, nor Charles Dickens, 
 jr. It is a terrible thing, one would say, to a 
 mind of honorable feeling, to be pointed out 
 as somebody s son, or uncle, or granddaughter, 
 as if the excellence were all derived. It must 
 be a little humiliating to reflect that if your 
 great uncle had not been somebody, you would 
 be nobody, that, in fact, you are only a name, 
 and that, if you should consent to change it for 
 the sake of a fortune, as is sometimes done, 
 you would cease to be any thing but a rich 
 man. " My father was President, or Governor 
 of the State," some pompous man may say. 
 But, by. Jupiter! king of gods and men, what
 
 "OUR BEST SOCIETY." 9 
 
 are you ? is the instinctive response. Do you 
 not see, our pompous friend, that you are only 
 pointing your own unimportance ? If your 
 father was Governor of the State, what right 
 have you to use that fact only to fatten your 
 self-conceit? Take care, good care; for whether 
 you say it by your lips or by your life, that 
 withering response awaits you, "then what are 
 you? 1 If your ancestor was great, you are 
 
 * 
 
 under bonds to greatness. If you are small, 
 make haste to learn it betimes, and, thanking 
 Heaven that your name has been made illus 
 trious, retire into a corner and keep it, at least, 
 untarnished. 
 
 Our thirdly, is a class made by sundry French 
 tailors, bootmakers, dancing-masters, and Mr. 
 Brown. They are a corps-de-ballet, for the use 
 of private entertainments. They are fostered by 
 society for the use of young debutantes, and 
 hardier damsels, who have dared two or three 
 years of the "tight" polka. They are cultivated 
 for their heels, not their heads. Their life be 
 gins at ten o clock in the evening, and lasts 
 until four in the morning. They go home and
 
 10 THE POTIPHAR TAPERS. 
 
 sleep until nine , then they reel, sleepy, to 
 counting-houses and offices, and doze on desks 
 until dinner-time. Or, unable to do that, they 
 are actively at work all day, and their checks 
 grow pale, and their lips thin, and their eyes 
 bloodshot and hollow, and they drag themselves 
 home at evening to catch a nap until the ball 
 begins, or to dine and smoke at their clnb, and 
 be very manly with punches and coarse stories; 
 
 * 
 
 and then to rush into hot and glittering room:;, 
 and seize very decollete girls closely around the 
 waist, and dash with them around an area of 
 stretched linen, saying in the panting pauses, 
 "How very hot it is!" "How very pretty Miss 
 Podge looks!" "What a good redowa!" "Are 
 you going to Mrs. Potiphar s?" 
 
 Is this the assembled flower of manhood and 
 womanhood, called " best society, and to see 
 which is so envied a privilege ? If such are 
 the elements, can we be long in arriving at the 
 present state, and necessary future condition of 
 parties ? 
 
 "Vanity Fair" is peculiarly a picture of mo 
 dern society. It aims at English follies, but its
 
 "OUK BEST SOCIETY." 11 
 
 mark is universal, as the madness is. It is 
 called a satire, but after much diligent reading, 
 we cannot discover the satire. A state of society 
 not at all superior to that of " Vanity Fair " is 
 not unknown to our experience ; and, unless 
 truth-telling be satire ; unless the most tragically 
 real portraiture be satire ; unless scalding tears of 
 sorrow, and the bitter regret of a manly mind 
 over the miserable spectacle of artificiality, wasted 
 powers, misdirected energies, and lost opportu 
 nities, be satirical ; we do not find satire in that 
 sad story. The reader closes it with a grief be 
 yond tears. It leaves a vague apprehension in 
 the mind, as if we should suspect the air to be 
 poisoned. It suggests the terrible thought of 
 the enfeebling of moral power, and the deteri 
 oration of noble character, as a necessary conse 
 quence of contact with " society." Every man 
 looks suddenly and sharply around him, and 
 accosts himself and his neighbors, to ascertain 
 if they are all parties to this corruption. Senti 
 mental youths and maidens, upon velvet sofas, 
 or in calf-bound libraries, resolve that it is an 
 insult to human nature are sure that their
 
 12 THE TOTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 velvet and calf-bound friends are not like the 
 dramatis persona? of " Vanity Fair," and that 
 the drama is therefore hideous and unreal. They 
 should remember, what they uniformly and uni 
 versally forget, that we are not invited, upon 
 the rising of the curtain, to behold a cosmo- 
 rama, or picture of the world, but a represent 
 ation of that part of it called Vanity Fair. 
 What its just limits are how far its poisonous 
 purlieus reach how much of the world s air 
 is tainted by it, is a question which every 
 thoughtful man will ask himself, with a shud 
 der, and look sadly around, to answer. If the 
 sentimental objectors rally again to the charge, 
 and declare that, if we wish to improve the 
 world, its virtuous ambition must be piqued 
 and stimulated by making the shining heights 
 of " the ideal " more radiant ; we reply, that 
 none shall surpass us in honoring the men 
 whose creations of beauty inspire and instruct 
 mankind. But if they benefit the world, it is 
 no less true that a vivid apprehension of the 
 depths into which we are sunken or may sink, 
 nerves the soul s courage quite as much as the
 
 "OUR BEST SOCIETY." 13 
 
 alluring mirage of the happy heights we may 
 attain. " To hold the mirror up to Nature," is 
 still the most potent method of shaming sin and 
 strengthening virtue. 
 
 If " Vanity Fair " is a satire, what novel of 
 society is not? Are "Vivian Grey," and "Pel- 
 ham," and the long catalogue of books illustrat 
 ing English, or the host of Balzacs, Sands, 
 Sues, and Dumas, that paint French society, 
 any less satires? Nay, if you should catch any 
 dandy in Broadway, or in Pall-Mall, or upon 
 the Boulevards, this very morning, and write a 
 coldly true history of his life and actions, his 
 doings and undoings, would it not be the most 
 scathing and tremendous satire ? if by satire 
 you mean the consuming melancholy of the 
 conviction, that the life of that pendant to a 
 moustache, is an insult to the possible life of a 
 man? 
 
 We have read of a hypocrisy so thorough, 
 that it was surprised you should think it hypo 
 critical ; and we have bitterly thought of the 
 saying, when hearing one mother say of another 
 mother s child, that she had " made a good
 
 14 THE POTIPHAtt PAPERS. 
 
 match," because the girl was betrothed to a stu 
 pid boy whose father was rich. The remark 
 was the key of our social feeling. 
 
 / 
 
 Let us look at it a little, and, first of all, let 
 the reader consider the criticism, and not the 
 critic. We may like very well, in our indi 
 vidual capacity, to partake of the delicacies 
 prepared by our hostess s chef, we may not 
 be averse to pate and myriad objcts de goaf, and 
 if you caught us in a corner at the next ball, 
 putting away a fair share of dindc aux truffes, 
 we know you would have at us in a tone of 
 great moral indignation, and wish to know why 
 we sneaked into great houses, eating good sup 
 pers, and drinking choice wines, and then went 
 away with an indigestion, to write dyspeptic 
 disgusts at society. 
 
 We might reply that it is necessary to know 
 something of a subject before writing about it, 
 and that if a man wished to describe the habits 
 of South Sea Islanders, it is useless to go to 
 Greenland ; we might also confess a partiality 
 for paie, and a tenderness for truffes, and ac 
 knowledge that, considering our single absence
 
 "OUR BEST SOCIETY." 15 
 
 would not put down extravagant, pompous par 
 ties, \ve were not strong enough to let the morsels 
 drop into unappreciating mouths; or we might 
 say, that if a man invited us to see his new 
 house, it would not be ungracious nor insulting 
 to his hospitality, to point out whatever weak 
 parts we might detect in it, nor to declare our 
 candid conviction, that it was built upon wrong 
 principles and could not stand. lie might be 
 lieve us if we had been in the house, but he 
 certainly would not, if we had never seen it. 
 Xor would it be a very wise reply upon his 
 part, that we might build a better if we didn t 
 like that. AYc are not fond of David s pictures, 
 but we certainly coald 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 every thing 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 perfec 
 tion, directly. 
 
 We went to the brilliant ball. There was
 
 16 THE POTIPIIAIl PAPERS. 
 
 too much of every thin jr. 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 bienni 
 ally? inquired we with some trepidation. "Cer 
 tainly," was the bland reply, " or society will 
 forget you." Every body 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 out 
 works 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 dia 
 monds, and criticising the toilettes of the younger 
 ladies, each narrowly watching her peculiar Polly 
 Jane, that she did not betray too much interest
 
 "OUR BEST SOCIETY." 17 
 
 iii 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 pleas 
 ant 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 community who wear black cravats 
 and waistcoats, and thrust their thumbs and 
 forefingers in their waistcoat pockets, and are 
 called " talking men." Some of them are lite 
 rary, and affect the philosopher ; have, perhaps, 
 written a book or two, and are a small species 
 of lion to very young ladies. Some are of the 
 blase kind; men who affect the extremest ele 
 gance, and are reputed " so aristocratic," and 
 who care for nothing in particular, but wish 
 they had not been born gentlemen, in which
 
 18 THE POTIPIIAR PAPERS. 
 
 case they might have escaped ennui. These 
 gentlemen stand with hat in hand, and coats 
 and trowsers most unexceptionable. They are 
 the "so gentlemanly" persons of whom one hears 
 a great deal, but which seems to mean nothing 
 but cleanliness. Vivian. Grey and Pelharn are 
 the models of their ambition, and they succeed 
 in being Pendennis. They enjoy the reputation 
 of being "very clever," and "very talented fel 
 lows," "smart chaps," &c., but they refrain from 
 proving what is so generously conceded. They 
 are often men of a certain cultivation. They 
 have travelled, many of them, spending a year 
 or two in Paris, and a month or two in the rest 
 of Europe. Consequently they endure society 
 at home, with a smile, and a shrug, and a grace 
 ful superciliousness, which is very engaging. 
 They are perfectly at home, and they rather 
 despise Young America, which, in the next 
 room, is diligently earning its invitation. They 
 prefer to hover about the ladies who did not 
 come out this season, but are a little used to 
 the world, with whom they are upon most 
 friendly terms, and who criticise together very
 
 "OUR BEST SOCIETY." 19 
 
 freely all the great events in the great world 
 of fashion. 
 
 These elegant Pendennises we saw at Mrs. 
 Potiphar s, but not without a sadness which can 
 hardly be explained. They had been boys once, 
 all of them, fresh and frank-hearted, and full of 
 a noble ambition. They had read and pondered 
 the histories of great men ; how they resolved, 
 and struggled, and achieved. In the pure por 
 traiture of genius, they had loved and honoured 
 noble women, and each young heart was sworn 
 to truth and the service of beauty. Those feel 
 ings were chivalric and fair. Those boyish in 
 stincts clung to whatever was lovely, and rejected 
 the specious snare, however graceful and elegant. 
 They sailed, new knights, upon that old and end 
 less crusade against hypocrisy and the devil, and 
 they were lost in the luxury of Corinth, nor 
 longer seek the difficult shores beyond. A pres 
 ent smile was worth a future laurel. The ease 
 of the moment was worth immortal tranquillity. 
 They renounced the stern worship of the un 
 known God, and acknowledged the deities of 
 Athens. But the seal of their shame is their
 
 20 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 own smile at their early dreams, and the high 
 hopes of their boyhood, their sneering infidelity 
 of simplicity, their skepticism of motives and of 
 men. Youths, whose younger years were fervid 
 with the resolution to strike and win, to de 
 serve, at least, a gentle remembrance, if not a 
 dazzling fame, are content to eat, and drink, 
 and sleep well ; to go to the opera and all the 
 balls ; to be known as " gentlemanly," and 
 "aristocratic," and "dangerous," and "elegant;" 
 to cherish a luxurious and enervating indolence, 
 and to "succeed," upon the cheap reputation of 
 having been "fast" in Paris. The end of such 
 men is evident enough from the beginning. 
 They are snufled out by a "great match," and 
 become an appendage to a rich woman ; or 
 they dwindle off into old roues, men of the 
 world in sad earnest, and not with elegant 
 affectation, blase ; and as they began Arthur 
 Pendennises, so they end the Major. But, 
 believe it, that old fossil heart is wrung some 
 times by a mortal pang, as it remembers those 
 squandered opportunities and that lost life. 
 From these groups we passed into the dancing-
 
 "OUR BEST SOCIETY." 21 
 
 room. We have seen dancing in other countries, 
 and dressing. We have certainly never seen 
 gentlemen dance so easily, gracefully and well 
 as the American. But the style of dancing, in 
 its whirl, its rush, its fury, is only equalled by 
 that of the masked balls at the French opera, 
 and the balls at the Salle Valentino, the Jardin 
 Mabille, the Chateau Rouge, and other favourite 
 resorts of Parisian Grisettes and Lorettes. We 
 saw a few young men looking npon the dance 
 very soberly, and, upon inquiry, learned that 
 they were engaged to certain ladies of the corps- 
 de-ballet. Nor did we wonder that the specta 
 cle of a young woman whirling in a decollete 
 state, and in the embrace of a warm youth, 
 around a heated room, induced a little sobriety 
 upon her lover s face, if not a sadness in his 
 heart. Amusement, recreation, enjoyment! There 
 are no more beautiful things. But this proceed 
 ing falls under another head. We watched the 
 various toilettes of these bounding belles. They 
 were rich and tasteful. But a man at our elbow, 
 of experience and shrewd observation, said, with 
 a sneer, for which we called him to account,
 
 22 THE FOTIPIIAH I Al KKS. 
 
 "I observe that American ladies are so rich in 
 charms that they are not at all chary of them. 
 It is certainly generous to us miserable black 
 coats. But, do you kno\v, it strikes me as a 
 generosity of display that must necessarily leave 
 the donor poorer in maidenly feeling." We 
 thought ourselves cynical, but this was intoler 
 able ; and in a very crisp manner we demanded 
 an apology. 
 
 "Why," responded our friend with more of 
 sadness than of satire in his tone, " why are you 
 so exasperated? Look at this scene! Consider 
 that this is, really, the life of these girls. This 
 is what they come out for. This is the end of 
 their ambition. They think of it, dream of it, long 
 for it. Is it amusement? Yes, to a few, possibly. 
 But listen, and gather, if you can, from their 
 remarks (when they make any) that they have 
 any thought beyond this, and going to church 
 very rigidly on Sunday. The vigor of polking 
 and church-going arc proportioned ; as* is the one 
 so is the other. My young friend, I am no 
 ascetic, and do not suppose a man is damned 
 because he dances. But Life is not a ball (more s
 
 "OUR BEST SOCIETY." 23 
 
 the pity, truly, lor these butterflies), nor is its 
 sole duty and delight, dancing. "When I con 
 sider this spectacle, when I remember what a 
 noble and beautiful woman is, what a manly man, 
 when I reel, dazzled by this glare, drunken 
 with these perfumes, confused by this alluring 
 music, and reflect upon the enormous sums 
 wasted in a pompous profusion that delights no 
 one, when I look around upon all this rampant 
 vulgarity in tinsel and Brussels lace, and think 
 how fortunes go, how men struggle and lose the 
 bloom of their honesty, how women hide in a 
 smiling pretence, and eye with caustic glances 
 their neighbor s newer house, diamonds, or por 
 celain, and observe their daughters, such as 
 these, why, I tremble and tremble, and this 
 scene to-night, every crack ball this winter will 
 be, not the pleasant society of men and women, 
 but even in this young country an orgie such 
 as rotting Corinth saw, a frenzied festival of Rome 
 in its decadence." 
 
 There was a sober truth in this bitterness, arid 
 we turned away to escape the sombre thought 
 of the moment. Addressing one of the panting
 
 2-i THE POTIPHAH PAPERS. 
 
 Houris who stood melting in a window, we spoke 
 (and confess how absurdly) of the Diisseldorf 
 Gallery. It was merely to avoid saying how 
 warm the room was, and how pleasant the party 
 was ; facts upon which we had already sufficiently 
 enlarged. " Yes, they are pretty pictures ; but 
 la ! how long it must have taken Mr. Diisseldorf 
 to paint them all ;" was the reply. 
 
 By the Farnesian Hercules! no Roman sylph 
 in her city s decline would ever have called the 
 sun-god, Mr. Apollo. We hope that Hour! melted 
 entirely away in the window, but we certainly did 
 not stay to see. 
 
 Passing out toward the supper-room we en 
 countered two young men. "What, Ilal," said 
 one, "you at Mrs. Potiphar s?" It seems that Hal 
 was a sprig of one of the " old families." " Well, 
 Joe," said Hal, a little confused, " it is a little 
 strange. The fact is I didn t mean to be here, 
 but I concluded to compromise by coming, and 
 not being introduced to the host." Hal could come, 
 eat Potiphar s supper, drink his wines, spoil his 
 carpets, laugh at his fashionable struggle?, and 
 affect the puppyism of a foreign Lord, because
 
 "OUK BEST SOCIETY." 25 
 
 he disgraced the name of a man who had done 
 some service somewhere, while Potiphar was only 
 an honest man who made a fortune. 
 
 The supper-room was a pleasant place. The 
 table was covered with a chaos of supper. Every 
 thing sweet and rare, and hot and cold, solid and 
 liquid, was there. It was the very apotheosis of 
 gilt gingerbread. There was a universal rush and 
 struggle. The charge of the guards at Waterloo 
 was nothing to it. Jellies, custard, oyster-soup, 
 ice-cream, wine and water, gushed in profuse cas 
 cades over transparent precipices of tulle, muslin, 
 gauze, silk, and satin. Clumsy boys tumbled 
 against costly dresses and smeared them with 
 preserves, when clean plates failed, the contents 
 of plates already used were quietly "chucked" 
 under the table heel-taps of champagne were 
 poured into the oyster tureens or overflowed 
 upon plates to clear the glasses wine of all 
 kinds flowed in torrents, particularly down the 
 throats of very young men, who evinced their 
 manhood by becoming noisy, troublesome, and 
 disgusting, and were finally either led, sick, into 
 the hat room, or carried out of the way, drunk.
 
 26 THE 1 OTIl HAK PAPERS. 
 
 The supper over, the young people attended by 
 their matrons descended to the dancing-room for 
 the " German/ This is a dance commencing 
 usually at midnight or a little after, and contin 
 uing indefinitely toward daybreak. The young 
 people were attended by their matrons, who were 
 there to supervise the morals and manners of 
 their charges. To secure the performance of this 
 duty, the young people took good care to sit 
 where the matrons could not see them, nor did 
 they, by any chance, look toward the quarter in 
 which the matrons sat. In that quarter, through 
 all the varying mazes of the prolonged dance, to 
 two o clock, to three, to four, sat the bediamonded 
 dowagers, the mothers, the matrons, against na 
 ture, against common sense. They babbled with 
 each other, they drowsed, they dozed. Their fans 
 fell listless into their laps. In the adjoining room, 
 out of the waking sight, even, of the then sleep 
 ing mammas, the daughters whirled in the close 
 embrace of partners who had brought down bot 
 tles of champagne from the supper-room, and 
 put them by the side of their chairs for occa 
 sional refreshment during the dance. The dizzy
 
 "OUR BEST SOCIETY." 27 
 
 hours staggered by "Azalia, you must come 
 now," had been already said a dozen times, but 
 only as by the scribes. Finally it was declared 
 with authority. Azalia went, Amelia Arabella. 
 The rest followed. There was prolonged cloak 
 ing, there were lingering farewells. A few papas 
 were in the supper-room, sitting among the debris 
 of game. A few young non-dancing husbands 
 sat beneath gas unnaturally bright, reading what 
 ever chance book was at hand, and thinking of 
 the youno; child at home waiting for mamma 
 
 \J O 
 
 who was dancing the " German" below. A few 
 exhausted matrons sat in the robing-room, tired, 
 sad, wishing Jane would come up; assailed at 
 intervals by a vague suspicion that it was not 
 quite worth while; wondering how it was they 
 used to have such good times at balls; yawn 
 ing, and looking at their watches ; while the 
 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 hav-
 
 28 THE POTII HAR TAPERS. 
 
 ing 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 in 
 dignation of the friend who saw us eating our 
 dinde anx 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 con 
 dition 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 en 
 terprise, heroism and success derived? Who
 
 "OUR BEST SOCIETY." 29 
 
 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 tri 
 umph? "Wlio are its characteristic children, the 
 pith, the sinew, the bone of its prosperity ? Who 
 found, and direct, and continue its manifold in 
 stitutions 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 representa 
 tives of its character and cultivation. They are 
 the " best society" of New York, of Boston, of 
 Baltimore, of St. Louis, of New Orleans, whether 
 they live upon six hundred or sixty thousand 
 dollars a year whether they inhabit princely 
 houses in fashionable streets (which they often 
 do), or not whether their sons have graduated 
 at Celarius and the Jardin Mabille, or have never 
 been out of their fathers shops whether they 
 have " air" and " style," and are " so gentle 
 manly" and " so aristocratic," or not. Your shoe 
 maker, your lawyer, your butcher, your clergy 
 man if they are simple and steady, and, whether 
 rich or poor, are unseduced by the sirens of ex-
 
 80 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 travngance and ruinous display, help make up 
 the "best society." For that mystic communion 
 is not composed of the rich, but of the worthy ; 
 and is "best" by its virtues, and not by its vices. 
 When Johnson, Burke, Goldsmith, Garrjek, Rey 
 nolds, and their friends, met at supper in Gold 
 smith s rooms, where was the "best society in 
 England? "When George the Fourth outraged 
 humanity and decency in his treatment of Queen 
 Caroline, who was the first scoundrel in Europe ? 
 
 Pause yet a moment, indignant friend. Whose 
 habits and principles would ruin this country ns 
 rapidly as it has been made? Who arc enamored 
 of a puerile imitation of foreign splendors ? Who 
 strenuously endeavor to graft the questionable 
 points of Parisian society upon our own ? Who 
 pass a few years in Europe and return skeptical 
 of republicanism and human improvement, long 
 ing and sighing for more sharply emphasized 
 social distinctions? Who squander with pro 
 fuse recklessness the hard-earned fortunes of their 
 sires ? Who diligently devote their time to noth 
 ing, foolishly and wrongly supposing that a young 
 English nobleman has nothing to do? Who, in
 
 " OUR BEST SOCIETY." 31 
 
 fine, evince by their collective conduct, that they 
 regard their Americanism as a misfortune, and 
 are so the most deadly enemies of their coun 
 try? None but what our wag facetiously termed 
 "the best society." 
 
 If the reader doubts, let him consider its prac 
 tical results in any great emporium of " best 
 society." Marriage is there regarded as a luxury, 
 too expensive for any but the sons of rich men, 
 or fortunate young men. We once heard an 
 eminent divine assert, and only half in sport, 
 that the rate of living was advancing so in 
 credibly, that weddings in his experience were 
 perceptibly diminishing. The reasons might 
 have been many and various. But we all 
 acknowledge the fact. On the other hand, 
 and about the same time, a lovely damsel (ah! 
 Clorinda!) whose father was not wealthy, who 
 had no prospective means of support, who could 
 do~ nothing but polka to perfection, who literally 
 knew almost nothing, and who constantly shocked 
 every fairly intelligent person by the glaring 
 ignorance betrayed in her remarks, informed a 
 friend at one of the Saratoga balls, whither he
 
 32 THE POTIPIIAR PAPERS. 
 
 had made haste to meet " the best society," that 
 there were " not more than three good matches 
 in society !" La Dame aux CameUas, Marie 
 Duplessis, was, to our fancy, a much more 
 feminine, and admirable, and moral, and human 
 person, than the adored Clorinda. And yet what 
 she said was the legitimate result of the state of 
 our fashionable society. It worships wealth, and 
 the pomp which wealth can purchase, more than 
 virtue, genius, or beauty. AVe may be told that 
 it has always been so in every country, and that 
 the fine society of all lands is as profuse and 
 flashy as our own. "We deny it, flatly. Neither 
 English, nor French, nor Italian, nor German 
 society, is so unspeakably barren as that which 
 is technically called " society" here. In London, 
 and Paris, and Vienna, and Rome, all the really 
 eminent men and women help make up the 
 mass of society. A party is not a mere ball, 
 but it is a congress of the wit, beauty, and 
 fame of the capital. It is worth while to dress, 
 if you shall meet Macaulay, or Hallam, or Guizot, 
 or Thiers, or Landseer, or Delaroche, Mrs. Nor 
 ton, the Misses Berry, Madame Recamier, and all
 
 "OUR BEST SOCIETY." 33 
 
 the brilliant women and famous foreigners. But 
 why should we desert the pleasant pages of those 
 men, and the recorded gossip of those women, 
 to be squeezed flat against a wall, while young 
 Doughface pours oyster-gravy down our shirt- 
 front, and Caroline Pettitoes wonders at "Mr. 
 Diisseldorf V industry ? 
 
 If intelligent people decline to go, you justly 
 remark, it is their own fault. Yes, but if they 
 stay away it is very certainly their great gain. 
 The elderly people are always neglected with 
 us, and nothing surprises intelligent strangers 
 more, than the tyrannical supremacy of Young 
 America. But we are not surprised at this neg 
 lect. How can we be if we have our eyes open ? 
 When Caroline Pettitoes retreats from the floor 
 to the sofa, and instead of a "polker" figures 
 at parties as a matron, do you suppose that 
 "tough old Joes" like ourselves, are going to 
 desert the young Caroline upon the floor, for 
 Madame Pettitoes upon the sofa? If the pretty 
 young Caroline, with youth, health, freshness, a 
 fine, budding form, and wreathed in a semi-trans 
 parent haze of flounced and flowered gauze, is 
 
 9*
 
 84 THE rOTIPIIAR PAPERS. 
 
 so vapid that we prefer to accost her with our 
 eyes alone, and not with our tongues, is the 
 same Caroline married into a Madame Pettitoes, 
 and fanning herself upon a sofa, no longer par 
 ticularly fresh, nor young, nor pretty, and no 
 longer budding but very fully blown, likely 
 to be fascinating in conversation? "We cannot 
 wonder that the whole connection of Pettitoes, 
 when advanced to the matron state, is entirely 
 neglected. Proper homage to age we can all 
 pay at home, to our parents and grandparents. 
 Proper respect for some persons is best pre 
 served by avoiding their neighborhood. 
 
 And what, think you, is the influence of this 
 extravagant expense and senseless show upon 
 these same young men and women ? "We can 
 easily discover. It saps their noble ambition, 
 assails their health, lowers their estimate of men 
 and their reverence for women, cherishes an 
 eager and aimless rivalry, weakens true feeling, 
 wipes away the bloom of true modesty, and in 
 duces an ennui, a satiety, and a kind of dilettante 
 misanthropy, which is only the more monstrous 
 because it is undoubtedly real. You shall hear
 
 "OUR BEST SOCIETY. 35 
 
 young men of intelligence and cultivation, to 
 whom the unprecedented circumstances of this 
 country offer opportunities of a great and bene 
 ficent career, complaining that they were born 
 within this blighted circle regretting that they 
 were not bakers and tallow-chandlers, and under 
 no obligation to keep up appearances deliber 
 ately surrendering all the golden possibilities of 
 that Future which this countr} r , beyond all others, 
 holds before them sighing that they are not 
 rich enough to marry the girls they love, and 
 bitterly upbraiding fortune that they are not mil- 
 lionnaires suffering the vigor of their years to 
 exhale in idle wishes and pointless regrets dis 
 gracing their manhood by lying in wait behind 
 their "so gentlemanly" and "aristocratic" man 
 ners, until they can pounce upon a "fortune" and 
 ensnare an heiress into matrimony : and so hav 
 ing dragged their gifts, their horses of the sun, 
 into a service which shames out of them al) 
 their native pride and power, they sink in the 
 mire, and their peers and emulators exclaim that 
 they have " made a good tiling of it." 
 
 Are these the processes by which a noble race
 
 36 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 is made and perpetuated ? At Mrs. Potiphar s 
 we heard several Pendennises longing for a simi 
 lar luxury, and announcing their firm purpose, 
 never to have wives nor houses, until they could 
 have them as splendid as jewelled Mrs. Potiphar, 
 and her palace, thirty feet front. Where were 
 their heads and their hearts, and their arms ? 
 How looks this craven despondency, before the 
 stern virtues of the ages we call dark ? When 
 a man is so voluntarily imbecile as to regret he 
 is not rich, if that is what he wants, before he 
 has struck a blow for wealth ; or so dastardly 
 as to renounce the prospect of love, because, sit 
 ting sighing, in velvet dressing-gown and slippers, 
 he docs not see his way clear to ten thousand 
 a year; when young women coiffed a merveille, 
 of unexceptionable "style," who, with or with 
 out a prospective penny, secretly look down upon 
 honest women who struggle for a livelihood, like 
 noble and Christian beings, and, as such, are re 
 warded ; in whose society a man must forget 
 that he has ever read, thought or felt; who de 
 stroy in the mind, the fair ideal of woman, which 
 the genius of art and poetry, and love, their
 
 "OUR BEST SOCIETY." 37 
 
 inspirer, has created; then it seems to us, it is 
 high time that the subject should be regarded 
 not as a matter of breaking butterflies upon the 
 wheel, but as a sad and sober question, in whose 
 solution, all fathers and mothers, and the state 
 itself, are interested. When keen observers, and 
 men of the world, from Europe, are amazed and 
 appalled at the giddy whirl and frenzied rush 
 of our society a society singular in history, for 
 the exaggerated prominence it assigns to wealth, 
 irrespective of the talents that amassed it, they 
 and their possessor being usually hustled out of 
 sight is it not quite time to ponder a little upon 
 the Court of Louis XIV., and the " merrie days" 
 of King Charles II. ? Is it not clear that, if what 
 our good wag, with caustic irony, called "best 
 society," were really such, every thoughtful man 
 would read upon Mrs. Potiphar s softly-tinted 
 walls, the terrible "mene, mene" of an immi 
 nent destruction ? 
 
 Venice in her purple prime of luxury, when 
 the famous law was passed, making all gondolas 
 black, that the nobles should not squander for 
 tunes upon them, was not more luxurious than
 
 38 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 New York to-day. Our hotels have a superfi 
 cial splendor, derived from a profusion of gilt 
 and paint, wood and damask. Yet, in not one 
 of them can the traveller be so quietly com 
 fortable as in an English Inn, and nowhere in 
 Xew York can the stranger procure a dinner, 
 at once so neat and elegant, and economical, as 
 at ECO res of Cafes in Paris. The fever of display 
 has consumed comfort. A gondola plated with 
 gold was no easier than a black wooden one. 
 We could well spare a little gilt upon the walls, 
 for more cleanliness upon the public table; nor 
 is it worth while to cover the walls with mirrors 
 to reflect a want of comfort. One prefers a 
 wooden bench to a greasy velvet cushion, and 
 a sanded floor to a soiled and threadbare car 
 pet. An insipid uniformity is the Procrustes-bed, 
 upon which "society" is stretched. Every new 
 house is the counterpart of every other, with 
 the exception of more gilt, if the owner can 
 afford it. The interior arrangement, instead of 
 being characteristic, instead of revealing some 
 thing of the tastes and feelings of the owner, is 
 rigorously conformed to every other interior.
 
 "OUR BEST SOCIETY." 39 
 
 The same hollow and tame complaisance rules 
 in the intercourse of society. Who dares say 
 precisely what he thinks upon a great topic? 
 What youth ventures to say sharp things, of 
 slavery, for instance, at a polite dinner-table ? 
 What girl dares wear curls, when Martelle pre 
 scribes puffs or bandeaux? What specimen of 
 Young America dares have his trowsers loose or 
 wear straps to them ? We want individuality, 
 heroism, and, if necessary, an uncompromising 
 persistence in difference. 
 
 This is the present state of parties. They 
 are wildly extravagant, fall of senseless display; 
 they are avoided by the pleasant and intelligent, 
 and swarm with reckless regiments of "Brown s 
 men." The ends cf the earth contribute their 
 choicest products to the supper, and there is 
 every thing that wealth can purchase, and all 
 the spacious splendor that thirty feet front can 
 afford. They are hot, and crowded, and glaring. 
 There is a little weak scandal, venomous, not 
 witty, and a stream of weary platitude, morti 
 fying to every sensible person. Will any of 
 our Pendennis friends intermit their indignation
 
 40 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 for a moment, and consider how many good 
 things they have said or heard during the season? 
 If Mr. Potiphar s eyes should chance to fall here, 
 will he reckon the amount of satisfaction and 
 enjoyment he derived from Mrs. Potiphar s ball, 
 and will that lady candidly confess what she 
 gained from it beside weariness and disgust ? 
 What eloquent sermons we remember to have 
 heard in which the sins and the sinners of Baby 
 lon, Jericho and Gomorrah were scathed with 
 holy indignation. The cloth is very hard upon 
 Cain, and completely routs the erring kings 
 of Judah. The Spanish Inquisition, too, gets 
 frightful knocks, and there is much eloquent 
 exhortation to preach the gospel in the interior 
 of Siam. Let it be preached there, and God 
 speed the word. But also let us have a text or 
 two in Broadway and the Avenue. 
 
 The best sermon ever preached upon society, 
 within our knowledge, is " Vanity Fair." Is 
 the spirit of that story less true of New York 
 than of London ? Probably we never see Amelia 
 at our parties, nor Lieutenant George Osborne, 
 nor good gawky Dobbin, nor Mrs. Rebecca Sharp
 
 "OUR BEST SOCIETY." 41 
 
 Crawley, nor old Steyne. "We are very much 
 pained, of course, that any author should take 
 such dreary views of human nature. We, for 
 our parts, all go to Mrs. Potiphar s to refresh 
 our faith in men and women. Generosity, amia 
 bility, a catholic charity, simplicity, taste, sense, 
 high cultivation, and intelligence, distinguish our 
 parties. The statesman seeks their stimulating 
 influence ; the literary man, after the day s labour, 
 desires the repose of their elegant conversation ; 
 the professional man and the merchant hurry 
 up from down town to shuffle off the coil of 
 heavy duty, and forget the drudgery of life in 
 the agreeable picture of its amenities and graces 
 presented by Mrs. Potiphar s ball. Is this ac 
 count of the matter, or "Vanity Fair," the satire? 
 What are the prospects of any society of which 
 that tale is the true history? 
 
 There is a picture in the Luxembourg gallery 
 at Paris, " The Decadence of the Eomans," which 
 made the fame and fortune of Couture, the painter. 
 It represents an orgie in the court of a temple, 
 during the last days of Rome. A swarm of 
 revellers occupy the middle of the picture,
 
 42 THE POTIPIIAR PAPERS. 
 
 wreathed in elaborate intricacy of luxurious pos 
 ture, men and women intermingled; their faces, 
 in which the. old Roman fire scarcely flickers, 
 brutalized with excess of every kind; their heads 
 of dishevelled hair bound with coronals of leaves, 
 while, from goblets of an antique grace, they 
 drain the fiery torrent which is destroying them. 
 Around tne bacchanalian feast stand, lofty upon 
 pedestals, the statues of old Rome, looking with 
 marble calmness and the severity of a rebuke 
 beyond words upon the revellers. A youth of 
 boyish grace, with a wreath woven in his tangled 
 hair, and with red and drowsy eyes, sits listless 
 upon one pedestal, while upon another stands a 
 boy, insane with drunkenness, and proffering a 
 dripping goblet to the marble mouth of the statue. 
 In the corner of the picture, as if just quitting 
 the court Rome finally departing is a group 
 of Romans with care-worn brows, and hands 
 raised to their faces in melancholy meditation. 
 In the foreground of the picture, which is painted 
 with all the sumptuous splendor of Venetian art, 
 is a stately vase, around which hangs a festoon 
 of gorgeous flowers, its end dragging upon the
 
 "OUR BEST SOCIETY." 43 
 
 pavement. In the background, between the col 
 umns, smiles the blue sky of Italy the only 
 thing Italian not deteriorated by time. The 
 careful student of this picture, if he has been 
 long in Paris, is some day startled by detecting, 
 especially in the faces of the women represented, 
 a surprising likeness to the women of Paris, and 
 perceives, with a thrill of dismay, that the models 
 for this picture of decadent human nature are 
 furnished by the very city in which he lives.
 
 II. 
 
 , anJr tljtr 
 
 LETTER FROM MRS. POTJPHAR TO MISS 
 CAROLINE PETTITOES.
 
 r fto ITitojj, attfr o%r Cjfittjs. 
 
 A LETTER FROM MRS. POTIPHAR TO MISS CAROLINE 
 PETTITOES. 
 
 NEW YORK, April. 
 
 MY DEAR CAROLINE, Lent came so fright 
 fully early this year, that I was very much afraid 
 my new bonnet d I lmperatrice would not be out 
 from Paris soon enough. But fortunately it ar 
 rived just in time, and I had the satisfaction 
 of taking down the pride of Mrs. Croesus, who 
 fancied hers would be the only stylish hat in 
 church the first Sunday. She could not keep 
 her eyes away from me, and I sat so unmoved, 
 and so calmly looking at the Doctor, that she 
 was quite vexed. But, whenever she turned 
 away, I ran my eyes over the whole congrega 
 tion, and would you believe that, almost with-
 
 8 THE POT1PIIAR PAPERS. 
 
 out mi exception, people liad their old things? 
 However, I suppose they forgot how soon Lent 
 was coining. As I was passing out of church, 
 Mrs. Croesus brushed by me: 
 
 "Ah!" said she, "good morning. Why, bless 
 me! you ve got that pretty hat I saw at Law- 
 sou s. Well, now, it s really quite pretty ; Law- 
 son has some taste left yet ; what a lovely 
 sermon the Doctor gave us. By the by, did 
 you know that Mrs. Gnu has actually bought 
 the blue velvet? It s too bad, because I wanted 
 to cover my prayer-book with blue, and she 
 sits so near, the effect of my book will be quite 
 spoiled. Dear me ! there she is beckoning to 
 me : good-bye, do come and see us ; Tuesdays, 
 you know. Well, Lawson really does very 
 well." 
 
 I was so mad with the old thing, that I could 
 not help catching her by her mantle and hold 
 ing on while I whispered loud enough for every 
 body to hear: 
 
 "Mrs. Croesus, you see I have just got my 
 bonnet from Paris. It s made after the Empress s. 
 If you would like to have yours made over in
 
 OUR NEW LIVERY, ETC. 49 
 
 the fashion, dear Mrs. Croesus, I shall be so glad 
 to lend you mine," 
 
 " No, thank you, dear," said she, " Lawson 
 won t do for me. Bye-bye." 
 
 And so she slipped out, and, I ve no doubt, 
 told Mrs. Gnu that she had seen my bonnet at 
 Lawson s. Isn t it too bad ? Then she is so 
 abominably cool. Somehow, when I m talking 
 with Mrs. Croesus, who has all her own things 
 made at home, I don t feel as if mine came from 
 Paris at all. She has such a way of looking at 
 you, that it s quite dreadful. She seems to be 
 saying in her mind, "La! now, well done, lit 
 tle dear." And I think that kind of mental 
 reservation (I think that s what they call it) is 
 an insupportable impertinence. However, I don t 
 care, do you ? 
 
 I ve so many things to tell you that I hardly 
 know where to begin. The great thing is the 
 livery, but I want to come regularly up to that, 
 and forget nothing bv the wav. I was imcer- 
 
 o / \j 
 
 hJn for a long time how to have my prayer-book 
 bound. Finally, after thinking about it a great 
 deal, I concluded to have it done in pale blue
 
 50 TilE POTII IIAK PAPERS. 
 
 velvet, with gold clasp?, and a gold cross upon 
 the side. To b? sure, it s nothing very ne\v. 
 But what is new now-a-days? Sally Shrimp has 
 had hers done in emerald, and I know Mrs. 
 Croesus will have crimson for hers, and those 
 people who sit next us in church (I wonder 
 who they are; it s very unpleasant to sit next 
 to people vou don t know: and, positively, that 
 girl, the dark-haired one with large eyes, carries 
 the same muff she did lost, year; it s big enough 
 for a family) have a kind of brown morocco 
 binding. I must tell you one reason why I fixed 
 upon the pale blue. You know that aristocratic- 
 looking young man, in white cravat and black 
 pantaloons and waistcoat, whom we saw at Sara 
 toga a year ago, and who alwavs had such a. 
 beautiful sanctimonious look, and such small 
 white hands; well, he is a minister, as we sup 
 posed, u an unworthy candidate, an unprofitable 
 husbandman," as he calls himself in that delicious 
 voice of his. He has been quite taken up among 
 us. He has been asked a good deal to dinner, 
 and there was hope of his being settled as col 
 league to the Doctor, only Mr. Potiphar (who
 
 OL K NEW LIVERY, ETC. 51 
 
 can be stubborn, you know) insisted that the Rev. 
 Cream Cheese, though a very good young man, 
 he didn t doubt, was addicted to candlesticks. 
 I suppose that s something awful. But, could 
 you believe any thing awful of him? I asked 
 Mr. Potiphar what he meant by saying such 
 things. 
 
 "I mean," said he, "that he s a Puseyite, and 
 I ve no idea of being tied to the apron-strings 
 of the Scarlet Woman." 
 
 Dear Caroline, who is the Scarlet Woman ? 
 Dearest, tell me, upon your honor, if you have 
 ever heard any scandal of Mr. Potiphar. 
 
 " What is it about candlesticks ?" said I to 
 Mr. Potiphar. " Perhaps Mr. Cheese finds gas 
 too bright for his eyes ; and that s his misfor 
 tune, not his fault." 
 
 " Polly," said Mr. Potiphar, who will call me 
 Polly, although it sounds so very vulgar, "please 
 not to meddle with things you don t understand. 
 You may have Cream Cheese to dinner as much 
 as you choose, but I will not have him in the 
 pulpit of my church." 
 
 " The same day, Mr. Cheese happened in about
 
 52 TMK rOTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 lunch-time, and I asked him if his eyes were 
 really weak. 
 
 "Not at all," said he, why do you ask?" 
 
 Then I told him that I had heard he was so 
 fond of candlesticks. 
 
 Ah ! Caroline, you should have seen him then. 
 He stopped in the midst of pouring out a glass 
 of Mr. P. s best old port, and holding the de 
 canter in one hand, and the glass in the other, 
 he looked so beautifully sad, and said in that 
 sweet low voice: 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Potiphar, the blood of the martyrs 
 is the seed of the church." Then he filled up 
 his glass, and drank the wine off with such a 
 mournful, resigned air, and wiped his lips so 
 gently with his cambric handkerchief (I saw 
 that it was a hem-stitch), that I had no voice to 
 ask him to take a bit of the cold chicken, which 
 he did, however, without my asking him. But 
 when he said in the same low voice, "A little 
 more breast, dear Mrs. Potiphar," I was obliged 
 to run into the drawing-room for a moment, to 
 recover myself. 
 
 Well, after he had lunched, I told him that
 
 OUR NEW LIVERY, ETC. 53 
 
 I wished to take his advice upon something 
 connected with the church, (for a prayer-book 
 is, you know, dear,) and he looked so sweetly 
 at me, that, would you believe it, I almost wished 
 to be a Catholic, and to confess three or four 
 times a week, and to have him for my confessor. 
 But it s very wicked to wish to be a Catholic, 
 and it wasn t real much, you know : but somehow 
 I thought so. When I asked him in what velvet 
 he would advise me to have my prayer-book 
 bound, he talked beautifully for about twenty 
 minutes. I wish you could have heard him. 
 I m not sure that I understood much of what 
 he said how should I? but it was very beau 
 tiful. Don t laugh, Carrie, but there was one 
 thing I did understand, and which, as it came 
 pretty often, quite helped me through : it was, 
 "Dear Mrs. Potiphar;" you can t tell how nicely 
 he says it. He began by telling me that it was 
 very important to consider all the details and 
 little things about the church. He said they 
 \vere all Timbales or Cymbals or something of 
 that kind ; and then he talked very prettily about 
 the stole, and the violet and scarlet capes of the
 
 54 TIIK POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 cardinals, and purple chasubles, and the lace 
 edge of the Pope s little short gown ; and do 
 you know it was very funny but it seemed to 
 me, somehow, as if I was talking with Portier 
 or Florinc Lefevre, except that he used such 
 beautiful words. Well, by and by, he said: 
 
 "Therefore, dear Mrs. Potiphar, as your faith 
 is so pure and childlike, and as 1 observe that 
 the light from the yellow panes usual! v falls 
 across your pew, I would advise that you 
 cymbalize your faith (wouldn t that be noisv 
 in -church?) by binding your prayer-book in 
 pale blue; the color of skim-milk, dear Mrs. 
 Potiphar, which is so full of pastoral associa 
 tions." 
 
 Why did he emphasize the word "pastoral?" 
 Do you wonder that I like Cream Cheese, dear 
 Caroline, when he is so gentle and religious 
 and such a pretty religion too! For he is not 
 only well-dressed, and lias such aristocratic 
 hands and feet, in the parlor, but he is so per 
 fectly gentlemanly in the pulpit. lie never 
 raises his voice too loud, and he has such 
 wavy gestures. Mr. Potiphar says that may be
 
 OUR NEW LIVERY, ETC. 55 
 
 all very true, but lie knows perfect!} well that 
 he has A hankering for artificial flowers, and 
 that, for his part, he prefers the Doctor to any 
 preacher he ever heard ; " because," he says, 
 " I can go quietly to sleep, confident that he 
 will say nothing that might not be preached 
 from every well-regulated pulpit ; whereas, if 
 we should, let Cream Cheese into the desk, I 
 should have to keep awake to be on the look 
 out for some of these new-fangled idolatries : 
 and, Polly Potiphar, I, for one, am determined 
 to have nothing to do Avith the Scarlet Wo 
 man/ 
 
 Darling Caroline I don t care much but did 
 he ever have anything to do witli a Scarlet 
 Woman ? 
 
 After he said that about artificial flowers, I 
 ordered from Martelle the sweetest sprig of im 
 mortelle he had in his shop, and sent it anony 
 mously on St. Valentine s day. Of coarse I 
 didn t wish to do anything secret from my hus 
 band, that might make people talk, so I wrote 
 " Reverend Cream Cheese ; from his grateful Skim- 
 milk." I marked the last words, and hope he
 
 56 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 understood that I meant to express my thanks 
 for his advice about the pale-blue cover. You 
 don t think it was too romantic, do you, dear? 
 
 You can imagine how pleasantly Lent is pass 
 ing since I see so much of him : and then it is 
 so appropriate to Lent to be intimate with a 
 minister. He goes with me to church a great 
 deal; for Mr. Potiphar, of course, has no time 
 for that, except on Sundays; and it is really 
 delightful to see such piety. He makes the re 
 sponses in the most musical manner; and when 
 he kneels upon entering the pew, he is the admi 
 ration of the whole church. He buries his face 
 entirely in a cloud of cambric pocket-handker 
 chief, with his initial embroidered at the corner ; 
 and his hair is beautifully parted down behind, 
 which is very fortunate, as otherwise it would 
 look so badly when only half his head showed. 
 I feel so good when I sit by his side ; and when 
 the Doctor (as Mr. P. says) "blows up" those 
 terrible sinners in Babylon and the other Bible 
 towns, I always find the Rev. Cream s eyes fixed 
 upon me, with so much sweet sadness, that I 
 am very, very sorry for the naughty people the
 
 OUR NEW LIVERY, ETC. 57 
 
 Doctor talks about. Why did they do so, do you 
 suppose, dear Caroline ? How thankful we ought 
 to be that we live now with so many churches, 
 and such fine ones, and with such gentlemanly 
 ministers as Mr. Cheese. And how nicely it s 
 arranged that, after dancing and dining for two 
 or three months constantly, during which, of 
 course, we can only go to church Sundays, there 
 comes a time for stopping, when we re tired out, 
 and for going to church every day, and (as Mr. 
 P. says) "striking a balance;" and thinking about 
 being good, and all those things. "We don t lose 
 a great deal, you know. It makes a variety, and 
 we all see each other, just the same, only we don t 
 dance. I do think it would be better if we took 
 our lorgnettes with us, however, for it was only 
 last Wednesday, at nine o clock prayers, that I 
 saw Sheena Silke across the church, in their little 
 pew at the corner, and I am sure that she had 
 a new bonnet on ; and yet, though I looked at 
 it all the time, trying to find out, prayers were 
 fairly over before I discovered whether it was 
 really new, or only that old white one made 
 
 over with a few new flowers. Now, if I had 
 8*
 
 58 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 had my glass, I could have told in a moment, 
 and shouldn t have been obliged to lose all the 
 prayers. 
 
 But, as 1 was saying, those poor old people in 
 Babylon and Nineveh! only think, if they had 
 had the privilege of prayers for six or seven 
 weeks in Lent, and regular preaching the rest of 
 the year, except, of course, in the summer (by 
 the by, I wonder if they all had some kind of 
 Saratoga or Newport to go to? I mean to ask 
 Mr. Cheese) they might have been good, and all 
 have been happy. It s quite awful to hear how 
 eloquent and earnest the Doctor is when he 
 preaches against Babylon. Mr. P. says he likes 
 to have him "pitch into those old sinners; it 
 does em so much good :" and then he looks 
 quite fierce. Mr. Cheese is going to read me 
 a sermon he has written upon the maidenhood 
 of Lot s wife. He says that he quotes a great 
 deal of poetry in it, and that I must dam up the 
 fount of my tears when he reads it, It was an 
 odd expression for a minister, wasn t it? and I 
 was obliged to say, " Mr. Cheese, yon forgot your 
 self." He replied, " Dear Mrs. Potiphar, I will
 
 OUR NEW LIVERY, ETC. 59 
 
 explain;" and lie did so; so that I admired him 
 more than ever. 
 
 Dearest Caroline, if you should only like him ! 
 He asked one day about you; and when I told 
 him what a dear, good girl you are, he said : 
 "And her father has worldly possessions, has 
 he not?" 
 
 I answered, yes; that your father was very 
 rich. Then he sighed, and said that he could 
 never marry an heiress unless he clearly saw it 
 to be his duty. Isn t it a beautiful resignation ? 
 
 I had no idea of saying so much about him, 
 but you know it s proper, when writing a letter 
 in Lent, to talk about religious matters. And, 
 I must confess, there is something comfortable 
 in having to do with such things. Don t you 
 feel better, when you ve been dancing all the 
 week, and dining, and going to the opera, and 
 flirting and flying round, to go to church on 
 Sundays? I do. It seems, somehow, as if we 
 ought to go. But I do wish Mrs. Crcesus would 
 sit somewhere else than just in front of us, for 
 her new bonnets and her splendid collars and 
 capes make me quite miserable : ana then she
 
 60 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 puts me out of conceit of my things by talking 
 about Lawson, or somebody, as I told you in 
 the beginning. 
 
 Mr. Potiphar has sent out for the new carpets. 
 I had only two spoiled at my ball, you know, 
 and that was very little. One always expects 
 to sacrifice at least two carpets upon occasion 
 of seeing one s friends. That handsome one in 
 the supper room was entirely ruined. Would 
 you believe that Mr. P., when he went down 
 stairs the next morning, found our Fred, and 
 his cousin hoeing it with their little hoes ? It 
 was entirely matted with preserves and things, 
 and the boys said they were scraping it clean 
 for breakfast. The other spoiled carpet was in 
 the gentlemen s dressing-room where the punch 
 bowl was. Young Gauche Boosey, a very gen 
 tlemanly fellow, you know, ran up after polking, 
 and was so confused with the light and heat 
 that he went quite unsteadily, and as he was 
 trying to fill a glass with the silver ladle (which 
 is rather hea,vy), he somehow leaned too hard 
 upon tne table, and down went the whole thing, 
 table, bowl, punch, and Boosey, and ended my
 
 OUR NEW LIVERY, ETC. 61 
 
 poor carpet. I was sorry for that, and also for 
 the bowl, which was a very handsome one, im 
 ported from China by my father s partner a 
 wedding-gift to me and for the table, a delicate 
 rosewood stand, which was a work-table of my 
 sister Lucy s whom you never knew, and who 
 died long and long ago. However, I was amply 
 repaid by Boosey s drollery afterward. He is a 
 very witty young man, and when he got up 
 from the floor, saturated with punch (his clothes 
 I mean), he looked down at the carpet and 
 said: 
 
 "Well, I ve given that such a punch it will 
 want some lemon-aid to recover." 
 
 I suppose he had some idea about lemon acid 
 taking out spots. 
 
 But, the best thing was what he said to me. 
 He is so droll that he insisted upon coming 
 down, and finishing the dance just as he was. 
 The funny fellow brushed against all the dresses 
 in his way, and, finally, said to me, as he pointed 
 to a lemon-seed upon his coat : 
 
 " I feel so very lemon-choly for what I have 
 done."
 
 62 THE POTIPLIAR PAPERS. 
 
 I laughed very much (you were in the other 
 room), but Mr. P. stepped up and ordered him 
 to leave the house. Boosey said he would do 
 no such thing; and I have no doubt we should 
 have had a scene, if Mr. P. had not inarched 
 him straight to the door, and put him into a 
 carriage, and told the driver where to take 
 him. Mr. P. was red enough when he came 
 back. 
 
 "No man shall insult me or my guests, by 
 getting drunk in my house," said he ; and he 
 has since asked me not to invite Boosey nor 
 "any of his kind," as he calls them, to our 
 house. However, I think it will pass over. I 
 tell him that all young men of spirit get a lit 
 tle excited with wine sometimes, and he mustn t 
 be too .hard upon them. 
 
 "Madame," said he to me, the first time I 
 ventured to say that, " no man with genuine 
 self-respect ever gets drunk twice; and, if you 
 had the faintest idea of the misery which a lit 
 tle elegant intoxication has produced in scores 
 of families that you know, you would never 
 insinuate again that a little excitement from
 
 OUR NEW LI VERY, ETC. 63 
 
 \vine is an agreeable thing. There s your friend 
 Airs. Croesus (he thinks she s my friend, because 
 we call each other dear !) ; she is delighted to 
 be a fashionable woman, and to be described as 
 the peerless and accomplished Mrs. C-oe-s, in 
 letters from the Watering-places to the Herald ; 
 but I tell you, if any thing of the woman or 
 the mother is left in the fashionable Mrs. Croesus, 
 I could wring her heart as it never was wrung 
 and never shall be by me by showing her the 
 places that young Timon Croesus haunts, the 
 people with whom he associates, and the drunken 
 ness, gambling, and worse dissipations of which 
 he is guilty. 
 
 "Timon Croesus is eighteen or nineteen, or, 
 perhaps, twenty years old ; and, Polly, I tell you, 
 ho is actually blase, worn out with dissipation, 
 the companion of blacklegs, the chevalier of 
 Cyprians, tipsy every night, and haggard every 
 morning. Timon Croesus is the puny caricature 
 of a man, mentally, morally, and physically. He 
 gets elegantly intoxicated at your parties; he 
 goes off to sup with Gauche Boosey; you and 
 Mrs. Croesus think them young men of spirit,
 
 6-i THE POTIPUAR PAPERS. 
 
 it is an exhilarating case of sowing wild-oats, you 
 fancy, and when, at twenty-five, Timon Croesus 
 stands ruined in the world, without aims or capac 
 ities, without the esteem of a single man or his 
 own self-respect youth, health, hope, and energy, 
 all gone for ever then you and your dear Mrs. 
 Croesus will probably wonder at the horrible har 
 vest. Mrs. Potiphar, ask the Rev. Cream Cheese 
 to omit his sermon upon the maidenhood of Lot s 
 wife, and preach from this text : They that sow 
 the wind shall reap the whirlwind. Good heav 
 ens! Polly, fancy our Fred, growing up to such 
 a life! I d rather bury him to-morrow! 
 
 I never saw Mr. P. so much excited. He fairly 
 put his handkerchief to his eyes, and I really 
 believe he cried ! But I think lie exaggerates 
 these things: and as he had a very dear friend 
 who went worse and worse, until he died fright 
 fully, a drunkard, it is not strange he should 
 speak so warmly about it. But as Mrs. Crcesus 
 says: 
 
 "What can you do? You can t curb these 
 boys, you don t want to break their spirits, you 
 don t want to make them milk-sops."
 
 OUR NEW LIVEEY, ETC. 65 
 
 When I repeated the speech to Mr. P., he said 
 to me with a kind of solemnity : 
 
 " Tell Mrs. Croesus that I am not here to judge 
 nor dictate : but she may be well assured, that 
 every parent is responsible for every child of his 
 to the utmost of the influence he can exert, 
 whether he chooses to consider himself so or 
 not; and if not now, in this world, yet some 
 where and somehow, he must hear and heed 
 the voice that called to Cain in the garden, 
 Where is Abel, thy brother? " 
 
 I can t bear to hear Mr. P. talk in that way ; 
 it sounds so like preaching. Not precisely like 
 what I hear at church, but like what we mean 
 when we say "preaching," without referring to 
 any particular sermon. However, he grants that 
 young Timon is an extreme case : but, he says, 
 it is the result that proves the principle, and a 
 state of feeling which not only allows, but indi 
 rectly fosters, that result, is frightful to think of. 
 
 "Don t think of it, then, Mr. P.," said I. He 
 looked at me for a moment with the sternest 
 scowl I ever saw upon a man s face, then he 
 suddenly ran up to me, and kissed me on the
 
 66 THE POTIl IIAK 1 AI KKS. 
 
 forehead (although my hair was all dressed for 
 Mrs. Gnu s dinner), and went out of the house. 
 lie hasn t said much to me since, but he speaks 
 very gently when he docs speak, and sometimes 
 I catch him looking at me in such a singular 
 way, so half mournful, that Mr. Cheese s eyes 
 don t seem so very sad, after all. 
 
 However, to return to the party, I believe 
 nothing else was injured except the curtains in 
 the front drawing-room, which were so smeared 
 with ice-cream and oyster gravy, that we must 
 get new ones; and the cover of my porcelain 
 tureen was broken by the servant, though the 
 man said he really didn t mean to do it, and I 
 could say nothing; and a party of young men, 
 after the German Cotillon, did let fall that superb 
 cut-glass Claret, and shivered it, with a do/en of 
 the delicately engraved straw-stems that stood 
 upon the waiter. That was all, I believe oh ! 
 except that fine " Dresden Gallery," the most 
 splendid book I ever saw, full of engravings of 
 the great pictures in Dresden, Vienna, and the 
 other Italian towns, and which was sent to Mr. 
 P. by an old friend, an artist, whom he had
 
 OUR NEW LIVERY, ETC. 67 
 
 helped along when he was very poor. Some 
 body unfortunately tipped over a bottle of claret 
 that stood upon the table, (I am sure, I don t 
 know how it got there, though Mr. P. says Gauche 
 Boosey knows,) and it lay soaking into the book, 
 so that almost every picture has a claret stain, 
 which looks so funny. I am very sorry, I am 
 sure, but, as T tell Mr. P., it s no use crying for 
 spilt milk. I was telling Mr. Boosey of it at 
 the Gnus dinner. He laughed very much, and 
 when I said that a good many of the faces were 
 sadly stained, he said in his droll way, " You 
 ought to call it U opera, di Bordeaux ; Le Domino 
 rouge." I supposed it was something funny, so 
 I laughed a good deal. He said to me later: 
 
 "Shall I pour a little claret into your book 
 I mean into your glass?" 
 
 Wasn t it a pretty bon-mot? 
 
 Don t you think we are getting verv spirituel 
 in this country ? 
 
 I believe there was nothing else injured except 
 the bed-hangings in the back-room, which were 
 somehow badly burnt and very much torn in 
 pulling down, and a few of our handsomest
 
 68 THE POTIPHAK PAPERS. 
 
 shades that were cracked by tlie heat, and a 
 few plates, which it was hardly fair to expect 
 wouldn t be broken, and the colored glass door 
 in my escritoire, against which Flattie Podge 
 fell as she was dancing with Gauche Boosey ; 
 but he may have been a little excited you 
 know, and she, poor girl, couldn t help tum 
 bling, and as her head hit the glass, of course 
 it broke, and cut her head badly, so that the 
 blood ran down and naturally spoiled her 
 dress ; and what little escritoire could stand 
 against Flattie Podge? So that went, and was 
 a good deal smashed in falling. That s all, I 
 think, except that the next day Mrs. Croesus 
 Sent a note, saying that she had lost her largest 
 diamond from her necklace, and she was sure 
 that it was not in the carriage, nor in her own 
 house, nor upon the sidewalk, for she had care 
 fully looked every where, and she would be very 
 glad if I would return it by the bearer. 
 
 Think of that! 
 
 Well, we hunted every where, and found no 
 diamond. I took particular pains to ask the 
 servants if they had found it, for if they had,
 
 OUR NEW LIVERY, ETC. 69 
 
 they might as well give it up at once, without 
 expecting any reward from Mrs. Croesus, who 
 wasn t very generous. But they all said they 
 hadn t found any diamond : and our man John, 
 who you know is so guileless, although it was 
 a little mysterious about that emerald pin of 
 mine, brought me a bit of glass that had been 
 nicked out of my large custard dish, and asked 
 me if that was not Mrs. Croesus s diamond. I 
 told him no, and gave him a gold dollar for 
 his honesty. John is an invaluable servant ; 
 he is so guileless. 
 
 Do you know I am not so sure about Mrs. 
 Croesus s diamond! 
 
 Mr. P. made a great growling about the ball. 
 But it was very foolish, for he got safely to bed 
 by six o clock, and he need have no trouble 
 about replacing the curtains, and glass, &c. I 
 shall do all that, and the sum total will be 
 sent to him in a lump, so that he can pay it. 
 
 Men are so unreasonable. Fancy us at seven 
 o clock that morning, when I retired. He wasn t 
 asleep. But whose fault was that? 
 
 "Polly," said he, "that s the last."
 
 (0 TI1E POT1PHAK PAPERS. 
 
 "Last what?" said I. 
 
 " Last ball at my house," said he. 
 
 "Fiddle-dee-dee," said I. 
 
 " I tell you, Mrs. Potiphar, I am not going to 
 open my house for a crowd of people who 
 don t go away till daylight; who spoil my 
 books and furniture ; who involve me in a 
 foolish expense ; for a gang of rowdy boys, 
 who drink my Margaux, and Lafitte, and Mar- 
 cobrunner, (what kind of drinks are those, dear 
 Caroline?) and who don t know Chambertin 
 from liquorice- water, for a swarm of persons 
 few of whom know me, fewer still care for me, 
 and to whom 1 am only Old Potiphar, the 
 husband of you, a fashionable woman. I am 
 simply resolved to have no more such tom 
 foolery in my house." 
 
 "Dear Mr. P.," said I, "you ll feel much 
 better when you have slept. Besides, why do 
 you say such things ? Mustn t we see our 
 friends, I should like to know ; and if we do, 
 are you going to let your wife receive them in 
 a manner inferior to old Mrs. Podge or Mrs. 
 Crossus? People will accuse you of meanness,
 
 OUR NEW LIVERY, ETC. 71 
 
 and of treating me ill ; and if some persons 
 hear that you have reduced your style of liv 
 ing, they will begin to suspect the state of your 
 affairs. Don t make any rash vows, Mr. P.," 
 said I, " but go to sleep." 
 
 (Do you know that speech was just what Mrs. 
 Croesus told me she had said to her husband 
 under similar circumstances?) 
 
 Mr. P. fairly groaned, and I heard that short, 
 strong little word that sometimes inadvertently 
 drops out of the best regulated mouths, as 
 young Gooseberry Downe sa} r s when he swears 
 before his mother. Do you know Mrs. Settum 
 Downe ? Charming woman, but satirical. 
 
 Mr. P. groaned, and said some more ill-na 
 tured things, until the clock struck nine, and 
 he was obliged to get up. I should be sorry 
 to say to any body but you, dearest, that I 
 was rather glad of it; for I could then fall 
 asleep at my ease ; and these little connubial 
 felicities (I think they call them) are so tire 
 some. But every body agreed it was a beauti 
 ful ball ; and I had the great gratification of 
 hearing young Lord Mount Ague (you know
 
 72 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 you danced with him, love) say that it was 
 quite the same thing as a ball at Buckingham 
 Palace, except, of course, in size, and the 
 number of persons, and dresses, and jewels, and 
 the plate, and glass, and supper, and wines, and 
 furnishing of the rooms, and lights, and sonu> 
 of those things, which are naturally upon a 
 larger scale at a palace than in a private 
 house. But, he said, excepting such things, it 
 was quite as fine. I am afraid Lord Mount 
 Ague flatters; just a little bit, you know. 
 
 Yes ; and there was young Major Staggers, 
 who said that " Decidedly it was the party of 
 the season." 
 
 " How odd, said Mrs. Crcesus, to whom I 
 told it, and, I confess, with a little pride. 
 " What a sympathetic man : that is, for a mili 
 tary man, I mean. Would you believe, dear 
 Mrs. Potiphar, that he said precisely the same 
 thing to me two days after my ball ?" 
 
 Now, Caroline, dearest, perhaps he did ! 
 
 With all these pleasant things said about 
 one s party, I cannot see that it is such a dis 
 mal thing as Mr. P. tries to make out. After
 
 OUR NEW LIVERY, ETC. 73 
 
 one of his solemn talks, I asked Mr. Cheese 
 what he thought of balls, whether it was so 
 very wicked to dance, and go to parties, if one 
 only went to Church twice a day on Sundays. 
 He patted his lips a moment with his hand 
 kerchief, and then he said, and, Caroline, you 
 can always quote the Eev. Cream Cheese as 
 authority, 
 
 ; Dear Mrs. Potiphar, it is recorded in Holy 
 Scripture that the King danced before the 
 Lord." 
 
 Darling, if any thing should happen, I don t 
 believe he would object much to your dancing. 
 
 What gossips we women are, to be sure ! I 
 meant to write you about our new livery, and 
 I am afraid I have tired you out already. You 
 remember when you were here, I said that I 
 meant to have a livery, for my sister Margaret 
 told me that when they used to drive in Hyde 
 Park, with the old Marquis of Mammon, it 
 was always so delightful to hear him say, 
 
 " Ah ! there is Lady Lobster s livery." 
 
 It was so aristocratic. And in countries 
 
 where certain colors distinguish certain families, 
 4
 
 74 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 and are hereditary, so to say, it is convenient 
 and pleasant to recognize a coat-of-arms, or a 
 livery, and to know that the representative of 
 a great and famous family is passing by. 
 
 " That s a Howard, that s a Russell, that s a 
 Dorset, that s de Colique, that s Mount Ague," 
 old Lord Mammon used to say as the carriages 
 whirled by. He knew none of them personally, 
 I believe, except de Colique and Mount Ague, 
 but then it was so agreeable to be able to know 
 their liveries. 
 
 Now why shouldn t we have the same arrange 
 ment? Why not have the Smith colors, and the 
 Brown colors, and the Black colors, and the Poti- 
 phar color?, &c., so that the people might say, 
 " Ah ! there go the Potiphar arms." 
 
 There is one difficulty, Mr. P. says, and that 
 is, that he found five hundred and sixty -seven 
 Smiths in the Directory, which might lead to 
 some confusion. But that was absurd, as I told 
 him, because every body would know which of 
 the Smiths was able to keep a carriage, so that 
 the livery would be recognized directly the mo 
 ment that any of the family were seen in the
 
 OUR XEW LIVEHY, ETC. 75 
 
 carriage. Upon which he said, in his provoking- 
 way, "Why have any livery at all, then?" and he 
 persisted in saying that no Smith was ever l/ie 
 Smith for three generations, and that he knew 
 at least twenty, each of whom was able to set 
 np his carriage and stand by his colors. 
 
 "But then a livery is so elegant and aristo 
 cratic," said I, "and it shows that a servant is 
 a servant." 
 
 That last was a strong argument, and I thought 
 Mr. P. would have nothing to say against it ; but 
 he rattled on for some time, asking me what right 
 I had to be aristocratic, or, in fact, any body 
 else ; went over his eternal old talk about aping 
 foreign habits, as if we hadn t a right to adopt the 
 good usages of all nations, and finally said that 
 the use of liveries among us was not only a "pure 
 peacock absurdity," as he called it, but that no 
 genuine American would ever ask another to 
 assume a menial badge. 
 
 " Why !" said I, " is not an American servant a 
 servant still? 
 
 " Most undoubtedly," he said ; " and when a 
 man LS a servant, let him serve faithfullv; and
 
 76 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 in tins country especially, where to-morrow he 
 may be the served, and not the servant, let him 
 not be ashamed of serving. But, Mrs. Potiphar, 
 I beg you to observe that a servant s livery is 
 not, like a general s uniform, the badge of hon 
 orable service, but of menial service. Of course, 
 a servant may be as honorable as a general, 
 and his work quite as necessary and well done. 
 But, for all that, it is not so respected nor cov 
 eted a situation, I believe ; and, in social esti 
 mation, a man suffers by wearing a livery, as 
 he never would if he wore none. And while 
 in countries in which a man is proud of being 
 a servant (as every man may well be of being 
 a good one), and never looks to any thing else, 
 nor desires any change, a livery may be very 
 proper to the state of society, and very agreeable 
 to his own feelings, it is quite another thing in 
 a society constituted upon altogether different 
 principles, where the servant of to-day is the 
 senator of to-morrow. Besides that, which I 
 suppose is too fine-spun for you, livery is a 
 remnant of a feudal state, of which we abolish 
 every trace as fast as we can. That which is
 
 OUR NEW LIVERY, ETC. 77 
 
 represented by livery is not consonant with our 
 principles." 
 
 How the man runs on, when he gets going 
 this way ! I said, in answer to all this flourish, 
 that I considered a livery very much the thing ; 
 that European families had liveries, and Ameri 
 can families might have liveries ; that there was 
 an end of it, and I meant to have one. Besides, 
 if it is a matter of family, I should like to know 
 who has a better right ? There was Mr. Poti- 
 phar s grandfather, to be sure, was only a skilful 
 blacksmith and a good citizen, as Mr. P. says, 
 who brought up a family in the fear of the 
 Lord. 
 
 How oddly he puts those things! 
 
 But my ancestors, as you know, are a different 
 matter. Starr Mole, who interests himself in 
 genealogies, and knows the family name and 
 crest of all the English nobility, has " climbed 
 our family tree," as Staggers says, and finds that 
 I am lineally descended from one of those two 
 brothers who came over in some of those old 
 times, in some of those old ships, and settled 
 in some of those old places somewhere. So you
 
 78 THE FOT1PIIAR PAPERS. 
 
 see, dear Caroline, if birth gives any one a light 
 to coats of arms and liveries, and all those things, 
 I feel myself sufficiently entitled to have them. 
 But I don t care anv thing about that. The 
 
 t/ O 
 
 Gnus, and Croesuses, and Silkes, and the Settum 
 Dowries, have their coats of arms, and crests, and 
 liveries, and I am not going to be behind, I tell 
 you. Mr. P. ought to remember that a great 
 many of these families were famous before they 
 came to this country ; and there is a kind of 
 interest in having on your ring, for instance, 
 the same crest that your ancestor two or three 
 centuries ago had upon her ring. One day I 
 was quite wrought up about the matter, and I 
 said as much to him. 
 
 " Certainly," said lie, " certainly ; you are quite 
 right. If I had Sir Philip Sidney to my ancestor. 
 I should wear his crest upon my ring, and glory 
 in my relationship, and I hope I should be n 
 better man for it. I wouldn t put his arms 
 upon my carriage, however, because that would 
 mean nothing but ostentation. It would be 
 merely a flourish of trumpets to say that I was 
 his descendant, and nobody would know that,
 
 OUR NEW LIVERY, ETC. 79 
 
 either, if my name chanced to be Boggs. In 
 my library I might hang a copy of the family 
 escutcheon as a matter of interest and curiosity 
 to myself, for I m sure I shouldn t understand 
 it. Do you suppose Mrs. Gnu knows what 
 yules argent are ? A man may be as proud of 
 his family, as he chooses, and, if he has noble 
 ancestors, with good reason. But there is no 
 sense in parading that pride. It is an affecta 
 tion, the more foolish that it achieves nothing 
 no more credit at Stewart s no more real re 
 spect in society. Besides, Polly, who were Mrs. 
 Gnu s ancestors, or Mrs. Croesus s, or Mrs. Settum 
 Downe s? Good, quiet, honest, and humble peo 
 ple, who did their work, and rest from their 
 labors. Centuries ago, in England, some drops 
 of blood from noble veins may have mingled 
 with the blood of their forefathers ; or even, the 
 founder of the family name may be historically 
 famous. What then ? Is Mrs. Gnu s family 
 ostentation less absurd ? Do you understand 
 the meaning of her crest, and coats of arms, and 
 liveries ? Do you suppose she does herself ? 
 But in forty-nine cases out of fifty, there is
 
 80 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 nothing but a similarity of name upon which 
 to found all this flourish of aristocracy." 
 
 My dear old Pot is getting rather prosy, 
 Carrie. So when he had finished that long 
 speech, during which I was looking at the 
 lovely fashion plates in Harper, I said : 
 
 "What colors do you think -I d better have?" 
 
 He looked at me with that singular ex 
 pression, and went out suddenly, as if he were 
 afraid he might say something. 
 
 He had scarcely gone before I heard : 
 . " My dear Mrs. Potiphar, the sight of you is 
 refreshing as Herrnon s dew." 
 
 I colored a little ; Mr. Cneese says such 
 things so softly. But I said good morning, 
 and then asked him about liveries, &c. 
 
 He raised his hand to his cravat, (it was 
 the most snowy lawn, Carrie, and tied in a 
 splendid bow.) 
 
 " Is not this a livery, dear Mrs. Potiphar ?" 
 
 And then he went off into one of those 
 pretty talks, in what Mr. P. calls " the language 
 of artificial flowers," and wound np by quoting 
 Scripture, " Servants, obey your masters."
 
 OUR NEW LIVERY, ETC. 81 
 
 That was enough for me. So I told Mr. Cheese 
 that as he had already assisted me in colors Qnce, 
 I should be most glad to have him do so again. 
 What a time we had, to be sure, talking of colors, 
 and cloths, and gaiters, and buttons, and knee- 
 breeches, and waistcoats, and plush, and coats, 
 and lace, and hatbands, and gloves, and cravats, 
 and cords, and tassels, and hats. Oh! it was 
 delightful. You can t fancy how heartily the 
 Eev. Cream entered into the matter. He was 
 quite enthusiastic, and at last he said, with so 
 much expression, " Dear Mrs. Potiphar, why not 
 have a chasseur?" 
 
 I thought it was some kind of French dish for 
 lunch, so I said : 
 
 " I am so sorry, but we haven t any in the 
 house." 
 
 " Oh," said he, " but you could hire one, you 
 know." 
 
 Then I thought it must be a musical instru 
 ment a Panharmonicon, or something of that 
 kind, so I said in a general way 
 
 " I m not very, very fond of it." 
 
 " But it would be so fine to have him standing 
 
 4*
 
 82 THE POTIPIIAR PAPERS. 
 
 on the back of the carriage, his plumes "waving in 
 the wind, and his lace and polished belts flashing 
 in the sun, as you whirled down Broadway." 
 
 Of course I knew then that he was speaking 
 of those military gentlemen who ride behind car 
 riages, especially upon the Continent, as Marga 
 ret tells me, and who in Paris are very useful 
 to keep the savages and wild-beasts at bay in 
 the Chamjis Ely sees, for you know they are in 
 tended as a guard. 
 
 But I knew Mr. P. would be firm about 
 that, so I asked Mr. Cheese not to kindle my 
 imagination with the Chasseur. 
 
 We concluded finally to have only one full- 
 sized footman, and a fat driver. 
 
 " The corpulence is essential, dear Mrs. Poti- 
 phar," said Mr. Cheese. " I have been much 
 abroad ; I have mingled, I trust, in good, which 
 is to say, Christian society : and I must say, that 
 few things struck me more upon my return than 
 that the ladies who drive very handsome car 
 riages, with footmen, &c., in livery, should 
 permit such thin coachmen upon the box. I 
 really believe that Mrs. Settum Downe s con oh-
 
 OUR XEW LIVERY, ETC. 83 
 
 man doesn t weigh more than a hundred and 
 thirty pounds, which is ridiculous. A lady 
 might as well hire a footman with insufficient 
 calves, as a coachman who weighs less than two 
 hundred and ten. That is the minimum. Be 
 sides, I don t observe any wigs upon the coach 
 men. Now, if a lady sets up her carriage 
 with the family crest and fine liveries, why, I 
 should like to know, is the wig of the coach 
 man omitted, and his cocked hat also ? It is 
 a kind of shabb} r , half-ashamed way of doing- 
 things a garbled glory. The cock-hatted, knee- 
 breeched, paste-buckled, horse-hair- wigged coach 
 man, is one of the institutions of the aristocracy. 
 If we don t have him complete, we somehow 
 make ourselves ridiculous. If we do have him 
 complete, why, then" 
 
 Here Mr. Cheese coughed a little, and patted 
 his mouth with his cambric. But what he said 
 was very true. I should like to come out with 
 the wig I mean upon the coachman ; it would 
 so put down the Settum Downes. But I m sure 
 old Pot wouldn t have it. He lets me do a 
 great deal. But there is a line which I feel he
 
 81 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 won t let me pass. I mentioned my fears to 
 Mr. Cheese. 
 
 " Well," he said, " Mr. Potiphar may be right. 
 I remember an expression of my carnal days 
 about coming it too strong, which seems to 
 me to be applicable just here." 
 
 After a little more talk, I determined to have 
 red plush breeches, with a black cord at the side 
 white stockings low shoes with large buckles 
 a yellow waistcoat, with large buttons lappels 
 to the pockets and a purple coat, very full and 
 fine, bound with gold lace and the hat banded 
 with a full gold rosette. Don t you think that 
 would look well in Hyde Park? And, darling 
 Carrie, why shouldn t we have in Broadway what 
 they have in Hyde Park ? 
 
 When Mr. P. came in, I told him all about it. 
 He laughed a good deal, and said, "What next?" 
 So I am not sure he would be so very hard upon 
 the wig. The next morning I had appointed to 
 see the new footman, and as Mr. P. went out 
 he turned and said to me, " Is your footman com 
 ing to-day?" 
 
 " Yes," I answered.
 
 OUR NEW LIVERY, ETC. 85 
 
 " Well," said lie, " don t forget the calves. You 
 know that every thing in the matter of livery 
 depends upon the calves." 
 
 And he went out laughing silently to himself, 
 with actually, Carrie a tear in his eye. 
 
 But it was true, wasn t it ? I remember in all 
 the books and pictures how much is said about 
 the calves. In advertisements, &c., it is stated 
 that none but well-developed calves need apply, 
 at least it is so in England, and, if I have a livery, 
 I am not going to stop half-way. My duty was 
 very clear. When Mr. Cheese came in, I said I 
 felt awkward in asking a servant about his calves, 
 it sounded so queerly. But I confessed that it 
 was necessary. 
 
 "Yes, the path of duty is not always smooth, 
 dear Mrs. Potiphar. It is often thickly strewn 
 with thorns," said he, as he sank back in the 
 fauteuil, and put down his petit verre of Marasquin. 
 
 Just after he had gone the new footman was 
 announced. I assure you, although it is ridicu 
 lous, I felt quite nervous. But when he came 
 in, I said calmly 
 
 "Well, James, I am glad you have come."
 
 86 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 " Please, ma am, my name is Henry," said he. 
 
 I was astonished at his taking me up so, and 
 said, decidedly 
 
 " James, the name of my footman is ahvays 
 James. You may call yourself what you please, 
 I shall always call you James." 
 
 The idea of the man s undertaking to arrange 
 my servants names for me! 
 
 Well, he showed me his references, which 
 were very good, and I was quite satisfied. But 
 there was the terrible calf business that must 
 be attended to. I put it off a great while, but 
 I had to begin. 
 
 " Well, James !" and there I stopped. 
 
 "Yes, ma am," said he. 
 
 "I wish yes ah!" and I stopped again. 
 
 "Yes, ma am," said he. 
 
 "James, I wish you had come in knee- 
 breeches." 
 
 "Ma am?" said he in great surprise. 
 
 "In knee-breeches, James," repeated I. 
 
 " What be they, ma am ? what for, ma am ?" 
 said he, a little frightened, as I thought. 
 
 "Oh! nothing, nothing; but but
 
 OUR NEW LIVERY, ETC. 87 
 
 " Yes, ma am, 11 said James. 
 
 "But but, I want to see to see 
 
 "What,- ma am?" said James. 
 
 " Your legs," gasped I ; and the path was 
 thorny enough, Carrie, I can tell you. I had 
 a terrible time explaining to him what I meant, 
 and all about the liveries, &c Dear me ! what 
 a pity these things are not understood : and then 
 we should never have this trouble about ex 
 planations. However, I couldn t make him agree 
 to wear the livery. He said : 
 
 "I ll try to be a good servant, ma am, but I 
 cannot put on those things and make a fool of 
 myself. I hope you won t insist, for I am very 
 anxious to get a place." 
 
 Think of his dictating to me ! I told him 
 that I did not permit my servants to impose 
 conditions upon me (that s one of Mrs. Croesus s 
 sayings), that I was willing to pay him good 
 wages and treat him well, but that my James 
 must wear my livery. He looked very sorry, 
 said that he should like the place very much, 
 that he was satisfied with the wages, and was 
 sure he should please me, but he could not put
 
 88 THE POTIPHAR TAPERS. 
 
 on those things. We were both determined, 
 and so parted. I think we were both sorry ; 
 for I should have to go all through the call- 
 business again, and he lost a good place. 
 
 However, Caroline, dear, I have my livery 
 and my footman, and am as good as any body. 
 It s very splendid when I go to Stewart s to 
 have the red plush, and the purple, and the 
 white calves springing down to open the door, 
 and to see people look, and say, " I wonder 
 who that is?" And every body bows so nicely, 
 and the clerks are so polite, and Mrs. Gnu is 
 melting w r ith envy on the other side, and Mrs. 
 Croesus goes about, saying, "Dear little woman, 
 that Mrs. Potiphar, but so weak! Pity, pity!" 
 And Mrs. Settum Downe says, " Is that the 
 Potiphar livery ? Ah ! yes. Mr. Potiphar s 
 grandfather used to shoe my grandfather s horses !" 
 (as if to be useful in the world, were a dis 
 grace, as Mr. P. says,) and young Downe, and 
 Boosey, and Timon Crcesus come up and stand 
 about so gentlemanly, and say, " Well, Mrs. Poti 
 phar, are we to have no more charming parties 
 this season?" and Boosey says, in his droll way,
 
 OUR NEW LIVERY, ETC. 89 
 
 "Let s keep the ball a-rolling!" That young man 
 is always ready with a witticism. Then I step 
 out and James throws open the door, and the 
 young men raise their hats, and the new crowd 
 says, "I wonder who that is!" and the plush, 
 and purple, and calves spring up behind, and 
 I drive home to dinner. 
 
 ISTow, Carrie, dear, isn t that nice? 
 
 "Well, I don t know how it is but things are 
 so queer. Sometimes when I wake up in the 
 morning, in my room, which I have had tapes 
 tried with fluted rose silk, and lie thinking, 
 under the lace curtains ; although I may have 
 been at one of Mrs. Gnu s splendid parties the 
 night before, and am going to Mrs. Silke s to 
 dinner, and to the opera and Mrs. Settum Downe s 
 in the evening, and have nothing to do all day 
 but go to Stewart s, or Martelle s, or Lefevre s, 
 and shop, and pay morning calls ; do you know, 
 as I say, that sometimes I hear an old familiar 
 tune played upon a hand-organ far away in some 
 street, and it seems to me in that half drowsy 
 state under the laces, that I hear the girls and 
 boys singing it in the fields where we used to play.
 
 90 THE FOTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 It is a kind of dream, I suppose, but often, as 
 I listen, I am sure that I hear Henry s voice 
 again that used to ring so gayly among the- old 
 trees, and I walk with him in the sunlight to the 
 bank by the river, and he throws in the flower 
 as he really did and says, with a laugh, " If 
 it goes this side of the stump I am saved; if 
 the other, I am lost ;" and then he looks at me 
 as if I had any thing to do with it, and the flower 
 drifts slowly off and off, and goes the other side 
 of the old stump, and we walk homeward silently, 
 until Henry laughs out, and says, "Thank heaven, 
 my fate is not a flower;" and I swear to love him 
 for ever and ever, and marry him, and live in a 
 dingy little old room in some of the dark and 
 dirty streets in the city. 
 
 Then I doze again : but presently the music 
 steals into my sleep, and I sec him as I saw him 
 last, standing in his pulpit, so calm and noble, 
 and drawing the strong men as well as the weak 
 women by his earnest persuasion; and after ser 
 vice he smiles upon me kindly, and says, "This 
 is my wife," and the wife, who looks like the 
 Madonna in that picture of Andrea Del Sarto s,
 
 OUK NEW LIVEKY, ETC. 91 
 
 which you liked so at the gallery, leads us to a 
 little house buried in roses, looking upon a broad 
 and lovely landscape, and Henry whispers to me 
 as a beautiful boy bounds into the room, "Mrs. 
 Potiphar, I am very happy." 
 
 I doze again until Adele comes in and opens 
 the shutters. I do not hear the music any more ; 
 but those days I do somehow seem to hear it all 
 the time. Of course Mr. P. is gone long before 1 
 wake, so he knows nothing about all this. ] 
 generally come in at night after he is asleep, and 
 he is up and has his breakfast, and goes down 
 town before I wake in the morning. He comes 
 home to dinner, but he is apt to be silent; and 
 after dinner he takes his nap in the parlor over 
 his newspaper, while I go up and let Adele dress 
 my hair for. the evening. Sometimes Mr. P. 
 groans into a clean shirt and goes with me to 
 the ball ; but not often. When I come home, as 
 I said, he is asleep, so I don t see a great deal of 
 him, except in the summer, when I am at Sara 
 toga or Newport; and then, not so much, after all, 
 for he usually only pass Sunday, and I must be 
 a good Christian, you know, and go to church.
 
 92 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 On the whole, we have not a very intimate ac 
 quaintance; but I have a great respect for him. 
 He told me the other day that he should make at 
 least thirty thousand dollars this year. 
 
 My darling Carrie I am very sorry I can t 
 write you a longer letter. I want to consult you 
 about wearing gold powder, like the new Em 
 press. It would kill Mrs. Croesus if you and I 
 should be the first to come out in it; and don t 
 you think the effect would be fine, when we were 
 dancing, to shower the gold mist around us ! 
 How it would sparkle upon the gentlemen s black 
 coats ! (" Yes," says Mr. P., " and how finely 
 Gauche Boosey, and Timon Croesus, and young 
 Downe will look in silk tights and small-clothes!") 
 They say its genuine gold ground up. I have 
 already sent for a white velvet and lace the Em 
 press s bridal dress, you know. That foolish old 
 P. asked me if I had sent for the Emperor and the 
 Bank of France too. 
 
 " Men ask such absurd questions," said I. 
 
 " Mrs. Potiphar, I never asked but one utterly 
 absurd question in my life," said he, and marched 
 out of the house.
 
 OUR NEW LIVERY, ETC. 93 
 
 Au revoir, chdre Caroline. I have a thousand 
 things to say, but I know you must be tired to 
 death. 
 
 Fondly yours, 
 
 POLLY POTIPHAR. 
 
 P. S. Our little Fred, is quite down with the 
 scarlet fever. Potiphar says I mustn t expose my 
 self, so I don t go into the room ; but Mrs. Jollup, 
 the nurse, tells me through the keyhole how he is. 
 Mr. P. sleeps in the room next the nursery, so as 
 not to carry the infection .to me. He looks very 
 solemn as he walks down town. I hope it won t 
 spoil Fred. s complexion. I should be so sorry to 
 have him a little fright ! Poor little thing ! 
 
 P. S. 2d. Isn t it funny about the music ?
 
 III. 
 
 itation bj faitl f otipfcar, (Esq.
 
 mitation bg f ml fotijlmr, 
 
 WELL, my new bouse is finished and so am 
 I. I hope Mrs. Potiphar is satisfied. Every 
 body agrees that it is "palatial." The daily 
 papers have had columns of description, and I 
 am, evidently, according, to their authority, " mu 
 nificent," "tasteful," "enterprising," and "patri 
 otic." 
 
 Amen ! but what business have I with palatial 
 residences? What more can I possibly want, 
 than a spacious, comfortable house? Do / want 
 buhl escritoires? Do I want or molu things? Do 
 I know any thing about pictures and statues ? In 
 the name of heaven do I want rose-pink bed-cur 
 tains to give my grizzly old phiz a delicate " au 
 roral hue," as Cream Cheese says of Mrs. P. s 
 
 complexion? Because I have made fifty thou- 
 5
 
 98 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 sand this last year in Timbuctoo bonds, must I 
 convert it all into a house, so large that it will 
 not hold me comfortably, so splendid that I 
 might as \vell live in a porcelain vase, for the 
 trouble of taking care of it, so prodigiously 
 "palatial" that I have to skulk into my private 
 room, put on my slippers, close the door, shut 
 myself up with myself, and wonder why I mar 
 ried Mrs. Potiphar ? 
 
 This house is her doing. Before I married 
 her, I would have worn yellow silk breeches on 
 Change if she had commanded me for love. 
 Now I would build her two houses twice as 
 large as this, if she required it for peace. It s 
 all over. When I came home from China I was 
 the desirable Mr. Potiphar, and every evening 
 was a field-day for me, in which I reviewed all 
 the matrimonial forces. It is astonishing, now I 
 come to think of it, how skilfully Brigadier-Gen 
 eral Mrs. Pettitoes deployed those daughters of 
 hers; how vigorously Mrs. Tabby led on her for 
 lorn hope ; and how unweariedly, Murat-like, Mrs. 
 DC Famille charged at the head of her cavalry. 
 They deserve to Ixi made Marshals of France, all
 
 A MEDITATION BY PAUL POTIPHAK, ESQ. 90 
 
 of them. And I am sure, that if women ought 
 ever to receive honorary testimonials, it is for 
 having "married a daughter well." 
 
 That s a pretty phrase ! The mammas marry, 
 the misses are married. 
 
 And yet, I don t see why I say so. I fear I 
 am getting sour. For certainly, Polly s mother 
 didn t marry Polly to me. I fell in love with 
 her; the rest followed. Old Gnu says that it s 
 true Polly s mother didn t marry her, but she 
 did marry herself, to me. 
 
 " Do you really think, Paul Potiphar," said he, 
 a few months ago, when I was troubled about 
 Polly s getting a livery, "that your wife was in 
 love with you, a dry old chip from China? Don t 
 you hear her say whenever any of her friends arc 
 engaged, that they have done very well ! and 
 made a capital match! and have you any doubt 
 of her meaning ? Don t you know that this is 
 the only country in which the word money 
 must never be named in the young female ear; 
 and in whose best society not universally nor 
 without exception, of course not ; Paul, don t be 
 a fool money makes marriages ? When you
 
 100 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 were engaged, the world said that it was a 
 capital thing for Polly. Did that mean that 
 you were a good, generous, intelligent, friendly, 
 and patient man, who would be the companion 
 for life she ought to have? You know, as well 
 as I do, and as all the people who said it know, 
 that it meant you were worth a few hundred 
 thousands, that you could build a splendid house, 
 keep horses and chariots, and live in style. You 
 and I are sensible men, Paul, and we take the 
 world as we find it ; and know that if a man 
 wants a good dinner he must pay for it. We 
 don t quarrel with this state of things. How 
 can it be helped? But we need not virtuously 
 pretend it s something else. When my wife, be 
 ing then a gay girl, first smiled at me, and looked 
 at me, and smelt at the flowers I sent her in an 
 unutterable manner, and proved to me that she 
 didn t love me by the efforts she made to show 
 that she did, why, I was foolishly smitten with 
 her, and married her. I knew that she did not 
 marry me, but sundry shares in the Patagonia 
 and Nova Zembla Consolidation, and a few hun 
 dred house lots upon the island. What then ?
 
 A MEDITATION BY PAUL POTIPHAK, ESQ. 101 
 
 I wanted her, she was willing to take me, being 
 sensible enough to know that the stock and the 
 lots had an incumbrance. Voild tout, as young 
 Boosey says. Your wife wants you to build a 
 house. You d better build it. It s the easiest 
 way. Make up your mind to Mrs. Potiphar, 
 my dear Paul, and thank heaven you ve no 
 daughters to be married off by that estimable 
 woman." 
 
 Why does a man build a house ? To live in, 
 I suppose to have a home. But is a fine house 
 a home ? I mean, is a " palatial residence," with 
 Mrs. Potiphar at the head of it, the "home" of 
 which we all dream more or less, and for which 
 we ardently long as we grow older? A house, 
 I take it, is a retreat to which a man hurries from 
 business, and in which he is compensated by the 
 tenderness and thoughtful regard of a woman, and 
 the play of his children, for the rough rubs with 
 men. I know it is a silly view of the case, but 
 I m getting old and can t help it. Mrs. Potiphar 
 is perfectly right when she says : 
 
 " You men are intolerable. After attending to 
 your own affairs all day, and being free from the
 
 102 Till-: POTIf IIAU I AI EIW. 
 
 fuss of housekeeping, you expect to come home 
 and shuttle into } our slippers, und snooze over the 
 evening paper if it were possible to snooze over 
 the exciting nnd respectable evening journal you 
 take while we are to sew, and talk with you if 
 you are talkative, and darn the stockings, and 
 make tea. You come home tired, and likely 
 enough, surly, and gloom about like a thunder 
 cloud if dinner isn t ready for you the instant 
 you are ready for it, and then sit mum and eat 
 it ; and snap at the children, and show yourselves 
 the selfish, ugly things you are. Am / to have 
 no fun, never go to the opera, never go to a ball, 
 never have a party at home ? Men are tyrants, 
 Mr. Potiphar. They are ogres who entice us 
 poor girls into their castles, and then eat up 
 our happiness, and scold us while they eat." 
 
 Well, I suppose it is so. I suppose I am an 
 ogre and enticed Polly into my castle. But she 
 didn t find it large enough, and teased me to 
 build another. I suppose she does sit with me 
 in the evening, and sew, and make tea, and wait 
 upon me. I suppose she does, but I ve not a 
 clear idea of it. I know it is unkind of me,
 
 A MEDITATION BY PAUL POT1PHAR, ESQ. 103 
 
 when I luive been hard at work all day, trying 
 to make and secure the money that gives her and 
 her family every thing they want, and which 
 wearies me body and soul, to expect her to let 
 me stay at home, and be quiet. I know I ought 
 to dress and go into Gnu s house, and smirk at 
 his wife, and stand up in a black suit before him 
 attired in the same way, and talk about the same 
 stocks that we discussed down town in the morn 
 ing in colored trowsers. That s a social duty, I 
 suppose. And I ought to see various slight 
 young gentlemen whirl my wife around the room, 
 and hear them tell her when they stop, that it s 
 very warm. That s another social dutj^, I sup 
 pose. And I must smile when the same young 
 gentlemen put their elbows into my stomach, 
 and hop on iny feet in order to extend the cir 
 cle of the dance. I m sure Mrs. P. is right. She 
 does very right to ask, "Have we no social duties, 
 I should like to know?" 
 
 And when we have performed these social 
 duties in Gnu s house, how mean it is, how "it 
 looks," not to build a larger house for him and 
 Mrs. Gnu to come and perform their social du-
 
 101 THE POT1 I ll Alt PAPERS. 
 
 ties in. I give it up. There s no doubt of 
 it. 
 
 One day Polly said to me : 
 
 "Mr. Potiphar, we re getting down town." 
 
 "What do you mean, my dear?" 
 
 " Why, every body is building above us, and 
 there are actually shops in the next street. 
 Singe, the pastry-cook, has hired Mrs. Croesus s 
 old house." 
 
 "I know it. Old Croesus told me so some 
 time ago; and he said how sorry he was to go. 
 Why, Potiphar, said he, I really hoped when 
 I built there, that I should stay, and not go out 
 of the house, finally, until I went into no other. 
 I have lived there long enough to love the 
 place, and have some associations with it ; and 
 my family have grown up in it, and love the 
 old house too. It was our home. When any 
 of us said home, we meant not the family 
 only, but the house in which the family lived, 
 where the children were all born, and where 
 two have died, and my old mother, too. I m 
 in a new house now, and have lost my reckon 
 ing entirely. I don t know the house; I ve no
 
 A MEDITATION BY PAUL POTIPHAR, ESQ. 105 
 
 associations with it. The house is new, the 
 furniture is new, and my feelings are new. It s 
 a farce for me to begin again, in this way. 
 But my wife says it s all right, that every 
 body does it, and wants to know how it can be 
 helped; and, as I don t want to argue the 
 matter, I look amen. That s the way Mr. 
 Croesus submits to his new house, Mrs. Poti- 
 phar." 
 
 She doesn t understand it. Poor child! how 
 should she ? She, and Mrs. Crcesus, and Mrs. 
 Gnu, and even Mrs. Settum Downe, are all as no 
 madic as Bedouin Arabs. The Eev. Cream Cheese 
 says, that he sees in this constant migration from 
 one house to another, a striking resemblance to 
 the " tents of a night," spoken of in Scripture. 
 He imparts this religious consolation to me 
 when I grumble. He says, that it prevents 
 a too-closely clinging affection to temporary 
 abodes. One day, at dinner, that audacious wag, 
 Boosey, asked him if the "many manthuns" 
 mentioned in the Bible, were not as true of 
 mortal as of immortal life. Mrs. Potiphar grew 
 
 purple, and Mr. Cheese looked at Boosey in the 
 
 c*
 
 106 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 most serious manner over the top of his cham 
 pagne-glass. I am glad to say that Polly has 
 properly rebuked Gauche Boosey for his irre- 
 ligion, by not asking him to her Saturday even 
 ing matinees dansantes. 
 
 There was no escape from the house, however. 
 It must be built. It was not only Mrs. Potiphnr 
 that persisted, but the spirit of the age and of the 
 country. One can t live among shops. When 
 Pearl street comes to Park Place, Park Place 
 must run for its life up to Thirtieth street. I 
 know it can t be helped, but I protested, and I 
 will protest. If I ve got to go, I ll have my 
 grumble. My wife says : 
 
 " I m ashamed of you, Potiphar. Do you pre 
 tend to be an American, and not give way will 
 ingly to the march of improvement? You had 
 better talk with Mr. Cream Cheese upon the 
 genius of the country. You are really unpa 
 triotic, you show nothing of the enterprising 
 spirit of your time." "Yes," I answer. "That s 
 pretty from you ; you are patriotic, are n t you, 
 with your liveries and illimitable expenses, and 
 your low bows to money, and your immense inti-
 
 A MEDITATION BY PAUL POTIPIIAE, ESQ. 107 
 
 macy with all lords and ladies that honor the city 
 by visiting it. You are prodigiously patriotic with 
 your inane imitations of a splendor impossible to 
 you in the nature of things. You are the ideal 
 American woman, aren t you, Mrs. Potiphar." 
 
 Then I run, for I m afraid of myself, as much 
 as of her. I am sick of this universal plea of 
 patriotism. It is used to excuse all the follies that 
 outrage it. I am not patriotic if I don t do this 
 and that, which, if done, is a ludicrous caricature 
 of something foreign. I am not up to the time if 
 I persist in having my own comfort in rny own 
 way. I try to resist the irresistible march of im 
 provement, if I decline to build a great house, 
 which, when it is built, is a puny copy of a bad 
 model. I am veiy unpatriotic if I am not try 
 ing to outspend foreign noblemen, and if I don t 
 affect, without education, or taste, or habit, what 
 is only beautiful, when it is the result of the three. 
 
 However, this is merely my grumble. I knew, 
 the first morning Mrs. Potiphar spoke of a new 
 house, that I must build it. What she said was 
 perfectly true; w r e were getting down town, there 
 was no doubt of the growing inconvenience of
 
 108 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 our situation. It was becoming a dusty, noisy 
 region. The congregation of the Kev. Far Niente 
 had sold their church and moved up town. Now 
 doesn t it really seem as if we were a cross between 
 the Arabs who dwell in tents and those who live 
 in cities, for we are migratory in the city ? A di 
 rectory is a more imperative annual necessity here 
 than in any other civilized region. My wife says 
 it is a constant pleasure to her to go round and see 
 the new houses and the new furniture of her new 
 friends, every year. I saw that I must submit. 
 But I determined to make little occasional stands 
 against it. So one day I said : 
 
 " Polly, do you know that the wives of all the 
 noblemen who will be your very dear and inti 
 mate friends and models when you go abroad, 
 always live in the same houses in London, and 
 Paris, and Rome, and Vienna ? Do you know 
 that Northumberland House is so called because 
 it is the hereditary town mansion of the Duke, 
 and that the son and daughter-in-law of Lord 
 Londonderry will live after him in the house 
 where his father and mother lived before him? 
 Did that ever occur to you, my dear ?"
 
 A MEDITATION BY PAUL POTIPHAR, ESQ. 109 
 
 "Mr. Potiphar," she replied, "do you mean 
 to go by the example of foreign noblemen? I 
 thought you always laughed at me for what you 
 call aping. " 
 
 "So I do, and so I will continue to do, Mrs. 
 Potiphar ; only I thought that, perhaps, you would 
 like to know the fact, because it might make you 
 more lenient to me when I regretted leaving our 
 old house here. It has an aristocratic precedent." 
 
 Poor, dear little Mrs. P. ! It didn t take as 
 I meant it should, and I said no more. Yet it 
 does seem to me a pity that we lose all the in 
 terest and advantage of a homestead. The house 
 and its furniture become endeared by long resi 
 dence, and by their mute share in all the chances 
 of our life. The chair in which some dear old 
 friend so often sat father and mother, perhaps 
 and in which they shall sit no more ; the old- 
 fashioned table with the cuts and scratches that 
 generations of children have made upon it; the 
 old book-cases ; the heavy sideboard ; the glass, 
 from which such bumpers sparkled for those who 
 are hopelessly scattered now, or for ever gone; 
 the doors they opened; the walls that echoed their
 
 110 THE POTIPIIAK PAPERS. 
 
 long-hushed laughter, are we wise when we part 
 with them all, or, when compelled to do so, to 
 leave them eagerly? 
 
 I remember my brother James used to say : 
 " What is our envy for our country friends, 
 but that their homes are permanent and charac 
 teristic? Their children s children may play in 
 the same garden. Each annual festival may 
 summon them to the old hearth. In the meet 
 ing-house they sit in the wooden pews where 
 long ago they sat and dreamed of Jerusalem, 
 and now as they sit there, that long ago is 
 fairer than the holy city. Through the open 
 window they see the grass waving softly in the 
 summer air, over old graves dearer to them 
 than many new houses. By a thousand tangible 
 and visible associations they are still, with a pecu 
 liar sense of actuality, near to all they love." 
 Polly would call it a sentimental whim if 
 she could take Mrs. Croesus s advice before she 
 spoke of it but what then ? When I was 
 fifteen, I fell desperately in love with Lucy 
 Lamb. " Pooh, pooh," said my father, " you 
 are romantic, it s all a whim of yours."
 
 A MEDITATION BY PAUL POTIPHAR, ESQ. Ill 
 
 And he succeeded in breaking it up. I went 
 to China, and Lucy married old Firkin, and lived 
 in a splendid house, and now lies in a splendid 
 tomb of Carrara marble, exquisitely sculptured. 
 
 When I was forty, I came home from China, 
 and the old gentleman said, " I want you to 
 marry Arabella Bobbs, the heiress. It will be 
 a good match." 
 
 I said to him. 
 
 " Pooh, pooh, my dear father, you are mer 
 cenary ; it s all a whim of yours." 
 
 " My dear son, I know it," said he, " the 
 whole thing is whim. You can live on a 
 hundred dollars a year, if you choose. But 
 you have the whim of a good dinner, of a 
 statue, of a book. Why not? Only be careful 
 in following your whims, that they really come 
 to something. Have as many whims as you 
 please, but don t follow them all." 
 
 " Certainly not," said I ; and fell in love 
 with the present Mrs. Potiphar, and married 
 her, off-hand. So, if she calls this genuine in 
 fluence of association a mere whim let it go 
 at that. She is a whim, too. My mistake
 
 112 THE POTIPIIAR PAPERS. 
 
 simply was in not following out the romantic 
 whim, and marrying Lucy Lamb. At least it 
 seems to me so, this morning. In fact, sitting 
 in my very new " palatial residence," the whole 
 business of life seems to me rather whimsical. 
 
 For here I am, come into port at last. No 
 longer young, but worth a good fortune, master 
 of a great house, respected down town, hus 
 band of Mrs. Potiphar, and father of Master 
 Frederic ditto. Per contra; I shall never be in 
 love again, in getting my fortune I have lost 
 my real life, my house is dreary, Mrs. Poti 
 phar is not Lucy Lamb, and Master Frederic 
 is a good boy. 
 
 The game is all up for me, and yet I trust I 
 have good feeling enough left to sympathize 
 with those who are still playing. I see girls 
 as lovely and dear as any of which poets have 
 sung as fresh as dew-drops, and beautiful as 
 morning. I watch their glances, and understand 
 them better than they know for they do not 
 dream that "old Potiphar" does any thing more 
 than pay Mrs. P. s bills. I see the youths 
 nervous about neckcloths, and anxious that
 
 A MEDITATION BY PAUL POTIFHAK, ESQ. 118 
 
 their hair shall be parted straight behind. I 
 see them all wear the same tie, the same trow- 
 sers, the same boots. I hear them all say the 
 same thing, and dance with the same partners 
 in the same way. I see them go to Europe and 
 return I hear them talk slang to show that 
 they have exhausted human life in foreign parts, 
 and observe them demean themselves according 
 to their idea of the English nobleman. I watch 
 them go in strongly for being "manly," and 
 " smashing the spoonies" asserting intimacies 
 with certain uncertain women in Paris, and 
 proving it by their treatment of ladies at home. 
 I see them fuddle themselves on fine wines and 
 talk like cooks, play heavily and lose, and win, 
 and pay, and drink, and maintain a conservative 
 position in politics, denouncing " Uncle Tom s 
 Cabin," as a false and fanatical tract ; and de 
 claring that our peculiar institutions are our 
 own affair, and that John Bull had better keep 
 his eyes at home to look into his coal mines. 
 I see this vigorous fermentation subside, and 
 much clear character deposited and, also, much 
 life and talent muddled for ever.
 
 114 HIE rOTUMIAR PAFEltS. 
 
 It is whimsical, because this absurd spectacle 
 is presented by manikins who are made of the 
 same clay as Plutarch s heroes because, delib 
 erately, they prefer cabbages to roses. I am not 
 at all angry with them. On the contrary, when 
 they dance well I look on with pleasure. Man 
 ought to dance, but he ought to do something 
 else, too. All genial gentlemen in all ages 
 have danced. Who quarrels with dancing ? 
 Ask Mrs. Potiphar if I ever objected to it. 
 But then, people must dance at their own risk. 
 If Lucy Lamb, by dancing with young Boosey 
 when he is tipsy, shows that she has no self- 
 respect, how can I, coolly talking with Mrs. 
 Lamb in the corner, and gravely looking 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 fa 
 miliar 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
 
 A MEDITATION BY PAUL POT1PI1AR, ESQ. Ho 
 
 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 re 
 bels ? And yet the laws of social life are so 
 stern, that Lucy must make the terrible deci 
 sion, whether it is better to waltz with James 
 or worse to waltz with John ! " Whether," to 
 put it strongly with Father Jerome, "heaven is 
 pleasantcr 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 mis 
 take. T don t see how they could have helped
 
 116 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 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: 
 
 " There it is again ; always reading those ex 
 aggerated sketches of society. Odious man that 
 he is. I am sure he never knew a truly womanly 
 woman." 
 
 " Polly, when he comes back in September I ll 
 introduce him to you," is the only answer I have 
 time to make, for it is already half past ten, and 
 Mrs. P. must be off to the ball. 
 
 I know that our set is not the world, nor the 
 country, nor the city. I know that the amiable 
 youths who are in league to crush spooneyism 
 are not many, and well I know, that in our set 
 (I mean Mrs. P. s) there are hearts as noble and 
 characters as lofty as in any time and in any 
 land. And yet, as the father of a family (viz.
 
 A MEDITATION BY PAUL POTIPHAR, ESQ. 117 
 
 Frederic, our son), I am constrained to believe 
 that our social tendency is to the wildest extrav 
 agance. Here, for instance, is my house. It cost 
 me. eighty -five thousand dollars. It is superbly 
 furnished. Mrs. P. and I don t know much about 
 such things. She was only stringent for buhl, 
 and the last Parisian models, so we delivered our 
 house into the hands of certain eminent uphol 
 sterers to be furnished, as we send Frederic to 
 the tailor s to be clothed. To be sure, I asked 
 what proof we had that the upholsterer was 
 possessed of taste. But Mrs. P. silenced me, 
 by saying that it was his business to have taste, 
 and that a man who sold furniture, naturally 
 knew what was handsome and proper for my 
 house. 
 
 The furnishing was certainly performed with 
 great splendor and expense. My drawing-rooms 
 strongly resemble the warehouse of an ideal 
 cabinet-maker. Every whim of table every 
 caprice of chair and sofa, is satisfied in those 
 rooms. There are curtains like rainbows, and 
 carpets, as if the curtains had dripped all over 
 the floor. There are heavy cabinets of carved
 
 118 THK POTII IIAK 1 Al KHS. 
 
 walnut, such as belong MI the heavy wainscotted 
 rooms of old palaces, set against my last French 
 pattern of wall paper. There are lofty chairs, 
 like the thrones of archbishops in Gothic cathe 
 drals, standing by the side of the elaborately 
 gilded frames of mirrors. Marble statues of Ve 
 nus and the Apollo support my mantels, upon 
 which or molu Louis Quatorze clocks ring the 
 hours. In all possible places there are statues, 
 statuettes, vases, plates, teacups, and liquor-cases. 
 The wood- work, when white, is elaborated in 
 Moresco carving when oak and walnut, it is 
 heavily moulded. The contrasts are pretty, but 
 rather sudden. In truth, my house is a huge 
 curiosity-shop of valuable articles. clustered 
 without taste, or feeling, or reason. They are 
 there, because rny house was large and I was 
 able to buy them ; and because, as Mrs. P. says, 
 one must have buhl and or molu, and new 
 forms of furniture, and do as well as one s 
 neighbors, and show that one is rich, if he is 
 so. They are there, in fact, because I couldn t 
 help it. I didn t want them, but then I don t 
 know what I did want. Somehow I don t feel
 
 A MKD1TATION BV PAL L POTIPIIAR, ESQ. 119 
 
 as if 1 had a home, merely because orders were 
 given to the best upholsterers and fancy-men in 
 town to send a sample of all their wares to my 
 house. To pay a morning call at Mrs. Poti- 
 phar s is, in some ways, better than going shop 
 ping. You see more new and costly things in 
 a shorter time. People say, "What a love of a 
 chair ! " What a darling table !" " What a 
 heavenly sofa !" and they all go and tease 
 their husbands to get things precisely like them. 
 When Kurz Pacha, the Sennaar minister, came 
 to a dinner at my house, he said : 
 
 " Bless my soul ! Mr. Potiphar, your house 
 is just like your neighbor s." 
 
 I know it. I am perfectly aware that there 
 is no more difference between my house and 
 Croesus s, than there is in two ten-dollar bills 
 of the same bank. He might live in my house 
 and I in his, without any confusion. He has 
 the same curtains, carpets, chairs, tables, Ve- 
 nuses, Apollos, busts, vases, &c. And he goes 
 into his room, and thinks it s all a devilish 
 bore, just as I do. We have each got to re 
 furnish every few years, and therefore have no
 
 120 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 possible opportunity for attaching ourselves to 
 the objects about us. Unfortunately Kurz Pacha 
 particularly detested precisely what Mrs. P. most 
 liked, because it is the fashion to like them. I 
 mean the Louis Quatorze and the Louis Quinze 
 things. 
 
 " Taste, dear Mrs. Potiphar," said the Pacha, 
 " was a thing not known in the days of those 
 kings. Grace was entirely supplanted by gro- 
 tesqueness, and now, instead of pure and beauti 
 ful Greek forms, we must collect these hideous 
 things. If you are going backward to find 
 models, why not go as far as the good ones? 
 My dear madam, an or molu Louis Quatorze 
 clock would have given Pericles a fit. Your 
 drawing-rooms would have thrown Aspasia into 
 hysterics. Things are not beautiful because 
 they cost money ; nor is any grouping handsome 
 without harmony. Your house is like a wonjan 
 dressed in Ninon de 1 Enclos s bodice, with 
 Queen Anne s hooped skirt, who limps in Chi 
 nese shoes, and wears an Elizabethan ruff round 
 her neck, and a Druse s horn on her head. My 
 dear madam, this is the kind of thing we go to
 
 A MEDITATION BY PAUL POTiPHAR, ESQ. 121 
 
 see in museums. It is the old stock joke of 
 the world." 
 
 By Jove ! how mad Mrs. Potiphar was ! She 
 rose from table, to the great dismay of Kurz 
 Pacha, and I could only restrain her by remind 
 ing her that the Sennaar Minister had but an 
 imperfect idea of our language, and that in 
 Sennaar people probably said what they thought 
 when they conversed. 
 
 " You d better go to Sennaar, then, yourself, 
 Mr. Potiphar," said my wife, as she smoothed 
 her rumpled feathers. 
 
 "Ton my word, madam, it s my own 
 opinion," replied I. 
 
 Kurz Pacha, who is a philosopher (of the 
 Sennaar school), asks me if people have no 
 ideas of their own in building houses. I 
 answer, none, that I know of, except that of 
 getting the house built. The fact is, it is as 
 much as Paul Potiphar can do, to make the 
 money to erect his palatial residence, and then 
 to keep it going. There are a great many fine 
 statues in my house, but I know nothing about 
 
 them ; I don t see why we should have such 
 r,
 
 122 THK POTIPIIAK PAPERS. 
 
 heatlien images in reputable houses. But Mrs. 
 P. says: 
 
 " Pooh ! have you no ove for tne fine arts? 1 
 
 There it is ! It doesn t do not to love the 
 fine arts; so Polly is continually cluttering up 
 the halls and staircases with marble, and send 
 ing me heavy bills for the same. 
 
 When the house was ready, and my wife had 
 purchased the furniture, she came and said to me: 
 
 " Now, my dear P., there is one thing we 
 haven t thought of." 
 
 "What s that?" 
 
 " Pictures, you know, dear." 
 
 "What do you want pictures for?" growled 
 I, and rather surlily, I am afraid. 
 
 " Why to furnish the walls ; what do you 
 suppose we want pictures for?" 
 
 " I tell you, Polly," said I, " that pictures are 
 the most extravagant kind of furniture. Pshaw ! 
 a man rubs and dabbles a little upon a canvas 
 two feet square, and then coolly asks three hun 
 dred dollars for it." 
 
 "Dear me, Pot," she answered, "I don t want 
 home-made pictures. What an idea 1 Do you
 
 A MEDITATION BY PAUL POTIPHAR, ESQ. 123 
 
 think I d have pictures on my walls that were 
 painted in this country ? No, my dear husband, 
 let us have some choice specimens of the old 
 masters. A landscape by Eayfel, for instance ; 
 or one of Angel s fruit pieces, or a cattle scene 
 by Verynees, or a Madonna of Giddo s, or a boar- 
 hunt of Hannibal Crackkey s." 
 
 What was the use of fighting against this sort 
 of thing ? I told her to have it her own way. 
 Mrs. P. consulted Singe the pastry cook, who 
 told her his cousin had just come out from Italy 
 with a lot of the very finest pictures in the world, 
 which he had bribed one of the Pope s guard 
 to steal from the Vatican, and which he would 
 sell at a bargain. 
 
 They hang on my walls now. They represent 
 nothing in particular ; but in certain lights, if you 
 look very closely, you can easily recognize some 
 thing in them that looks like a lump of something 
 brown. There is one very ugly woman with a 
 convulsive child in her arms, to which Mrs. P. 
 directly takes all her visitors, and asks them to 
 admire the beautiful Shay douver of Giddo s. 
 When I go out to dinner with people that talk
 
 124 THE POTII HAK I Al KKH. 
 
 pictures and books, and that kind of thing, 1 
 don t like to seem behind, so I say, in a critical 
 way, that Giddo was a good painter. None of 
 them contradict me, and one day when somebody 
 asked, " Which of his pictures do you prefer ?" 
 I answered straight, "His Shay dourer," and no 
 more questions were asked. 
 
 They hang all about the house no\v. The 
 Giddo is in the dining-room. I asked the Sennaar 
 Minister if it wasn t odd to have a religious pic 
 ture in the dining-room. lie smiled, and said that 
 it was perfectly proper if I liked it, and if the 
 picture of such an ugly woman didn t take away 
 my appetite. 
 
 What difference does it make," said he, in the 
 Sennaar manner, " it would be equally out of 
 keeping with every other room in your house. 
 My dear Potiphar, it is a perfectly unprincipled 
 house, this of yours. If your mind were in the 
 condition of your house, so ill-assorted, so con 
 fused, so overloaded with things that don t belong 
 together, you would never make another cent. 
 You have order, propriety, harmony, in your 
 dealings with the Symmes s Hole Bore Co., and
 
 A MEDITATION BY PAUL POTIPHAR, ESQ. 125 
 
 tliey are the secrets of your success. Why not 
 have the same elements in your house? Why 
 pitch every century, country, and fashion, hig 
 gledy-piggledy into your parlors and dining- 
 room ? Have every thing you can get, in 
 heaven s name, but have every thing in its place. 
 If you are a plodding tradesman, knowing and 
 caring nothing about pictures, or books, or statu 
 ary, or objets de vertu ; don t have them. Sup 
 pose your neighbor chooses to put them in his 
 house. If he has them merely because he had 
 the money to pay for them, he is the butt of 
 every picture and book he owns. 
 
 " When I meet Mr. Croesus in Wall street, I 
 respect him as I do a king in his palace, or a 
 scholar in his study. He is master of the occa 
 sion. He commands like Nelson at the Nile. 
 I, who am merely a diplomatist, skulk and hurry 
 along, and if Mr. Croesus smiles, I inwardly thank 
 him for his charity. Wall street is Croesus s 
 sphere, and all his powers play there perfectly. 
 But when I meet him in his house, surrounded 
 by objects of art, by the triumphs of a skill 
 which he does not understand, and for which he
 
 126 THE POTIP1IAR PAPERS. 
 
 cares nothing, of which, in fact, he seems afraid, 
 because he knows any chance question about 
 them would trip him up, my feeling is very 
 much changed. If I should ask him what or moln 
 is, I don t believe he could answer, though his 
 splendid or rnolu clock rang, indignant, from the 
 mantel. But if I should say, Invest me this 
 thousand dollars, he would secure me eight per 
 cent. It certainly isn t necessary to know what 
 or molu is, nor to have any other objet de vertu but 
 your wife. Then why should you barricade your 
 self behind all these things that you really cannot 
 enjoy, because you don t understand ? If you 
 could not read Italian, you would be a fool to buy 
 Dante, merely because you knew he was a great 
 loet. And, in the same way, if you know nothing 
 r.bout matters of art, it is equally foolish for you 
 to buy statues and pictures, although you hear on 
 all sides, that, as Mrs. P. says, one must love art. 
 " As for learning from your own pictures, you 
 know, perfectly well, that until you have some 
 taste in the matter, you will be paying money for 
 your pictures, blindly, so that the only persons 
 upon whom your display of art would make any
 
 A MEDITATION BY PAUL POTIPHAR, ESQ. 127 
 
 impression, will be the very ones to see that you 
 know nothing about it. 
 
 " In Sennaar, a man is literally the master of 
 the house. 1 He isn t surrounded by what he does 
 not understand; he is not obliged to talk book, 
 and picture, when he knows nothing about these 
 matters. He is not afraid of his parlor, and you 
 feel instantly upon entering the house, the charac 
 ter of the master. Please, my dear Mr. Potiphar, 
 survey your mansion and tell me what kind of a 
 man it indicates. If it does not proclaim (in your 
 case) the President of the Patagonia Junction, 
 a man shrewd, and hard, and solid, without taste 
 or liberal cultivation, it is a painted deceiver. If 
 it tries to insinuate by this chaotic profusion of 
 rich arid rare objects, that you are a cultivated, 
 accomplished, tasteful, and generous man, it is a 
 bad lie, because a transparent one. Why, my 
 dear old Pot, the moment your servant opens the 
 front door, a man of sense perceives the whole 
 thing. You and Mrs. Potiphar are bullied by all 
 the brilliancy you have conjured up. It is the 
 old story of the fisherman and the genii. And 
 your guests all see it. They are too well-bred
 
 128 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 to speak of it ; but I come from Sennaar, where 
 we do not lay so much stress upon that kind 
 of good-breeding. Mr. Paul Potiphar, it is one 
 thing to have plenty of money, and quite another, 
 to know how to spend it." 
 
 Now, as I told him, this kind of talk may 
 do very well in Sennaar, but it is absurd in a 
 country like ours. How are people to know 
 that I m rich, unless I show it? I m sorry for 
 it, but how shall I help it, having Mrs. P. at 
 hand ? 
 
 " How about the library ?" said she one day. 
 
 " What library ?" inquired I. 
 
 " Why, our library, of course." 
 
 "I haven t any." 
 
 " Do you mean to have such a house as this 
 without a library?" 
 
 " Why," said I plaintively, " I don t read 
 books I never did, and I never shall ; and I 
 don t care any thing about them. Why should 
 I have a library ?" 
 
 " Why, because it s part of a house like this." 
 
 "Mrs. P., are you fond of books?" 
 
 "No, not particularly. But one must have
 
 A MEDITATION BY PAUL POTIPHAR, ESQ. 129 
 
 some regard to appearances. Suppose we are 
 Hottentots, }^ou don t want us to look so, do 
 you?" 
 
 I thought that it was quite as barbarous to 
 imprison a lot of books that we should never 
 open, and that would stand in gilt upon the 
 shelves, silently laughing us to scorn, as not to 
 have them if we didn t want them. I proposed 
 a compromise. 
 
 "Is it the looks of the thing, Mrs. P.?" 
 said I. 
 
 " That s all," she answered. 
 
 " Oh ! well, I ll arrange it." 
 
 So I had my shelves built, and my old friends 
 Matthews and Eider furnished me with complete 
 sets of handsome gilt covers to all the books that 
 no gentleman s library should be without, which 
 I arranged, carefully, upon the shelves, and had 
 the best-looking library in town. I locked em 
 in, and the key is always lost when any body 
 wants to take down a book. However, it was 
 a good investment in leather, for it brings me 
 in the reputation of a reading man and a patron 
 
 of literature. 
 6*
 
 130 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 Mrs. P. is a religious woman the Rev. Cream 
 Cheese takes care of that but onl}- yesterday 
 she proposed something to me that smells very 
 strongly of candlesticks. 
 
 "Pot., I want a prie-dieu." 
 
 " Pray-do what ?" answered I. 
 
 "Stop, you wicked man. I say I want a 
 kneeling-chair." 
 
 "A kneeling-chair?" I gasped, utterly confused. 
 
 "A prie-dieu a prie-dieu to pray in, you 
 know." 
 
 My Sennaar friend, who was at table, choked. 
 "When he recovered, and we were sipping the 
 " Blue seal," he told me that he thought Mrs. 
 Potiphar in a prie-dieu was rather a more amus 
 ing idea than Giddo s Madonna in the dining- 
 room. 
 
 "She will insist upon its being carved hand 
 somely in walnut. She will not pray upon 
 pine. It is a romantic, not a religious, whim. 
 She ll want a missal next; vellum or no prayers. 
 This is piety of the Lady Alice school. It 
 belongs to a fine lady and a fine house pre 
 cisely as your library does, and it will be pre-
 
 A MEDITATION BY PAUL POTIPHAR, ESQ. 131 
 
 cisely as genuine. Mrs. Potiphar in a prie-diea 
 is like that blue morocco Comus in yowr library. 
 It is charming to look at, but there s nothing 
 in it. Let her have the prie-dieu by all means, 
 and then begin to build a chapel. No gentle 
 man s house should be without a chapel. You ll 
 have to come to it, Potiphar. You ll have to 
 hear Cream Cheese read morning prayers in a 
 purple chasuble, que sais-je? You ll see religion 
 made a part of the newest fashion in houses, 
 as you already see literature and art, and with 
 just as much reality and reason." 
 
 Privately, I am glad the Sennaar minister has 
 gone out of town. It s bad enough to be uncom 
 fortable in your own house without* knowing why ; 
 but to have a philosopher of the Sennaar school 
 show you why you are so, is cutting it rather too 
 fat. I am gradually getting resigned to my house. 
 I ve got one more struggle to go through next 
 week in Mrs. Potiphar s musical party. The 
 morning soire es are over for the season, and 
 Mrs. P. begins to talk of the watering places. 
 I am getting gradually resigned ; but only grad 
 ual lv.
 
 132 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 Oh ! dear me, I wonder if this is the " home, 
 sweet home" business the girls used to sing 
 about ! Music does certainly alter cases. I 
 can t quite get used to it. Last week I was 
 one morning in the basement breakfast-room, 
 and I heard an extra cried. I ran out of the 
 area door dear me! before I thought what I 
 was about, I emerged bareheaded from under 
 the steps, and ran a little way after the boy. 
 I know it wasn t proper. I am sorry, very sorry. 
 I am afraid Mrs. Croesus saw me ; I know Mrs. 
 Gnu told it all about that morning: and Mrs. 
 Settum Downe called directly upon Mrs. Poti- 
 phar, to know if it were really true that I had 
 lost my wits, as every body was saying. I don t 
 know what Mrs. P. answered. I am sorry to 
 have compromised her so. I went immediately 
 and ordered a pray-do of the blackest walnut. 
 My resignation is very gradual. Kurz Pacha 
 says they put on gravestones in Sennaar three 
 Latin words do you know Latin ? if you don t, 
 come and borrow some of my books. The words 
 are: ora pro me!
 
 IV. 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 wmm*r Siaru of Mitttrba
 
 I rom tjjf Summer Jliarj) of Hlmerira 
 Cattle. 
 
 NEWPORT, August. 
 
 IT certainly is not papa s fault that lie doesn t 
 understand French ; but he ought not to pretend 
 to. It does put one in such uncomfortable situ 
 ations occasionally. In fact, I think it would be 
 quite as well if we could sometimes " sink the 
 paternal," as Timon Croesus says. I suppose 
 every body has heard of the awful speech pa 
 made in the parlor at Saratoga. My dearest 
 friend, Tabby Dormouse, told me she had heard 
 of it every where, and that it was ten times as 
 absurd each time it was repeated. By the by, 
 Tabby is a dear creature, isn t she ? It s so nice 
 to have a spy in the enemy s camp, as it were, 
 and to hear every thing that every body says
 
 136 THE POT1PHAU PAPKHS. 
 
 about you. She is not handsome, poor, dear 
 Tabby ! There s no denying it, but she can t 
 help it. I was obliged to tell young Downe so, 
 quite decidedly, for I really think lie had an 
 idea she was good-looking. The idea of Tabby 
 Dormouse being handsome ! But she is a useful 
 little thing in her way ; one of my intimates. 
 
 The true story is this. 
 
 Ma and I had persuaded pa to take us to Sara 
 toga, for we heard the English party were to be 
 there, and we were anxious they should see some 
 good society, at least. It seems such a pity they 
 shouldn t know what handsome dresses we. really 
 do have in this country ! And I mentioned to 
 some of the most English of our young men, that 
 there might be something to be done at Sara 
 toga. But they shrugged their shoulders, espe 
 cially Timon Croesus and Gauche Boosey, and 
 said 
 
 " Well, really, the fact is, Miss Tattle, all the 
 Englishmen I have ever met are in fact a little 
 snobbish. However." 
 
 That was about wliat they said. But I thought, 
 considering their fondness of the English model
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 137 
 
 in dress and manner, that they might have been 
 more willing to meet some genuine aristocracy. 
 Yet, perhaps, that handsome Col. Abattew is right 
 in saying with his grand military air, 
 
 " The British aristocracy, madam, the British 
 aristocracy is vulgar." 
 
 Well, we all went up to Saratoga. But the 
 distinguished strangers did not come. I held 
 back that last muslin of mine, the yellow one, 
 embroidered with the Alps, and a distant view 
 of the isles of Greece worked on the flounces, 
 until it was impossible to wait longer. I meant 
 to wear it at dinner the first day they came, with 
 the pearl necklace and the opal studs, and that 
 heavy ruby necklace (it is a low-necked dress). 
 The dining-room at the " United States" is so 
 large that it shows off those dresses finely, and 
 if the waiter doesn t let the soup or the gravy 
 slip, and your neighbor, (who is, like as not, 
 what Tabby Dormouse, with her incapacity to 
 pronounce the r, calls " some aw, uff man from 
 the country,") doesn t put the leg of his chair 
 through the dress, and if you don t muss it sit 
 ting down why, I should like to know a prettier
 
 188 THE POTli HAK PAPERS. 
 
 place to wear a lo\v-neckeJ muslin, with jewels, 
 than the dining-room of the " United States" at 
 Saratoga. 
 
 Kurx Pacha, the Sennaar minister, who was up 
 there, and who is so smitten with Mrs. Potiphar, 
 said that lie had known few happier moments in 
 this country than the dining hour at the " United 
 States/ 
 
 " When the gong sounds," says he, " I am re 
 minded of the martial music of Sennaar. When 
 I seat myself in the midst of such splendor of 
 toilette, and in an apartment so stately and so 
 appropriate for that display, I recall the taste 
 of the Grim Tartars, to whose ruler I had the 
 honor of being first accredited ambassador. 
 When I behold, with astonished eyes, the en 
 trance of that sable society, the measured echo 
 of whose footfalls so properly silences the con 
 versation of all the nobles, I seem to see the 
 regular army of my beloved Sennaar investing 
 a conquered city. This, I cry to myself, with 
 enthusiasm, this is the height of civilization ; and 
 I privately hand one of the privates in that grand 
 armv, a gold dollar, to bring me a dish of beans.
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 139 
 
 Each green bean, O greener envoy extraordinary, 
 I say to myself with rapture, should be well 
 worth its weight in gold, when served to such 
 a congress of kings, queens, and hereditary prince 
 royals as are assembled here. And I find," con 
 tinues the Pacha, "that I am right. The guest 
 at this banquet is admitted to the freedom of 
 corn and potatoes, only after negotiations with 
 the sable military. It is quite the perfection of 
 organization. What hints I shall gather for the 
 innocent pleasure-seekers of Sennaar, who still 
 fancy that when they bargain for a draught of 
 rose sherbet, they have tacitly agreed for a glass 
 to drink it from ! 
 
 "Why, the first day I carne," he went on, "I 
 was going to my room, and met the chamber 
 maid coming out. Now, as I had paid a colored 
 gentleman a dollar for my dinner, in addition to 
 the little bill which I settle at the office, I thought 
 it w r as equally necessary to secure my bed by a 
 slight fee to the goddess of the chambers. I 
 therefore pulled out my purse, and offered her 
 a bill of a small amount. She turned the color 
 of tomatoes.
 
 140 TUE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 " Sir, exclaimed she, and with dignity, do 
 you mean to insult me? 
 
 " Good heavens, miss, cried I, quite the 
 contrary, and thinking it was not enough, I pre 
 sented another bill of a larger amount. 
 
 " Sir, said she, half sobbing, you are no gen 
 tleman ; I shall leave the house ! 
 
 " I was very much perplexed. I began again : 
 
 " Miss-^-my dear I mean madam how much 
 must I pay you to secure my room ? 
 
 "I don t understand you, sir, replied the 
 chambermaid, somewhat mollified. 
 
 " Why, my dear girl, if I paid Sambo a dollar 
 for my dinner, I expect to pay Dolly something 
 for my chamber, of course. 
 
 "Well, sir, you are certainly very kind, I 
 with pleasure, I m sure, replied she, entirely ap 
 peased, taking the money, and vanishing. 
 
 "I," said Kurz Pacha, "entered my room and 
 locked the door. But I believe I was a little 
 hasty about giving her the money. The perfec 
 tion of civil i-zation has not yet mounted the stairs. 
 It is confined to the dining-room. How beautiful 
 is that strain from the Favorita, Miss Minerva,
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 141 
 
 turn turn, ti ti, turn turn, tee tee," and tlie delight 
 ful Sennaar ambassador, seeing Mrs. Potiphar in 
 the parlor, danced, humming, away. 
 
 There are few pleasanter men in society. I 
 should think with his experience he would be 
 hard upon us, but he is not. The air of courts 
 does not seem to have spoiled him. 
 
 " My dear madam," he said one evening to 
 Mrs. Potiphar, " if you laugh at any thing, your 
 laughing is laughed at next day. Life is short. 
 If you can t see the jewel in the toad s head, still 
 believe in it. Take it for granted. The Parisi- 
 enne says that the English woman has noje ne sais 
 quoi. The English woman says the Parisienne has 
 no aplomb. Amen ! When you are in Turkey 
 why, gobble. Why should I decline to have a 
 good time at the Queen s drawing-room, because 
 English women have no je ne sais quoi, or at 
 the grand opera, because French women lack 
 aplomb*! Take things smoothly. Life is a merry- 
 go-round. Look at your own grandfather, dear 
 Mrs. Potiphar, fine old gent! -m MI, I am told, 
 rather kept in what the artists call the middle- 
 distance, at present, a capital shoemaker, who
 
 142 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 did his work well, Alexander and John Howard 
 did no more: well, here you are, you see, witli 
 liveries and a pew in the right church, and al 
 together a front seat in the universe merry-go- 
 round, you know; here we go up, up, up; here 
 we go down, down, down, &c. By-the-bye, pretty 
 strain that from Linda; turn turn, ti turn turn," 
 and away hopped the Sennaar minister. 
 
 Mrs. Potiphar was angry. Who wouldn t have 
 been? To have the old family shoes thrown in 
 one s teeth ! But our ambassador is an ambassa 
 dor. One must have the best society, and she 
 swallowed it as she has swallowed it a hundred 
 times before. She quietly remarked 
 
 "Pity Kurz Pacha drinks so abominably. He 
 quite forgets what he s saying! 7 
 
 I suppose he does, if Mrs. P. says so : but he 
 seems to know well enough all the time: as he 
 did that evening in the library at Mrs. Potiphar ?, 
 when he drew Cerulea Bass to the book-shelves, 
 and began to dispute about a line in Milton, and 
 then suddenly looking up at the books, said 
 
 " Ah ! there s Milton ; now we ll see." But 
 when he opened the case, which was foolishly left
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 143 
 
 unlocked, he took down only a bit of wood, 
 bound in blue morocco, which he turned slowly 
 over, so that every body saw it, and then quietly 
 returned it to the shelf, saying only 
 
 " I beg pardon." 
 
 Old Pot., as Mrs. P. calls him, happened to 
 be passing at the moment, and cried out in his 
 brusque way 
 
 "Oh! I haven t laid in my books yet. Those 
 are only samples pattern-cards, you know. I 
 don t believe you ll find there a single book 
 that a gentleman s library shouldn t be without. 
 I got old Vellum to do the thing up right, you 
 know. I guess he knows about the books to 
 buy. But I ve just laid in some claret that 
 you ll like, and I ve got a sample of the Stein 
 berg. Old Corque understands that kind of thing, 
 if any body does." And the two gentlemen 
 went off to try the wine. 
 
 I am astonished that a man of Kurz Pacha s 
 tact should have opened the book-case. People 
 have no right to suppose that the pretty bind 
 ings on one s shelves are books. Why, they 
 might as well insist upon trying if the bloom
 
 144: T11K POTJPHAH PAPERS. 
 
 on one s cheek, or the lace on one s dress, or, 
 in fact, one s figure, were real. Such things 
 are addressed to the eye. No gentleman uses 
 his hands in good society. I ve no doubt they 
 were originally put into gloves to keep them 
 out of mischief. 
 
 I am as bad as dear Mrs. Potiphar about com 
 ing to the point of my story. But the truth is, 
 that in such engrossing places as Saratoga and 
 Newport, it is hardly possible to determine which 
 is the pleasantest and most important thing among 
 BO many. I am so fond of that old, droll Kurx; 
 Pacha, that if I begin to talk about him I forget 
 
 0F_ 
 
 every thing else. He says such nice things about 
 people that nobody else would dare to say, and 
 that eveny body is so glad to hear. lie is in 
 valuable in society. And yet one is never safe. 
 People say he isn t gentlemanly ; but when I see 
 the style of man that is called gentlemanly, I am 
 very glad he is not.- All the solemn, pompous 
 men who stand about like owls, and never speak, 
 nor laugh, nor move, as if they really had any life 
 or feeling, are called "gentlemanly." Whenever* 
 Tabby says of a new man " But then he is so
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 145 
 
 gentlemanly !" I understand at once. It is an 
 other case of the well-dressed wooden image. 
 Good heavens ! do you suppose Sir Philip Sid 
 ney, or the Chevalier Bayard, or Charles Fox, 
 were "gentlemanly" in this way? Confectioners 
 who undertake parties might furnish scores of 
 such gentlemen, with hands and feet of any 
 required size, and warranted to do nothing "un- 
 gentlemanly." For my part, I am inclined to 
 think that a gentleman is something positive, 
 not merely negative. And if sometimes my 
 friend the Pacha says a rousing and wholesome 
 truth, it is none the less gentlemanly because it 
 cuts a little. He says it s very amusing to ob 
 serve how coolly we play this little farce of life, 
 how placidly people get entangled in a mesh at 
 which they all rail, and how fiercely they frown 
 upon any body who steps out of the ring. " You 
 tickle me and I ll tickle you ; but, at all events, 
 you tickle me," is the motto of the crowd. 
 
 " Allans f" says he, "who cares? lead off to 
 the right and left down the middle and up 
 again. Smile all round, and bow gracefully to 
 your partner; then carry your heavy heart up
 
 148 THE POTIPIIAR PAPERS. 
 
 it came. Nancy Fungus leaned her head on my 
 shoulder, and fairly shook with laughter. The 
 others hid behind their fans, and the men sud 
 denly walked off to the windpws, and slipped 
 on to the piazza. Papa looked bewildered, and 
 half smiled. But it was a very melancholy busi 
 ness, and I told him that he had better go up and 
 dress for dinner. 
 
 It was impossible to stay after that. The un 
 happy slip became the staple of Saratoga conver 
 sation. Young Boosey (Mrs. Potiphar s witty 
 friend) asked Morris audibly at dinner, "Where 
 do the parvenus sit? I want to sit among the 
 parvenus." 
 
 " Of course you do, sir," answered Morris, sup 
 posing he meant the circle of the creme de la creme, 
 
 And so the thing went on multiplying itself. 
 Poor papa doesn t understand it yet. I don t dare 
 to explain. Old Fungus, who prides himself so 
 upon his family (it is one of the very ancient and 
 honorable Virginia families, that came out of the 
 ark with Noah, as Kurz Pacha says of his ances 
 tors, when he hears that the founder of a family 
 "came over with the Conqueror,") and who can-
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 149 
 
 not deny himself a joke, came up to pa, in the 
 bar-room, while a large party of gentlemen were 
 drinking cobblers, and said to him with a loud 
 laugh : 
 
 " So, all the parvenus are going to Newport : 
 are they, Tattle ?" 
 
 "Yes!" replied pa, innocently, "that s what 
 they say. So I suppose we shall all have to go, 
 Fungus." 
 
 There was another roar that time, but not from 
 the representative of Noah s Ark. It was rather 
 thin joking, but it did very well for the warm 
 weather, and I was glad to hear a laugh against 
 any body but poor pa. 
 
 We came to Newport, but the story came 
 before us, and I have been very much annoyed 
 at it. I know it is foolish for me to think of 
 it. Kurz Pacha said 
 
 " My dear Miss Minerva, I have no doubt it 
 would pain you more to be thought ignorant 
 of French than capable of deceit. Yet it is a 
 very innocent ignorance of your father s. Nobody 
 is bound to know French; but you all lay so 
 much stress upon it, as if it were the whole duty
 
 150 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 of woman to have an air, and to speak French, 
 that any ignorance becomes at once ludicrous. 
 It s all your own doing. You make a very 
 natural thing absurd, and then grieve because 
 some friend becomes a victim. There is your 
 friend Nancy Fungus, who speaks French as 
 well as she does English. That may be true ; 
 but you ought to add, that one is of just as 
 much use to her as the other that is, of no 
 use at all, except to communicate platitudes. 
 What is the use of a girl s learning French to 
 be able to say to young Tete de Choux, that 
 it is a very warm day, and that Newport is 
 charmante. I don t suppose the knowledge of 
 French is going to supply her with ideas to 
 express. A girl who is flat in her native English, 
 will hardly be spiriluelle in her exotic French. 
 It is a delightful language for the natives, and 
 for all who have thoroughly mastered its spirit. 
 Its genius is airy and sparkling. It is espe 
 cially the language of society, because society is, 
 theoretically, the playful encounter of sprightli- 
 ness and wit. It is the worst language I know 
 of for poetry, ethics, and the habit of the Saxon
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 151 
 
 mind. It is wonderful in the hands of such 
 masters as Balzac and George Sand, and is 
 especially adapted to their purposes. Yet their 
 books are forbidden to Nancy Fungus, Tabby 
 Dormouse, Daisy Clover, and all their relations. 
 They read Tekmaque, and long to be married, 
 that they may pry into Leila and Indiana: their 
 French, meanwhile, even if they wanted to know 
 any thing of French literature, which is too 
 absurd an idea, serves them only to say nothing 
 to uncertain hairy foreigners who haunt society, 
 and to understand their nothings, in response. 
 I am really touched for this Ariel, this tricksy 
 sprite of speech, when I know that it must do 
 the bidding of those who can never fit its airy 
 felicity to any worthy purpose. I have tried 
 these accomplished damsels who speak French 
 and Italian as well as they do English. But 
 our conversation was only a clumsy translation 
 of English commonplace. And yet, Miss Minerva, 
 I think even so sensible a woman as you, looks 
 with honor and respect upon one of that class. 
 Dear me ! excuse me ! What am I thinking of? 
 I m engaged to drive little Daisy Clover on the
 
 152 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 beach at six o clock. She is one of those who 
 garnish their conversation with French scraps. 
 Really you must pardon me, if she is a friend 
 of yours ; but that dry, gentlemanly fellow, 
 D Orsay Firkin, says that Miss Clover s conver 
 sation is a dish of tele de veau farci. Aren t 
 you coming to the beach? Every body goes to 
 day. Mrs. Gnu has arrived, and the Potiphars 
 are here, that is, Mrs. P. Old Pot. arrives on 
 Sunday morning early, and is off again on Mon 
 day evening. He s grown very quiet and docile. 
 Mrs. P. usually takes him a short drive on 
 Monday morning, and he comes to dinner in a 
 white waistcoat. In fact, as Mrs. Potiphar 
 says, My husband has not the air distingue 
 which I should be pleased to see in him, but 
 he is quite as well as could be expected. 
 Upon which Firkin twirls his hat in a signifi 
 cant way ; you and I smile intelligently, dear 
 Miss Minerva ; Mrs. Green and Mrs. Settum 
 Downe exchange glances ; we all understand 
 Mrs. Potiphar and each other, and Mrs. Poti 
 phar understands us, and it is all very sweet 
 and pleasant, and the utmost propriety is ob-
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 153 
 
 served, and we don t laugh loud until we re 
 out of hearing, and then say in the very softest 
 whispers, that it was a remarkably true obser 
 vation. This is thje way to take life, my dear 
 lady. Let us go gently. Here we go back 
 wards and forwards. You tickle, and I ll tickle, 
 and we ll all tickle, and here we go round 
 round roundy !" 
 
 And the Sennaar minister danced out of the 
 room. 
 
 He is a droll man, and I don t quite understand 
 him. Of course I don t entirely like him, for it 
 always seems as if he meant something a little 
 different from what he says. Laura Larmes, 
 who reads all the novels, and rolls her great 
 eyes around the ball-room, who laughs at the 
 idea of such a girl as Blanche Amory in Pen- 
 dennis, who would be pensive if she were not so 
 plump, who likes " nothing so much as walk 
 ing on the cliff by moonlight," who wonders 
 that girls should want to dance on warm sum 
 mer nights when they have Nature, " and such 
 nature," before them, who, in fact, would be a 
 
 mere emotion if she were not a bouncing girl, 
 7*
 
 154 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 Laura Larmes wonders that any man can be so 
 happy as Kurz Pacha. 
 
 "Ah! Kurz Pacha," she says to him as they 
 stroll upon the piazza, after he has been dancing 
 (for the minister dances, and swears it is essential 
 to diplomacy to dance well), " are you really so 
 very happy ? Is it possible you can be so gay ? 
 Do you find nothing mournful in life?" 
 
 "Nothing, my best Miss Laura," he replies, "to 
 speak of; as somebody said of religion. You, 
 who devote yourself to melancholy, the moon, 
 and the source of tears, are not so very sad as 
 you think. You cry a good deal, I don t doubt. 
 But when grief goes below tears, and forces you 
 in self-defence to try to forget it, not to sit and 
 fondle it, then you will understand more than 
 you do now. I pity those of your sex, upon 
 ivhom has fallen the reaction of wealth, for 
 ivhom there is no career, who must sit at 
 .iome and pine in a splendid ennui, who have 
 learned and who know, spite of sermons and 
 sound, sensible views of things, that to enjoy 
 the high privilege of reading books, of culti 
 vating their minds, and, when they are married,
 
 TATTLE S DIARY. 155 
 
 minding tlieir babies, and ministering to the 
 drowsy, after-dinner ease of tlieir husbands, is 
 not the fulfilment of their powers and hopes. 
 But, my amiable Miss Larmes, this is a class of 
 girls and women who are not solicitous about 
 wearing black when their great-aunt in Denmark 
 dies, whom they never saw, nor when the only 
 friend who made heaven possible to them, falls 
 dead at their sides. Nor do they avoid Mrs. 
 Potiphar s balls as a happiness which they are 
 not happy enough to enjoy nor do they suppose 
 that all who attend that festivity dancing to Mrs. 
 P. s hired music and drinking Mr. P. s fine wines 
 are utterly given over to hilarity and superficial 
 enjoyment. I do not even think they would be 
 likely to run with rounded eyes, deep voice, 
 and in very exuberant health to any one of us 
 jaded votaries of fashion, and say, How can you 
 be so happy ? My considerate young friend, 
 strong walls do not a prison make, nor is a 
 man necessarily happy because he hops. You 
 are certainly not unhappy because you make 
 eyes at the moon, and adjudge life to be vanity 
 and vexation. Your mind is only obscured by
 
 156 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 a few morning vapors. They arc evanescent as 
 the dew, and when you remember them at even 
 ing they will seem to you but as pensive splen 
 dors of the dawn." 
 
 Laura has her revenge for all this snubbing, 
 of course. She does not attempt to disguise her 
 opinion that Kurz Pacha is a man of "foreign 
 morals," as she well expresses it. "A very gay, 
 agreeable man, who glides gently over the sur 
 face of things, but knows nothing of the real 
 trials and sorrows of life," says the melancholy 
 Laura Larmes, whose appetite continues good, 
 and who fills a large armchair comfortably. 
 
 It is my opinion, however, that people of a 
 certain size should cultivate the hilarious rather 
 than the unhappy. Diogenes, with the propor 
 tions of Alderman Gobble, could not have suc 
 ceeded as a C3 nic. 
 
 Here at Newport there is endless opportunity 
 of detecting these little absurdities of our fellow- 
 creatures. In fact, one of the greatest charms 
 of a watering-place, to me, is the facility one 
 enjoys of understanding the whole game, which 
 is somewhat concealed in the city. Watering-
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 157 
 
 place life is a full-dress parade of social weak 
 nesses. "We all enjoy a kind of false intimacy, 
 an accidental friendship. Old Carbuncle and 
 young Topaz meet on the common ground of a 
 good cigar. Mrs. Peony and Daisy Clover are 
 intimate at all hours. Why ? Because, on the 
 one hand, Mrs. P. knows that youth, and grace, 
 and beauty, are attractive to men, and that if 
 Miss Eosa Peony, her daughter, has not those 
 advantages, it is well to have in the neighbor 
 hood a magnet strong enough to draw the men. 
 On the other hand, Daisy Clover is a girl of 
 srood sense enough to know even if she didn t 
 
 c> o 
 
 know it by instinct that men in public places 
 like the prestige of association with persons of 
 acknowledged social position, which, by hook 
 or by crook, Mrs. Peony undoubtedly enjoys. 
 Therefore to be of Mrs. P. s party is to be well 
 placed in the catalogue the chances are fairer 
 the gain is surer. Upon seeing Daisy Clover 
 with quiet little Mrs. Clover, or plain old aunt 
 Honeysuckle, people would inquire, Who are 
 the Clovers? And no one would know. But 
 to be with Mrs. Peony, morning, noon, and
 
 158 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 night, is to answer all questions of social po 
 sition. 
 
 But, unhappily, in the city things are changed. 
 There no attraction is necessary but the fine 
 house, gay parties, and understood rank of Mrs. 
 Peony to draw men to Miss Rosa s side. In 
 Newport it does very well not to dance with 
 her. But in the city it doesn t do not to be at 
 Mrs. Peony s ball. Who knows it so well as 
 that excellent lady ? Therefore darling Daisy 
 is dropped a little when we all return. 
 
 " Sweet girl," Mrs. P. says, " really a delight 
 ful companion for Rosa in the summer, and the 
 father and mother are such nice, excellent 
 people. Not exactly people that one knows, to 
 be sure but Miss Daisy is really amiable and 
 quite accomplished." 
 
 Daisy goes to an occasional party at the 
 Peony s. .But at the opera and the theatre, and 
 at the small, intimate parties of Rosa and her 
 friends, the darling Daisy of Newport is not 
 visible. However, she has her little revenges. 
 She knows the Peonys well: and can talk in 
 telligently about them, which puts her quite on
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 159 
 
 a level with them in the estimation of her own 
 set. She rules in the lower sphere, if not in 
 the higher, and Daisy Clover is in the way of 
 promotion. Yes, and if she be very rich, and 
 papa and mamma are at all presentable, or if 
 they can be dexterously hushed up, there is no 
 knowing but Miss Daisy Clover will suddenly 
 bloom upon the world as Mrs. P. s daughter-in- 
 law, wife of that " gentlemanly" young man, 
 Mr. Puffer Peony. 
 
 Naturally it pains me very much to be 
 obliged to think so of the people with whom I 
 associate. But I suppose they are as good as 
 any. As Kurz Pacha says : " If I fly from a 
 Chinaman because he wears his hair long like 
 a woman, I must equally fly the Frenchman 
 because he shaves his like a lunatic. The story 
 of Jack Spratt is the apologue of the world." 
 It is astonishing how intimate he is with our 
 language and literature. By-the-bye, that Polly 
 Potiphar has been mean enough to send out to 
 Paris for the very silk that I relied upon as 
 this summer s cheval de bataille, and has just re- 
 seived it superbly made up. The worst of it is
 
 160 THE POTIPHAU PAPERS. 
 
 that it is just the thing for her. She wore it 
 at the ball the other night, and expected to 
 have crushed me, in mine. Not she ! I have 
 not summered it at Newport for well, for 
 several years, for nothing, and although I am 
 rather beyond, the strict white muslin age, I 
 thought I could yet venture a bold stroke. So 
 I arrayed a la Daisy Clover, not too much, pas 
 trop jeune. And awaited the onset. 
 
 Kurz Pacha saw me across the room, and 
 came up, with his peculiar smile. He did not 
 look at my dress, but he said to me, rather 
 wickedly, looking at my boquet: 
 
 " Dear me ! I hardly hoped to see spring 
 flowers so late in the summer." 
 
 Then he raised his eyes to mine, and I am 
 conscious that I blushed. 
 
 "It s very warm. You feel very warm, I am 
 sure, my dear Miss Tattle," he continued, look 
 ing straight at my face. 
 
 " You are sufficiently cool, at least, I think," 
 replied I. 
 
 " Naturally," said he, " for I ve been in the 
 immediate vicinity of the boreal pole for half
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 161 
 
 an hour a neighborhood in which, I am told, 
 even the most ardent spirits sometimes freeze 
 so you must pardon me if I am more than 
 usually dull, Miss Minerva." 
 
 And the Pacha beat time to the waltz with 
 his head. 
 
 I looked at the part of the room from which 
 he had just come, and there, sure enough, in 
 the midst of a group, I saw the tall, and stately, 
 and still Ada Aiguille. 
 
 " He is a hardy navigator," continued Kurz 
 Pacha, " who sails for the boreal pole. It is 
 glittering enough, but shipwreck by daylight 
 upon a coral reef, is no pleasanter than by night 
 upon Newport shoals." 
 
 "Have you been shipwrecked, Kurz Pacha?" 
 asked I suddenly. 
 
 He laughed softly: "No, Miss Minerva, I am 
 not one of the hardy navigators ; I keep close 
 in to the shore. Upon the slightest symptom 
 of an agitated sea, I furl my sails, and creep 
 into a safe harbor. Besides, dear Miss Minna, 
 I prefer tropical cruises to the Antarctic voyage." 
 
 And the old wretch actually looked at my
 
 162 THE POTIPHAK PAPEKS. 
 
 black hair. I might have said something ap 
 proving his taste, perhaps, who knows? when 
 I saw Mrs. Potiphar. She was splendidly dressed 
 in the silk, and it s a pity she doesn t become 
 a fine dress better. She made for me directly. 
 
 "Dear Minna, I m so glad to see you. "SVhy 
 how young and fresh you look to-night, lleally, 
 quite blooming! And such a sweet pretty dress, 
 too, and the darling baby-waist and all 
 
 " Yes," said that witty Gauche Boosey, " per 
 mit me, Miss Tattle, quite an incarnate sera 
 phim, upon my word." 
 
 " You are too good," replied I, "my dear Poll} , 
 it is your dress which deserves admiration, and I 
 flatter myself in saying so, for it is the very coun 
 terpart of one I had made some months ago." 
 
 "Yes, darling, and which you have not yet 
 worn," replied she. " I said to Mr. P., Mr. P., 
 said I, there are few women upon whose ami 
 ability I can count as I can upon Minerva Tattle s, 
 and, therefore, I am going to have a dress like 
 hers. Most women would be vexed about it, and 
 say ill-natured things if I did so. But if I have 
 a friend, it is Minerva Tattle; and she- will never
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 163 
 
 $ 
 
 grudge it to me for a moment. It s pretty ; isn t 
 
 it ? Just look here at this trimming." 
 
 And she showed me the very handsomest part 
 
 of it, and so much handsomer than mine, that I 
 
 can never wear it. 
 
 " Polly, I am so glad you know me so well," 
 
 said I. " I m delighted with the dress. To be 
 
 C-* 
 
 sure, it s rather prononcb for your style ; but that s 
 nothing." 
 
 Just then a polka struck up. "Come along! 
 give me this turn," said Boosey, and putting his 
 arm round Mrs. Potiphar s waist, he whirled her 
 off into the dance. 
 
 How I did hope somebody would come to ask 
 me. Nobody came. 
 
 "You don t dance?" asked Kurz Pacha, who 
 stood by during my little talk with Polly P. 
 
 " Oh ! yes," answered I, and hummed the 
 polka. 
 
 Kurz Pacha hummed too, looked on at the 
 dancers a few minutes, then turned to me, and 
 looking at my bouquet, said . 
 
 "It is astonishing how little taste there is for 
 spring-flowers."
 
 164 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 At that moment young Croesus " came in" 
 warm with the whirl of the dance, with Daisy 
 Clover. 
 
 " It s very warm," said he, in a gentlemanly 
 manner. 
 
 " Dear me ! yes, very warm," said Daisy. 
 
 "Been long in Newport?" 
 
 " No ; only a few days. We always come, 
 after Saratoga, for a couple of weeks. But 
 isn t it delightful ?" 
 
 "Quite so," said Timon, coolly, and smiling 
 at the idea of any body s being enthusiastic 
 about any thing. That elegant youth has 
 pumped life dry ; and now the pump only 
 wheezes. 
 
 " Oh !" continued Daisy, " it s so pleasant to 
 run away from the hot city, and breathe this 
 cool air. And then Nature is so beautiful. 
 Are you fond of Nature, Mr. Croesus?" 
 
 "Tolerably," returned Timon. 
 
 "Oh! but Mr. Croasus! to go to the glen 
 and skip stones, and to walk on the cliff, and 
 drive to Bateman s, and the fort, and to go to 
 the beach by moonlight; and then the bowling-
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 165 
 
 alley, and the archery, and the Germania. Oh! 
 it s a splendid place. But, perhaps, you don t 
 like natural scenery, Mr. Croesus?" 
 
 " Perhaps not," said Mr. Croesus. 
 
 " Well, some people don t," said darling little 
 Daisy, folding up her fan, as if quite ready for 
 another turn. 
 
 " Come, now ; there it is," said Timon, and, 
 grasping her with his right arm, they glided 
 away. 
 
 "Kurz Pacha," said I, "I wonder who sent 
 Ada Aiguille that bouquet?" 
 
 "Sir John Franklin, I presume," returned he. 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" asked I. 
 
 Before he could answer, Boosey and Mrs. 
 Potiphar stopped by us. 
 
 "No, no, Mr. Boosey," panted Mrs. P., "I 
 will not have him introduced. They say his 
 father actually sells drygoods by the yard in 
 Buffalo." 
 
 "Well, but he doesn t, Mrs. Potiphar." 
 
 "I know that, and it s all very well for you 
 yoang men to know him, and to drink, and 
 play billiards, and smoke, with him. And he
 
 166 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 is handsome to be sure, and gentlemanly, and 
 I am told, very intelligent. But, you know, 
 we can t be visiting our shoemakers and shop 
 men. That s the great difficulty of a watering- 
 place, one doesn t know who s who. Why Mrs. 
 Gnu was here three summers ago, and there 
 sat next to her, at table, a middle-aged foreign 
 gentleman, who had only a slight accent, and 
 who was so affable and agreeable, so intelligent 
 and modest, and so perfectly familiar with all 
 kinds of little ways, you know, that she sup 
 posed he was the Russian Minister, who, she 
 heard, was at Newport incognito for his health. 
 She used to talk with him in the parlor, and 
 allowed him to join her upon the piazza. No 
 body could find out who he was. There were 
 suspicions, of course. But he paid his bills, 
 drove his horses, and was universally liked. 
 Dear me ! appearances are so deceitful ! who do 
 you think he was?" 
 
 "I m sure I can t imagine." 
 
 "Well, the next spring she went to a music 
 store in Philadelphia, to buy some guitar strings 
 for Claribel, and who should advance to sell
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 167 
 
 them but the Russian Minister! Mrs. Gnu said 
 she colored " 
 
 " So I ve always understood," said Gauche, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Fie ! Mr. Boosey," continued Mrs. P. smiling. 
 "But the music-seller didn t betray the slightest 
 consciousness. He sold her the strings, received 
 the money, and said nothing, and looked nothing. 
 Just think of it ! She supposed him to be a 
 gentleman, and he was really a music-dealer. 
 You see that s the sort of thing one is exposed 
 to here, and though your friend may be very 
 nice, it isn t safe for me to know him. In a 
 country where there s no aristocracy one can t 
 be too exclusive. Mrs. Peony says she thinks 
 that in future she shall really pass the summer 
 in a farm-house, or if she goes to a watering- 
 place, confine herself to her own rooms and her 
 carriage, and look at people through the blinds. 
 I m afraid, myself, it s coming to that. Every 
 body goes to Saratoga now, and you see how 
 Newport is crowded. For my part I agree 
 with the Rev. Cream Cheese, that there are 
 serious evils in a republican form of government.
 
 168 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 What a hideous head-dress that is of Mrs. Settum 
 Downe s ! What a lovely polka-redowa !" 
 
 " So it is, by Jove ! Come on," replied the 
 gentlemanly Boosey, and they swept down the 
 hall. 
 
 "Ah! del!" exclaimed a voice close by us 
 Kurz Pacha and I turned at the same moment. 
 "We beheld a gentleman twirling his moustache 
 and a lady fanning. They were smiling intelli 
 gently at each other, and upon his whispering 
 something that I could not hear, she said, "Fif 
 done," and folding her fan and laying her arm 
 upon his shoulder, they slid along again in the 
 dance. 
 
 "Who is that? inquired the Pacha. 
 
 "Don t you know Mrs. Yite?" said I, glad 
 of my chance. "Why, my dear sir, she is our 
 great social success. She shows what America 
 can do under a French regime. She performs 
 for society the inestimable service of giving 
 some reality to the pictures of Balzac and George 
 Sand, by the quality of her life and manners. 
 She is just what you would expect a weak Ameri 
 can girl to be who was poisoned by Paris, who
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 169 
 
 mistook what was most obvious for what was 
 most characteristic, whose ideas of foreign soci 
 ety and female habits were based upon an expe 
 rience of resorts, more renowned for ease than 
 elegance, who has no instinct fine enough to 
 tell her that a lionne cannot be a lady, who imi 
 tates the worst manners of foreign society, without 
 the ability or opportunity of perceiving the best, 
 who prefers a double entendre to a bon-mot, 
 who courts the applause of men whose acquaint 
 ance gentlemen are careless of acknowledging, 
 who likes fast driving and dancing, low jokes, 
 and low dresses, who is, therefore, bold without 
 wit, noisy without., mirth, and notorious without 
 a desirable reputation. That is Mrs. Vite." 
 
 Kurz Pacha rolled up his eyes. 
 
 ; Good Jupiter ! Miss Minerva," cried he, " is 
 this you that I hear? Why, you are warmer 
 in your denunciation of this little wisp of a 
 woman than you ever were of flit old Madame 
 Gorgon, with her prodigious paste diamonds. 
 Really, you take it too hard. And you, too, 
 who used to skate so nimbly over the glib sur 
 face of society, and cut such coquettish figures 
 8
 
 170 Tin; POT i PI i A i; PA PURS. 
 
 of eight upon the characters of your friends. 
 You must excuse me, but it seems to me odd 
 that Miss Minerva Tattle, who used to treat 
 serious things so lightly, should no\v be treat 
 ing light things so seriously. You ought t<> 
 frequent the comic opera more, and dine with 
 Mrs. Potiphar once a week. If your good-humor 
 can t digest such a //"/ d a-uvrc as little Mrs. Yit> , 
 what will you do with such a i>icce de rcxisiana a.s 
 Madame Gorgon? 7 
 
 Odious plain speaker! Yet I like the man. 
 But, before I could reply, up came another couple 
 Caroline Pettitoes and Xonnan de Famille. 
 
 "You were at the bowling-alley? said he. 
 
 " Yes, answered Caroline. 
 
 You saw tltem together?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Well, what do you think?" 
 
 Why, of course, that if he is not engaged 
 to her he ought to be. lie has taken her out 
 in his wagon three times, he has sent her four 
 bouquets, he waltzes with her every night, ho 
 bowls with her party every morning, and if 
 that does not mean that he wants to marry her,
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 171 
 
 I should like to know what it does mean," re 
 plied Caroline, tossing her head. 
 
 Norman do Famille smiled, and Caroline con 
 tinued, with rather a flushed face, because Nor 
 man had been doing very much the same thing 
 with her : 
 
 " What is a girl to understand by such at 
 tentions ?" 
 
 Why, that the gentleman finds it an amusing 
 game, and hopes she is equally pleased," returned 
 De Famille. 
 
 " Merd, M. de Famille," said Caroline, with 
 an energy I never suspected in her, " and at 
 the end of the game she may go break her 
 heart, I suppose." 
 
 " Hearts arc not so brittle, Miss Pettitoes," 
 replied Norman. " Besides, why should you 
 girls always play for such high stakes ?" 
 
 They were just about beginning the waltz 
 again, when the music stopped, and they walked 
 away. But I saw the tears in Caroline s eyes. 
 I don t know whether they were tears of vexa 
 tion, or of disappointment. The men have the 
 advantage of us because they can control their
 
 172 THE POTJP11AH PAPERS. 
 
 emotions so much better. I suppose Caroline 
 blushed and cried, because she found herself 
 blushing and crying, quite as much as because 
 she fancied her partner didn t care for her. 
 
 I turned to Knrz Pacha, who stood by my 
 side, smiling, and rubbing his hands. 
 
 "A charming evening we have had of it. Miss 
 Minerva," said he, "an epitome of life a kind 
 of last-new-novel effect. The things that we have 
 heard and seen here, multiplied and varied by 
 a thousand or so, produce the net result of Xe\v- 
 port. Given, a large house, music, piazzas, 
 beaches, cliff, port, griddle-cakes, fast horses, 
 sherry-cobblers, ten-pins, dust, artificial flowers, 
 innocence, worn-out hearts, loveliness, black-legs, 
 bank-bills, small men, large coat-sleeves, little 
 boots, jewelry, and polka-redowas ad Ubitmn, 
 to produce August in Newport. For my part, 
 Miss Minerva, I like it. But it is a dizzy and 
 perilous game. I profess to seek and enjoy emo 
 tions, so I go to watering-places. Ada Aiguille 
 says she doesn t like it. She declares that she 
 thinks less of her fellow-creatures after she has 
 been here a little while. She goes to the citv
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 173 
 
 afterward to refit her faith, probably. Daisy 
 Clover thinks it s heavenly. Darling little Daisy ! 
 life is an endless German cotillon to her. She 
 thinks the world is gay but well-meaning, is sure 
 that it goes to church on Sundays, and never 
 tells lies. Ccrulea Bass looks at it for a moment 
 with her hard, round, ebony eyes, and calmly 
 wonders that people will make such fools of them 
 selves. And you, Miss Minerva, pardon me, 
 you come because you are in the habit of coming 
 because you are not happy out of such society, 
 and have a tantalizing sadness in it. Your sys 
 tem craves only the piquant sources of scandal 
 and sarcasm, which can never satisfy it. You 
 wish that you liked tranquil pleasures and be 
 lieved in men and women. But you get no 
 nearer than a wish. You remember when you 
 did believe, but you remember with a shudder 
 and a sigh. You pass for a brilliant woman. 
 You go out to dinners and balls ; and men are, 
 what is called, afraid of you. You scorn most 
 of us. You are not a favorite, but your pride 
 is flattered by the very fear on the part of others 
 which prevents your being loved. Time and
 
 174 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 yourself are your only enemies, and they arc 
 in league, for you betray yourself to him. You 
 have found youth the most fascinating and fatal of 
 flirts, but he, although your heart and hope clung 
 to him despairingly, lias jilted you and thrown 
 you by. Let him go, if you can. and throw 
 after him the white muslin and the baby-waist. 
 Give up milk and the pastoral poets. Sail, at 
 least, under your own colors ; even pirates hoist 
 a black flag. An old belle who endeavors to 
 retain by sharp wit and spicy scandal the place 
 she held only in virtue of youth and spirited 
 beauty, is, in a new circle of youth and beauty, 
 like an enemy firing at you from the windows 
 of your own house. The difficulty of your posi 
 tion, dear Miss Minerva, is, that you can never 
 deceive those who alone are worth deceiving. 
 Daisy Clover and Young America, of course, con 
 sider you a talented, tremendous kind of woman. 
 Daisy Clover wonders all the men are not in 
 love with you. Young America sniffs and shakes 
 its little head, and says disapprovingly, Strong 
 minded woman ! But you fail, you know, not 
 withstanding. You couldn t bring old Potiphar
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 175 
 
 to his knees when he first came home from China, 
 and he must needs plunge in love with Miss 
 Poll}", whom you despised, but who has certainly 
 profited by her intimacy with Mrs. Gnu, Mrs. 
 Croesus, and Mrs. Settum Downe, as you saw 
 by her conversation with you this evening. 
 
 " Ah, Miss Minerva, I am only a benighted 
 diplomat from Sennaar, but when I reflect upon 
 all I see around me in your country ; when I take 
 my place with terror in a railroad car, because the 
 certainty of frightful accidents fills all minds with 
 the same vague apprehension as if a war were 
 raging in the land; when I sec the universal 
 rush and furv young men who never smile, 
 
 t, 1 / CJ 
 
 and who fall victims to paralysis; old men who 
 are tired of life and dread death ; young women 
 pretty and incapable; old women listless and use 
 less; and both } r oung and old, if women of sense, 
 perishing of ennui, and longing for some kind of 
 a career; why, I don t say that it is better anv 
 whorc else, perhaps it isn t, in most ways it 
 certainly is not. I don t say, certainly, that 
 there s a higher tone of life ii; London or Paris 
 than in New York, but only that, whatever it
 
 176 THE POTIPIIAR PAPERS. 
 
 may be there, this, at least, is rather a miserable 
 business." 
 
 " What is your theory of life, then ?" asked I. 
 " What do you propose ?" 
 
 Kurz Pacha smiled again. 
 
 ; Suppose, Miss Minerva, I say the Golden Rule 
 is my tJicory of life. You think it vague ; but it 
 is in that like most theories. Then I propose that 
 we shall all be good. Don t you think it a feasi 
 ble proposition? I see that you think you have 
 effectually disposed of all complaint by challeng 
 ing the complainer to suggest a remedy. But it 
 is clear to me that a man in the water has a right 
 to cry out, although he may not distinctly state 
 ho\v he proposes to avoid drowning. Your rea 
 soning is that of those excellent Americans who 
 declare that foreign nations ought not to strike 
 for a republic until they are fit for a republic 
 as if empires and monarchies founded colleges 
 to propagate democracy. Probably you think it 
 wiser that men shouldn t go into the water until 
 they can swim. Mr. Carlyle, I remember, was 
 bitterly reproached for grumbling in his " Chart 
 ism," and other works, as if a man had no moral
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 177 
 
 riglit to complain of hunger until he had grasped 
 a piece of bread. What do you propose to do, 
 Mr. Carlyle? said they, what with the Irish, for 
 instance ? Mr. C. said that he would compel 
 every Irishman to work, or he would sink the 
 island in the sea. Barbarous man, this is your 
 boasted reform ! cried they in indignant chorus, 
 unsuited either way, and permitting the Irish to 
 go to the dogs in the mean while. So suffer me, 
 dearest Miss Minerva, to regret a state of things 
 
 7 O <- 
 
 which no sensible man can approve. Even if it 
 seems to you light, allow me, at least, to treat it 
 seriously, nor suppose I love any thing less, be 
 cause I would see it better. You are the natural 
 fruit of this state of things, Minerva Tattle ! 
 By their fruits ye shall know them.- 
 
 After a few moments, he added in the old way : 
 " Don t think I am going to break mv heart 
 
 O O J 
 
 about it, nor lose niy appetite. Look at the 
 absurdity of the whole thing. I m preaching to 
 you in your baby- waist, here in a Newport ball 
 room at midnight. I humbly beg your pardon. 
 There are more potent preachers here than I. 
 Besides. I m engaged to Mrs. Potiphnrs supper
 
 178 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 at 12. Take things more gently, clear Miss Mi 
 nerva. Don t make faces at Mrs. Vite, nor growl 
 at your darling Polly. Women as smart as you 
 are, will say precisely as smart things of you as 
 you say of them. We shall all laugh, first with 
 you, and then at you. But don t deny yourself 
 the pleasure of saying the smart things in hope 
 that they will also refrain. That s vanity, not 
 virtue. People are much better than you think, 
 but they are also much worse. I might have 
 been king of Sennaar, but I am only his ambas 
 sador. You might have been only a chamber 
 maid, but you are the brilliant and accomplished 
 Miss Tattle. Turn, turn, turn, ti, ti, ti, what a 
 pretty waltz! Here come Daisy and Timon Croe 
 sus, and now Mrs. Potiphar and Gauche Boosey, 
 and now again Caroline Pettitoes and DC Famillc. 
 She is smiling again, you see. She darts through 
 the dance like a sunbeam as she is. Caroline is 
 a philosopher. Just now, you remember, it was 
 down, down, down,- now it is up, up, up. It is 
 a good world, if you don t rub it the wrong wav. 
 Sit in the sun as much as possible. One pro- 
 serves one s complexion, but gets so cold in the
 
 MINERVA TATTLE S DIARY. 179 
 
 shade. Ah! there comes Mrs. Potiphar. Why, 
 she is radiant ! She shakes her fan at me. 
 Adieu, Miss Minerva. Sweet dreams. To-mor 
 row morning at the Bowling Alley at eleven, 
 you know, and the drive at six. Au revoir. 
 And he was gone. The ball was breaking up. 
 A few desperate dancers still floated upon the 
 floor. The chairs were empty. The women 
 were shawling, and the men stood attendant 
 with bouquets. I went to a window and looked 
 out. The moon was rising, a wan, waning moon, 
 The broad fields lay dark beneath, and as the 
 music ceased, I heard the sullen roar of the sea 
 If my heart ached with an indefinite longing, 
 if it felt that the airy epicurism of the Pacha was 
 but a sad cynicism, masquerading in smiles, if 
 I dreaded to ask whether the wisest were not the 
 saddest, if the rising moon, and the plunging sea, 
 and the silence of midnight, were mournful, if 
 I envied Daisy Clover her sweet sleep and vig 
 orous waking, why, no one need ever know it, 
 nor suspect that the brilliant Minerva Tattle is a 
 failure.
 
 V. 
 
 Clje ffotijiljars in fjark 
 
 A LETTER FROM MISS CAROLINE PETTITOES T( MRS. 
 SETTUM DOWNE.
 
 C|e fotijjjrdo in farts. 
 
 A LETTER FROM MIS3 CAROLINE PETTITOES TO MRS. 
 SETTUM DOWNE. 
 
 PARIS, October. 
 
 MY DEAR MRS. DOWNE, Here we are at last ! 
 I can hardly believe it. Our coming was so sud 
 den that it seems like a delightful dream. You 
 know at Mrs. Potiphar s supper last August in 
 Newport, she was piqued by Gauche Boosey s 
 saying, in his smiling, sarcastic way : 
 
 "What! do you really think this is a pretty 
 supper ? Dear me ! Mrs. Potiphar, you ought to 
 see one of our petits soupers in Paris, hey Croe 
 sus?" and then he and Mr. Timon Croesus lifted 
 their brows knowingly, and smiled, and glanced 
 compassionately around the table. 
 
 " Paris, Paris !" cried Mrs. Potiphar ; " you
 
 184 TIIK roTii iiAi: r.\rKi:s. 
 
 young men arc always talking about Paris, as 
 if it were heaven. Oh! Mr. P., d<> take me to 
 Paris. Let s make up a party, and slip over. 
 It s so easy now, you know. Come, come, Pot. 
 I know you won t deny me. Just for two or 
 three months. The truth is," said she, turning 
 to IVOrsay Firkin, who wore that evening the 
 loveliest shirt-bosom I ever saw, " I want to 
 send home some patterns of new dresses to Mi- 
 rierva Tattle." 
 
 They all laughed, and in the midst Kurx, 
 Pacha, who was sitting at the side of Mrs. Pot- 
 iphar, inquired : 
 
 " What colors suit the Indian summer best, 
 Mrs. Potiphar?" 
 
 "Well, a kind of misty color," said Boosey, 
 laughingly, and emphasizing mis-wl, as if lie 
 meant some pun upon the word. 
 
 " Which conceals the outline of the landscape," 
 interrupted Mrs. Gnu. 
 
 " Cajoling you with a sense of warmth on tin- 
 very edge of winter, eh ? asked the Sennaar 
 minister. 
 
 Another loud lau<?h rane round the table.
 
 THE POTIPHARS IX PARIS. 
 
 " I thought Minerva Tattle was a friend of 
 yours, Kurz Pacha," said Mrs. Gnu, smiling mis 
 chievously, and playing with her beautiful bou 
 quet, which Mrs. Potiphar told me Timon Croesus 
 had sent her. 
 
 " Certainly, so she is," replied he. " Miss 
 Minerva and I understand each other perfectly. 
 I like her society immensely. The truth is, I am 
 always better in autumn ; the air is both cool and 
 bright." 
 
 As he said this he looked fixedly at Mrs. Gnu, 
 and there was not quite so much laughing. I am 
 sure I don t know what they meant by talking 
 about autumn. I was busy talking with Mr. Fir 
 kin about Daisy Clover s pretty morning dress at 
 the Bowling Alley, and admiring his shirt-bosom. 
 Suddenly there was a knock at the door, and an 
 exquisite bouquet was handed in for Kurz Pacha. 
 
 "Why didn t you wait until to-morrow?" said 
 he, sharply. 
 
 The man stammered some excuse, and the 
 ambassador took the flowers. Mrs. Gnu looked 
 at them closely, and praised them very much, 
 and quietly glanced at her own, which were
 
 186 THE POTIPIIATC PAPERS. 
 
 really splendid. Kurz Pacha showed them to 
 all the ladies at table, and then handed them 
 to Mrs. Potiphar, saying to her, as he half looked 
 at Mrs. Gnu : 
 
 " There is nothing autumnal here. 
 
 " Mrs. Potiphar thanked him with real delight, 
 and he turned toward Mrs. Gnu, at whom he 
 had been constantly looking, and who was play 
 ing placidly with her bouquet, and said with the 
 air of paving a great compliment : 
 
 " To otter you a bouquet, madame, would be to 
 throw pearls before swine." 
 
 We were all silent a moment, and then the 
 young men sprang up together, while we women 
 * laughed, half afraid. 
 
 "Good Heavens! Kurz Pacha, what do you 
 mean ?" cried Mrs. Potiphar. 
 
 "Mean?" answered he, evidently confused, and 
 blushing; "why, I m afraid I have made some 
 mistake. I meant to say something very polite, 
 but my English sometimes gives way. 
 
 " Your impudence never does," muttered Mrs. 
 Gnu, who was unbecomingly red in the face. 
 
 " My dear madame," said the Minister to her,
 
 THE FOTIPIIAES IX PARIS. 187 
 
 li I assure you I meant only to use a proverb in 
 a complimentary way; but somehow I have got 
 the wrong pig by the ear." 
 
 There was another burst of laughter. The 
 young men fairly lay down and screamed. Mr. 
 Potiphar exploded in great ha ha s and ho ho s, 
 from the end of the table. 
 
 " Mrs. Potiphar," said Mrs. Gnu, with dignity, 
 " I didn t suppose I was to be insulted at your 
 table." 
 
 And she went toward the door. 
 
 " Mrs. Gnu, Mrs. Gnu," said Polly, smothering 
 her laughter as well as she could, li don t go. 
 Kurz Pacha will explain. I m sure he means 
 no insult." 
 
 Here she burst out laughing again ; while the 
 poor Sennaar Ambassador stood erect, and utterly 
 confounded by what was going on. 
 
 " I m sure I don t know I didn t I wouldn t 
 Mrs. Gnu knows;" said he, in the greatest em 
 barrassment. " I beg your pardon sincerelv, 
 madarnc." And he looked so humble and re 
 pentant that I was really sorry for him ; but I 
 saw Mr. Firkin laughing afresh everv time he
 
 188 THE POTIPIIAR PAPERS. 
 
 looked at the Ambassador, as if be saw some 
 thing sly behind his penitence. 
 
 "Perhaps," said Firkin at last, " Kurz Pacha 
 means to say that to offer flowers to a lady who 
 has already so beautiful a bouquet, would be to 
 carry coals to Newcastle." 
 
 " That is it," cried the Pacha; " to Newcastle," 
 and he bowed to Mrs. Gnu. 
 
 " Come, Mrs. Gnu, it s only a mistake," said 
 Mrs. Potiphar. 
 
 But Mrs. Gnu looked rather angry still, although 
 Gauche Boosey tried very hard to console her, say 
 ing as many bon mots as he could think of and 
 you know how witty he is. He said at last : 
 
 " Why is Mrs. Gnu like llachcl ?" 
 
 "Rachel who? asked I. 
 
 I m sure it was an innocent question ; but they 
 all fell to laughing again, and Mr. Firkin posi 
 tively cried with fun. 
 
 " D ye give it up ?" asked Mr. Boosey. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Potiphar. 
 
 " Why, because she will not be comforted." 
 
 " There wasn t half so much laughing at this 
 as at my question although Mrs. Potiphar said
 
 THE POTIPHARS IX PARIS. 189 
 
 it was capital, and I thought so too, when I 
 found out who Rachel was. 
 
 But Mrs. Gnu continued to be like Rachel, and 
 Mr. Boosey continued to try to amuse her. I 
 think it was very hard she wouldn t be amused 
 by such a funny man ; and he said at last aloud 
 to her, meaning all of us to hear : 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Gnu, upon my honor, it is no 
 epicure to try to console you." 
 
 She did laugh at this, however, and so did the 
 others. 
 
 " Have you ever been in Sennaar, Mr. Boo 
 sey ?" said Kurz Pacha. 
 
 "No; why?" 
 
 " Why, I thought we might have learned Eng 
 lish at the same school." 
 
 Mr. Boosey looked puzzled ; but Mr. Potiphar 
 broke in : 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Gnu, I m glad to see } r ou smile at 
 last. After all, the remark of the Ambassador s 
 was only what they would call in France, a per 
 fect bougie of a joke. " 
 
 " Good evening, Mrs. Potiphar," cried the 
 Sennaar Minister, rising suddenly, and running
 
 190 THE POT1PHAK 1 Al KKS. 
 
 toward the door. We heard liini next under 
 the window going off in great shouts of laughter, 
 and whistling in the intervals, "Hail Columbia! 
 What shocking habits he has for a minister! 
 
 I don t know how it was that Mr. Potiphar 
 was in such good humor; but he promised his 
 wife she should go to Paris, and that she might 
 select her party. So she invited us all who 
 were at the table. Mrs. Gnu declined : but I 
 knew mamma would let me go with the Poti- 
 phars. 
 
 " Dear Pot.," said Mrs. P., " we shall be gone 
 so short a time, and shall be so busy, and hurry 
 ing from one place to another, that we had bet 
 ter leave little Freddy behind. Poor, dear little 
 fellow, it will be much better for him to stay." 
 
 Mr. P. looked a little sober at this ; but lie 
 said nothing except to ask : 
 
 "Shall you all bo ready to sail in a fortnight?" 
 
 "Certainly, in a week," we all answered. 
 
 "Well, then, we must hurry home to prepare," 
 said he. " I shall write for state-rooms for us in 
 Monday s boat, Polly." 
 
 "Very well; that s a dear Pot.," said she; and
 
 THE POTIPHARS IN PARIS. 191 
 
 as we all rose she went up to him, and took his 
 arm tenderly. It was an unusual sight : I never 
 saw her do it before. Mrs. Gnu said to me : 
 
 " Well, really, that s rather peculiar. I think 
 people had better make love in private." 
 
 "No, by Jove," whispered Mr. Boosey to me; 
 and I am afraid he had drank freely, as I have 
 once or twice before heard that he did; but the 
 world is such a gossip! "No, she doesn t let 
 Itcr good works of that kind shine before men." 
 "Why, Mr. Boosey," said I, how can you?" 
 Will you believe, darling Mrs. Downe, that 
 instead of answering, he sort of winked at me, 
 and said, under his voice, "Good night, Caroline." 
 I drew myself up, you may depend, and said 
 coldly : 
 
 " Good evening, Mr. Boosey." 
 He drew himself up too, and said : 
 " I called you Caroline, you called me Mr. 
 Boosey." 
 
 And then looking straight and severely at me, 
 he actually winked again. 
 
 Then, of course, I knew he was not responsible 
 for his actions.
 
 192 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 Ah me, what things we are ! Just as 1 
 was leaving the room with Mrs. Gnu, who had 
 matronized me, Mr. Boosey came up with such 
 a soft, pleading look in his eyes, that seemed 
 to say, "please forgive me," and put out his hand 
 so humbly, and appeared so sorry and so afraid 
 that I would not speak to him, that I really 
 pitied him: but when, in his low, rich voice, he 
 said : 
 
 " Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins 
 remembered !"- 
 
 I couldn t hold out; wasn t it pretty? So I 
 put out my hand, and he shook it tenderly, and 
 said " to-morrow" in a way well, dear Mrs. 
 Downe, I will be frank with you that made 
 me happy all night. 
 
 At this rate I shall never get to Paris. But 
 the next day it was known every where we 
 \vere going, and every body congratulated us. 
 Our party met at the Bowling Alley, and we 
 began to make all kinds of plans. 
 
 " Oh ! ice II take care of all the arrangements," 
 said Mr. Boosey, nodding toward Mr. Croesus 
 and Mr. Firkin.
 
 THE POTIPHARS IN PARIS. 193 
 
 "Mr. Boosey, were you presented to the Em 
 peror?" inquired Kurz Pacha. 
 
 " Certainly I was," replied he ; "I have a great 
 respect for Louis Napoleon. Those Frenchmen 
 didn t know what they wanted ; but he knew 
 well enough what he wanted : they didn t want 
 him, perhaps, but he did want them, and now 
 he has them. A true nephew of his uncle, Kurz 
 Pacha; and you can see what a man the great 
 Napoleon must have been, when the little Napo 
 leon succeeds so well upon the strength of the 
 name." 
 
 11 Why, you are really enthusiastic about the 
 Emperors," said the Ambassador. 
 
 "Certainly," replied Mr. Boosey, "I have al 
 ways been a great Neapolitan." 
 
 Kurz Pacha stared at him a moment, and then 
 took a large pinch of snuff solemnly. I think 
 it s very ill bred to stare as he does sometimes, 
 when somebody has made a remark. I saw 
 nothing particular in that speech of Mr. Boosey s; 
 and yet D Orsay Firkin smiled to himself as he 
 told Mrs. Gnu it was her turn. 
 
 " I wonder, my dear Mrs. Potiphar," said the 
 9
 
 194 THE I UTli HAK I APEKS. 
 
 Sennaar Minister, seating himself by her side, 
 as the game went on, " that Europeans should 
 have so poor an idea of America and Americans, 
 when such crowds of the very best society are 
 constantly crossing the ocean. Now, you and 
 your friends are going to Paris, perhaps to other 
 parts of Europe, and I should certainly suppose 
 that, without flattery, (taking another pinch of 
 snuff,) the foreigners whom you meet might get 
 rid of some of their prejudices against the Ameri 
 cans. You will go, you know, as the representa 
 tives of a republic where social ranks are not 
 organized to the exclusion of any ; but where 
 talent and character always secure social con 
 sideration. The simplicity of the republican idea 
 and system will appear in your manners and 
 modes of life. Leaving to the children of a soci 
 ety based upon antique and aristocratic principles, 
 to squander their lives in an aimless luxury, you 
 will carry about with you, as it were, the fresh 
 airs and virgin character of a new country and 
 civilization. When you go to Paris, it will be 
 like a sweet country breeze blowing into a per 
 fumer s shop. The customers will scent some-
 
 THE POTIPHARS IX PARIS. 195 
 
 thing finer than the most exquisite essence, and 
 will prefer the fresh fragrance of the flower 
 to the most elaborate distillation. Hoses smell 
 sweeter than attar of roses. You and your party, 
 estimable lad}-, will be the roses. You will not 
 (am I right this time?) carry coals to Newcastle; 
 for if any of your companions think that the 
 sharp eye of Paris will not pierce their preten 
 sions, or the satiric tongue of Paris fail to im 
 mortalize it, they mistake greatly. You cannot 
 beat Paris with its own weapons ; and Paris 
 will immensely respect you if you use your own. 
 Poor little Mrs. Vite thinks she passes for a 
 Parisienne in Paris. Why, there is not a chif 
 fonier in the street at midnight that couldn t 
 see straight through the little woman, and no 
 thing would better please the Jardin Malille 
 than to have her for a butt. My dear madame, 
 the ape is a very ingenious animal, and his 
 form much resembles the human. Moles, prob 
 ably, and the inhabitants of the planet Jupiter, do 
 not discern the difference ; but I rather think we 
 do. A ten-strike, by Venus ! well done, Mrs. Gnu," 
 cried the Ambassador ; " now, Mrs. Potiphar."
 
 19G THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 The Pacha didn t play ; but he asked Mr. Fir 
 kin what was a good average for a man, in the 
 game. 
 
 " Well, a spare every time," said he. 
 
 " Mr. Firkin," asked Mrs. Gnu, " what is a 
 good woman s average?" 
 
 " Does any lady here know that?" inquired the 
 Pacha, looking round. 
 
 " No," said Mr. Boosey ; " we must send and 
 inquire of Miss Tattle." 
 
 " How pleasantly the game goes on, dear Mrs. 
 Gnu," said the Pacha ; " but Miss Minerva ought 
 to be here, she always holds such a good hand at 
 every game." 
 
 " I think," said Mrs. Gnu, " that if she once got 
 a good hold of any hand, she wouldn t let it go 
 immediately." 
 
 " Good !" shouted Mr. Boosey. 
 
 " Hi, hi !" roared Mr. Potiphar. 
 
 The Pacha took snuff placidly, and said quietly : 
 
 " You ve fairly trumped my trick, and taken it, 
 Mrs. Gnu." 
 
 " I should say the trick has taken her," whis 
 pered Mr. Firkin at my elbow to Kurz Pacha.
 
 THE POTIPHARS IN PARIS. 197 
 
 The Sennaar Ambassador opened his eyes wide, 
 and offered Mr. Firkin his snuff-box. 
 
 Monday came at length. It was well known 
 that we were all going the Potiphars and the 
 rest of us. Every body had spoken of the diffi 
 culty of getting state-rooms on the steamer to 
 town, and hoped we had spoken in time. 
 
 " I have written and secured my rooms," said 
 Mr. Potiphar to every body he met ; "I am not 
 to be left in the lurch, my dear sir, it isn t my 
 way." And then he marched on, Gauche Boosey 
 said, as if at least both sides of the street were his 
 way. He s changed a great deal lately. 
 
 The De Families were going the same day. 
 " Hope you ve secured rooms, De Famille," said 
 Mr. Potiphar blandly to him. 
 
 " No," answered he, shortly ; " no, not yet ; it 
 isn t my way ; I don t mean to give myself trou 
 ble about things ; I don t bother ; it isn t my 
 way." 
 
 And each went his own way up and down the 
 street. But early on Monday afternoon Mr. De 
 Famille and his family drove toward Fall Eiver, 
 from which place the boat starts.
 
 198 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 Monday evening the Potiphars and tlie rest of 
 us went to the wharf at Newport, and presently 
 the boat came up. We bundled on board, and 
 as soon as he could get to the office Mr. Poti- 
 phar asked for the keys of his rooms. 
 
 "Why, sir," said the clerk, "Mr. DC Families 
 has them. He came on board at Fall River and 
 asked for your keys, as if the rooms had been 
 secured for him." 
 
 " What does that mean ?" demanded Mr. Pot- 
 iphar 
 
 "Oh! ah! I remember now," said Mr. Boosey. 
 " I saw the De Families all getting into a carriage 
 for a little drive, as Mr. De F. said, about two 
 o clock this afternoon." 
 
 Mr. Potiphar looked like a thunder-storm. 
 " What the devil does it mean ?" asked he of 
 the clerk, while the passengers hustled him, and 
 punched him, and the hook of an umbrella-stick 
 caught in his cravat-knot, and untied it. 
 
 Send up immediately, and say that Mr. Poti- , 
 phar wants his state-rooms," said he to the clerk. 
 
 In a few minutes the messenger returned and 
 said
 
 THE POTIPHAES IN PARIS. 199 
 
 " Mr. De Famille s compliments to Mr. Poti- 
 phar. Mr. De Famille and his family have re 
 tired for the night, but upon arriving in the 
 morning he will explain every tiling to Mr. 
 Potiphar s satisfaction." 
 
 "Jolly!" whispered Mr. Boosey, rubbing his 
 hands, to Mr. Firkin, on whose arm I was 
 leaning. 
 
 " Are you fond of the Italian Opera, Mr. Poti- 
 phar?" inquired Kurz Pacha, blandly. 
 
 Mrs. P. sat down upon a settee and looked at 
 nothing. 
 
 il Patience ! do verify the quotation and 
 smile," said the Ambassador to her. 
 
 "It s a mean swindle," said Mr. Potiphar. "I ll 
 have satisfaction. I ll go break open the door," 
 and he started. 
 
 " My dear, don t be in a passion," said Mrs. 
 Potiphar, " and don t be a fool. Remember 
 that the De Families are not people to be 
 insulted. It won t do to quarrel with the De 
 Families." 
 
 " Splendid!" ejaculated Kurz Pacha. 
 
 " I ve no doubt he ll explain it all in the morn-
 
 200 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 ing," continued Mrs. Potiphar, " there s some mis 
 take ; why not be cool about it ? Beside, Mr. De 
 Famille is an elderly gentleman and requires his 
 rest. I do think you re positively unchristian, 
 Mr. Potiphar. The idea of insulting the De 
 Families !" 
 
 And Mrs. Potiphar patted her little feet upon 
 the floor in front of the ladies cabin, where we 
 were all collected. 
 
 " Where are you going to sleep ?" asked Mr. 
 Potiphar mildly. 
 
 " I m sure I don t know," answered she. 
 
 We had an awful night. It was worse than 
 any night at sea. Mrs. P. was propped up in 
 one corner of a settee and I in the other, and 
 when I was fixed comfortably there would come 
 a great sea, and the boat would lurch, and I had 
 to disarrange my position. It was horrid. But 
 Mr. Potiphar was very good all night. He kept 
 coming to see if Polly wanted any thing, and if 
 she were warm enough, and if she were well. 
 Gauche Boosey, who was on the floor in the 
 saloon, said he saw Mr. P. crawl up softly and 
 try his state-room door. But it was locked, " and
 
 THE POTIPHARS IN PARIS. 201 
 
 the snoring of old De Famille, who was enjoying 
 his required rest," said he, " carne in regular 
 broadsides through the blinds." 
 
 I don t know how Mr. De Famille explained. 
 I only know Mrs. P. charged old Pot. to be 
 satisfied with any thing. 
 
 " There are some people, my darling Caroline," 
 she said to me, " with whom it does not do to 
 quarrel. It isn t Christian to quarrel. I can t 
 afford to be on bad terms with the De Families." 
 
 "It is odd, isn t it," said Kurz Pacha to Mrs. 
 P., as we were sailing down the harbor on our 
 way to Europe, and talking of the circumstance 
 of the state-rooms, "it is so odd, that in Sennaar, 
 where, to be sure, civilization has scarcely a foot 
 hold I mean such civilization as you enjoy 
 this proceeding would have been called dishon 
 est? They do have the oddest use of terms in 
 Sennaar ! Why, I remember that I once bought a 
 sheep, and as it was coming to my fold in charge 
 of my shepherd, a man in a mask came out of a 
 wood and walked away with the sheep, and ap 
 propriated the mutton-chops to his own family 
 
 uses. And those singular people in Sennaar called 
 9*
 
 202 THE POTIPII.VR PATERS. 
 
 it stealing ! Shall I ever get through laughing at 
 them when I return ! There ought to be mission 
 aries sent to Sennaar. Do you think the Rev. 
 Cream Cheese would go ? How gracefully he 
 would say : Benighted brethren, in my country 
 when a man buys a sheep or a state-room, and 
 pays money for it, and another man appropriates 
 it, depriving the rightful buyer of his chops and 
 sheep, what does the buyer do ? Does he swear ? 
 Does he rail ? Does he complain ? Does he even 
 ask for the cold pickings ? Not at all, brethren ; 
 he does none of these things. lie sends Worces 
 tershire sauce to the thief, or a pillow of poppies, 
 and says to him, Friend, all of mine is thine, and 
 all of thine is thy own. This, benighted people 
 of Sennaar, is the practice of a Christian people. 
 As one of our great poets says, It is more blessed 
 to give than to receive. Think how delicately 
 the Rev. Cream would pat his mouth with the 
 fine cambric handkerchief, after rounding off such 
 a homily ! lie might ask you and Mrs. Potiphar 
 to accompany him as examples of this Christian 
 pitch of self-sacrifice. On the whole, I wouldn t 
 advise you to go. The rude races of Sennaar
 
 THE POTIPHARS IN PARIS. 203 
 
 might put that beautiful forgiveness of yours to 
 extraordinary proofs. Holloa ! there s a sea !" 
 
 We were dismally sea-sick. And I cared for 
 nothing but arriving. Oh ! dear, I think I would 
 even have given up Paris, at least I thought so. 
 But, oh! how could I think so! Just fancy a 
 place where not only your own maid speaks 
 French, but where every body, the porters, the 
 coachmen, the chambermaids, can t speak any 
 thing else! Where the very beggars beg, and 
 the commonest people swear, in French ! Oh ! 
 it s inexpressibly delightful. Why, the dogs un 
 derstand it, and the horses " every body," as 
 Kurz Pacha said to me, the morning after our 
 arrival (for he insisted upon coming, " it was 
 such a freak," he said,) " every body rolls in a 
 luxury of French, and, according to the board 
 ing-school standard, is happy." 
 
 Every body but poor Mr. Potiphar ! 
 
 He has a terrible time of it. 
 
 When we arrived we alighted at Meurice s, 
 all the fashionable people do ; at least Gauche 
 Booscy said Lord Brougham did, for he used to 
 read it in Galignani, and I suppose it is fashion-
 
 204 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 able to do as Lord Brougham does. D Orsay 
 Firkin said that the Hotel Bristol was more 
 recherche. 
 
 "Does that mean cheaper?" inquired Mr. Pot- 
 iphar. 
 
 Mr. Firkin looked at him compassionately. 
 
 " I only want," said Mr. Potiphar, in a kind of 
 gasping way, for it was in the cars on the way 
 from Boulogne to Paris that we held this con 
 sultation " I only want to go where there is 
 somebody who can speak English." 
 
 " My dear sir, there are Commissionaires at all 
 the hotels who are perfect linguists," said Mr. Fir 
 kin in a gentlemanly manner. 
 
 " Oh ! dear me !" said Mr. P. wiping his 
 forehead with the red bandanna that he always 
 carries, despite Mrs. P., " what is a commission 
 aire?" 
 
 " An interpreter, a cicerone," said Mr. Firkin. 
 
 " A guide, philosopher, and friend," said Kurz 
 Pacha. 
 
 " Kurz Pacha, do you speak French ?" inquired 
 Mr. P., nervously, as we rolled along. 
 
 " Oh ! yes," replied he.
 
 THE POTIPHARS IN PARIS. 205 
 
 " Oh ! dear me !" said Mr. Potiphar, looking 
 Disconsolately out of the window. 
 
 We arrived soon after. 
 
 " "We are now at the Barri&re," said Mr. Firkin. 
 
 " What do we do there?" asked Mr. Potiphar. 
 
 " We are inspected," said Mr. Firkin. 
 
 Mr. Potiphar drew himself up with a military 
 air. 
 
 We alighted and walked into the room where 
 all the baggage was arranged. 
 
 " Est-ce qu il y a quelque chose d declarer f" asked 
 an officer, addressing Mr. Potiphar. 
 
 " Good Heavens! what did you say?" said Mr. 
 P., looking at him. 
 
 The officer smiled, and Kurz Pacha said some 
 thing, upon which he bowed and passed on. We 
 stepped outside upon the pavement, and I confess 
 that even I could not understand every thing that 
 was said by the crowd and the coachmen. But 
 Kurz Pacha led the way to a carriage, and we 
 drove off to Meurice s. 
 
 "It s awful, isn t it?" said Mr. Potiphar, pant 
 ing. 
 
 When we reached the hotel, a gentleman (Mr.
 
 206 THE POTIPIIAK PAPERS. 
 
 Potiphar said lie was sure he was a gentleman, 
 from a remark he made in English) came bow 
 ing out. But before the door of the carriage was 
 opened, Mr. P. thrust his head out of the window, 
 and holding the door shut, cried out, " Do you 
 speak English here ?" 
 
 "Certainly, sir," replied the clerk; and that 
 was the remark that so pleased Mr. Potiphar. 
 
 My room was next to the Potiphars, and I 
 heard a great deal, you may be sure. I didn t 
 mean to, but I couldn t help it. The next morn 
 ing, when they were about coming down, I heard 
 Polly say 
 
 " Now, Mr. Potiphar, remember, if you want to 
 speak of your room it is numcro quatrc-vinyt cinq," 
 and she pronounced it very slowly. ".Now trv, 
 Mr. P." 
 
 " Oh ! dear me. Kattery vang sank," said he. 
 
 "Very good," answered she; "ait troisieme ; 
 that means, on the third floor. Now trv." 
 
 " O tror O trorsy trorsy Oh ! dear me!" 
 muttered he in a tone of despair. 
 
 "bne," said Mrs. P. 
 
 " Aim," said he.
 
 THE TOTIPHAKS IN PARIS. 207 
 
 "Well?" said Mrs. P. 
 " trorsyaim," said lie. 
 
 " That s very well, indeed !" said M*s. Potiphar, 
 and they went out of the room. I joined them 
 in the hall, and we ran on before Mr. P., but we 
 soon heard some one speaking, and stopped. 
 
 "Monsieur, veut il prendreun commissionaire?" 
 
 " Kattery vang sank," replied Mr. Potiphar, 
 with great emphasis. 
 
 " Comment?" said the other. 
 
 "Otror tror Oh! Polly seeaim seeaimi" 
 returned Mr. P. 
 
 "You speak English?" said the commissionaire. 
 
 "Why! good God! do you?" asked Mr. P., 
 with astonishment. 
 
 " I speaks every languages, sare," replied the 
 other, " and we will use the English, if you please. 
 But Monsieur speaks ires lien the French lan 
 guage." 
 
 "Are you speaking English now?" asked Mr. 
 Potiphar. 
 
 The commissionaire answered him that he was, 
 and Mr. P. thrust his arm through that of the 
 commissionaire and said
 
 208 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 " My dear sir, if you are disengaged I should 
 be very glad if you would accompany me in my 
 walks through the town." 
 
 "Mr. Potiphar!" said Polly, "come!" 
 "Coming, my dear," answered he, as he ap 
 proached with the commissionaire. It was in vain 
 that Mrs. P. winked and frowned. Her husband 
 would not take hints. So taking his other arm, 
 and wishing the commissionaire good morning, 
 she tried to draw him away. But he clung to his 
 companion and said, 
 
 " Polly, this gentleman speaks English." 
 "Don t keep his arm," whispered she; "he is 
 only a servant." 
 
 " Servant, indeed !" said he; "you should have 
 heard him speak French, and you see how gen 
 tlemanly he is." 
 
 It was some time before Polly was able to 
 make her husband comprehend the case. 
 
 "Ah!" said he, at length; "Oh! I understand." 
 All our first days were full of such little mis 
 takes. Kurz Pacha came regularly to see us, and 
 laughed more than I ever saw him laugh before. 
 The young men were away a great deal, which
 
 THE POTIPHARS IN PARIS. 209 
 
 was hardly kind. But they said they must call 
 upon their old acquaintances; and Polly and I 
 expected every day to be called upon by their 
 lady friends. 
 
 " It s very odd that the friends of these young 
 men don t call upon us," said Mrs. Potiphar to 
 Kurz Pacha; "it would be only civil." 
 
 The Ambassador laughed a good deal to him 
 self and then answered, 
 
 " But they are not visiting ladies." 
 
 "What do you mean?" said she. 
 
 " Ask Mr. Firkin," replied he. 
 
 So when we saw them next, Mrs. P. said, 
 
 " Mr. Firkin, I remember you used to tell me 
 of the pleasant circles in which you visited in 
 Paris, and how much superior French society 
 is to American." 
 
 "Infinitely superior," replied Mr. Firkin. 
 
 "Much more spiritual," said Mr. Boosey. 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Potiphar, "we are going 
 to stay only a short time to be sure, but 
 we should like very much to see a little good 
 society." 
 
 "Ah!" said Mr. Firkin.
 
 210 THE POT1PIIAU PAPERS. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, certainly," said Mr. Boosey ; ami 
 the corners of his eyelids twitched. 
 
 " Perhaps you might suggest that you have 
 some friends staying in town," said Mrs. P. 
 "You know we re all intimate enough for that." 
 
 " Yes oh, yes," said Mr. Firkin, slowly ; 
 " but the truth is, it s a little awkward. These 
 ladies are kind enough to receive us ; but to 
 ask favors of them, is, you see, different." 
 
 " Oh ! yes," interrupted Mr. Boosey ; " to ask 
 favors of them is a very different thing," and 
 his eyes really glistened. 
 
 "These are ladies, you see, dear Mrs. Potiphar," 
 said Kurz Pacha, " who don t grant favors." 
 
 " But still," continued Mr. Firkin, " if you only 
 wanted to see them, you know, and be able to say 
 at home that you knew Madame la Marquise So- 
 and-so, and Madame la Comtesse So-and-so, and 
 describe their dresses, why, we can manage it 
 well enough ; for we are engaged to a little 
 party at the opera this evening with the Countess 
 de Papillon and Madame Casta Diva, two of 
 the best known ladies in Paris. But they never 
 visit."
 
 THE POTIPIIARS IX PARIS. 211 
 
 " How superbly exclusive !" said Mrs. Poti- 
 phar ; "I wonder Low tliat would do at Lome ! 
 However, I sLould be glad to see the general 
 air and tlie toilette, you know. If we were 
 going to pass tlie wLole winter I would know 
 them of course. But tilings are different wLere 
 you stay so sLort a time. Eh, Kurz PacLa ?" 
 
 " Very different, Madame. But you are quite 
 right. Make Lay wLile the sun sLines ; use your 
 eyes if you can t use your tongue. Eyes are great 
 auxiliaries, you can use the tongue afterward. 
 You ve no idea Low well you can talk about 
 FrencL society if you only go to tLe opera with 
 a friend who knows people, and to your banker s 
 soirees. If you cLose to read a little of Balzac, 
 beside, your knowledge will be complete." 
 
 So we agreed to go to tlie opera. We passed 
 tLe days sliopping, and driving in tlie Bois de 
 Boulogne. Sometimes tlie young men went with 
 us, and D Orsay Firkin confided to me one of 
 Lis adventures, which was very romantic. You 
 know how handsome lie is, and Low excessively 
 .gentlemanly, and Low tLe girls were all in love 
 witL him last winter at home. Now you needn t
 
 212 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 say that I was, for you know better. I liked him 
 as a friend. But he told me that he had often 
 seen a girl in one of the shops on the Boulevards 
 watching him very closely. He never passed by, 
 but she always saw him, and looked so earnestly 
 at him, that at length he thought he would 
 saunter carelessly into the shop, and ask for some 
 trifle. The moment he entered she fixed her eyes 
 full upon him, and he says they were large and 
 lustrous, and a little mournful in expression. But 
 he scarcely looked at her, and asked at the oppo 
 site counter for a pair of gloves. He tried them 
 on, and in the mirror behind the counter he saw 
 the girl still watching him. After lingering for 
 some time, and looking at every thing but the 
 girl, he sauntered slowly out again, while her 
 eyes, he said, grew evidently more mournful as 
 she saw him leave without looking at her. Daily, 
 for a week afterwards, he walked by the door, 
 and she was always watching and looking after 
 him with the most eager interest. Mr. Firkin did 
 not say he was sorry for the little French girl, but 
 I know that he really felt so. These men, that 
 every woman falls in love with, are generous,
 
 THE POTIPHARS IN PARIS. 213 
 
 I have always found. And I am sure he would 
 never have confided this little affair to me, except 
 for the very intimate terms upon which we are ; 
 for I have heard him say (speaking of other men) 
 that nothing was meaner than for a man to tell of 
 his conquests. 
 
 "Well, the affair went on, he says, for some 
 days longer. He was, at the time, constantly 
 in attendance upon the Countess de Papillon, but 
 often from the window of her carriage he has 
 remarked the young girl pensively watching him, 
 as she stretched gloves, or tied cravats around the 
 necks of customers. At length he determined to fol 
 low the matter up, as he called it, and so marched 
 into the shop one day, and going straight toward 
 the mournful eyes, he asked for a pair of gloves. 
 Mr. Firkin says the French women are so per 
 fectly trained to conceal their emotions, that she 
 did not betray, by any trembling, or turning pale, 
 or stammering, the profound interest she felt for 
 him, but quietly looked in his eyes, and in what 
 Mr. Firkin called "a strain of Siren sweetness," 
 asked what number he wore. He replied with 
 his French esprit, as Kurz Pacha calls it, that he
 
 214 THE rOTlPIIAR PAPER??. 
 
 thought the size of her hand was about right 
 for him; upon which she smiled in the most be 
 witching manner, and bringing out a large box of 
 gloves, selected a pair of an exquisite nuance, as 
 the French say, you know, and asking him to put 
 out his hand, she proceeded to lit the glove to it, 
 herself. Mr. Firkin remarked, that as she did so, 
 she would raise her eyes to his whenever she 
 found it necessary to press his ringers harder than 
 usual, and when he thought the glove was fairly 
 on, she kept pulling it down, and smoothing it; 
 and finally taking his hand between both of hers, 
 she brought the glove together, buttoned it, and 
 said, Monsieur has such a delicate hand, and 
 smiled sweetly. 
 
 Mr. Firkin said he bought an astonishing num 
 ber of gloves that morning, and suddenly remem 
 bered that he wanted cravats. Fortunately the 
 new styles had just come in, Marie said (for he 
 had discovered her name), and she opened a daz 
 zling array of silks and satins, and asking him to 
 remove his neckcloth, she wound her hand in a 
 beautiful silk, and throwing her arms, for a little 
 moment, quite around his neck, she tied it in
 
 THE POTIPHARS IX PARIS. 215 
 
 front ; her little hands sometimes hitting his chin. 
 Then taking him by the hand she led him to a 
 mirror, in which he might survey the effect, while 
 she stood behind him looking into the mirror 
 over his shoulder, her head really quite close to 
 his, and, in her enthusiasm about the set of the 
 cravat, having forgotten to take her hand out of 
 his. lie stood a great while before that mirror, 
 trying to discover if it really was a becoming tie. 
 He said he never found so much difficulty in 
 deciding. But Marie decided every thing for him, 
 and laid aside piles of cravats, and gloves, and 
 fancy buttons, and charms, until he was quite 
 dizzy, and found that he hadn t money enough in 
 his pocket to pay. 
 
 "It is nothing," said the trustful Marie, " Mon 
 sieur will call again." Touched by her confidence 
 he has called several times since, and never escapes 
 without paying fifty francs or so. Marie says the 
 Messieurs Americains are princes. They never 
 have smaller change than a Napoleon, and they 
 are not only the most regal of customers but the 
 most polite of gentlemen. Mr. Firkin says he has 
 often seen Frenchmen watching him, as he stood
 
 216 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 in the shop, with the most quizzical expression, 
 and once or twice he has thought he heard sup 
 pressed laughter from a group of the other girls 
 and the French gentlemen. But it was a mistake, 
 for when he turned, the Frenchmen had the po 
 litest expression, and the girls were very busy 
 with the goods. Poor French gentlemen! how 
 they must be annoyed to see foreigners carrying 
 off not only all the gloves, but all the smiles, of 
 the beautiful Maries. It is really pleasant to see 
 Gauche Boosey and D Orsay Firkin promenade 
 on the Boulevards. They are more superbly 
 dressed than any body else. They have such 
 coats, and trowsers, and waistcoats, and boots, 
 "always looking," says Kurz Pacha, "as if they 
 came into a large fortune last evening, and were 
 anxious to advertise the fact this morning." Even 
 the boys in the streets turn to look at them. 
 
 Mr. Boosey always buys the pattern shirts, and 
 woollen morning dresses, and fancy coats, that 
 hang in the shop windows. " Then," he says, " I 
 am sure of being at the height of the fashion." 
 Mr. Firkin is more quiet. The true gentleman, 
 he says, is known by the absence of every thing
 
 THE POTIPHARS IN PARIS. 217 
 
 prononce. " He is a very true gentleman, then," 
 even Kurz Pacha says, " for I have never found 
 any thing prononce in Mr. D Orsay Firkin." The 
 Pacha tells a good story of them. " The week 
 after their arrival Mr. B. appeared in a suit of 
 great splendor. It was a very remarkable coat, 
 and waistcoat, covered with gilt sprigs, and an 
 embroidered shirt-bosom, altogether a fine coro 
 nation suit for the king of the Cannibal islands. 
 Mr. Firkin, as usual, was rigorously gentlemanly, 
 in the quiet way. They walked together up the 
 Boulevards, Mr. B. flashing in the sun, and Mr. F. 
 sombre as a shadow. The whole world turned to 
 remark the extreme gorgeousness of Mr. Boosey s 
 attire, which was peculiar even in Paris. At first 
 that ornament of society rather enjoyed it, but 
 such universal attention became a little weari 
 some, and at length annoying. Finally Mr. Boo- 
 sey could endure it no longer, and turning round 
 he stopped Mr. Firkin, and looking at him from 
 top to toe, remarked, Really I see nothing so. 
 peculiar in your dress that the whole town should 
 stop to stare at you. Mr. Boosey is a man of 
 
 great discrimination," concluded the Ambassador. 
 10
 
 218 THK POTIPHAK PAPERS. 
 
 He went with us to the opera, where we were 
 to see the Countess dc Papillon and Madame 
 Casta Diva. The house was full, and the young 
 gentlemen had told us where to look for their 
 box. Mrs. Potiphar had made Mr. P. as presenta 
 ble as possible, and begged the Scnnaar Minister 
 to see that Mr. P. did not talk too loud, nor go to 
 sleep, nor offend the proprieties in any way ; 
 especially to cut off all his attempts at speaking 
 French. She had hired the most expensive box. 
 
 "People respect money, my dear," said Mrs. 
 Potiphar to me. 
 
 " But not always its owners, my dear," whis 
 pered Kurz Pacha in my other ear. 
 
 When we entered the box all the glasses in the 
 house were levelled at us. Mrs. Potiphar gayly 
 seated herself in the best seat, nodding and. chat 
 ting with the Ambassador ; her diamonds glitter 
 ing, her brocade glistening, her fan waving, while 
 I slipped into the seat opposite, and Mr. Potiphar 
 stood behind me in a dazzling expanse of white 
 waistcoat, and his glass in his eye, as Mrs. P. had 
 taught him. 
 
 " A very successful entret," whispered the Pacha
 
 THE POTIPHARS IX PARIS. 219 
 
 to Mrs. P. "I shall give out to my friends that it 
 is the heiress presumptive of the Camanchees." 
 
 "No, really; what is the Camanchees?" said 
 Polly levelling her glass all round the house, and 
 laughing, and talking, and rustling, as if she were 
 very, very happy. 
 
 Suddenly there Avas a fresh volley of glasses 
 towards our box, and, to our perfect dismay, we 
 turned and saw that Mr. Potiphar had advanced 
 to the front, and having put down his eye-glass, 
 had taken out his old, round, silver-barred spec 
 tacles, and was deliberately wiping them with 
 that great sheet of a hideous red bandanna, " pre 
 paratory to an exhaustive survey of the house," 
 whispered Kurz Pacha to me. 
 
 Mrs. P. wouldn t betray any emotion, but still 
 smiling, she hissed to him, under her breath : 
 
 " Mr. P., get back this minute. Don t make a 
 fool of yourself. Mais, monsieur, c est vraiment 
 charmant." 
 
 The latter sentence was addressed with smiles 
 to the Ambassador, as she saw that the neighbor 
 in the next box was listening. 
 
 " It s uncommonly warm," said Mr. Potiphar in
 
 220 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 a loud tone, as he wiped his forehead with the 
 bandanna. 
 
 " Yes, I observe that Mrs. Potiphar betrays the 
 heat in her face," said the Pacha, " which, how 
 ever, is merely a becoming carnation, Madame," 
 concluded he, sinking his voice, and rubbing his 
 hands. 
 
 At that moment in the box opposite I saw 
 our friends, Mr. Boosey and Mr. Firkin. By 
 their sides sat two such handsome women ! 
 They wore a great quantity of jewelry, and had 
 the easiest, most smiling faces you ever saw. 
 They entered making a great noise, and I could 
 see that the modesty of our friends kept them 
 in the rear. For they seemed almost afraid of 
 being seen. 
 
 " I like that," said Kurz Pacha ; " it shows 
 that such stern republicans don t intend ever to 
 appear delighted with the smiles of nobility." 
 
 " The largest one is Madame la Marquise Casta 
 Diva," said Mrs. Potiphar, scanning them care 
 fully, " I know her by her patrician air. What 
 a splendid thing blood is, to be sure !" 
 
 She gave herself several minutes to study the
 
 THE POTIPHARS IN PARIS. 221 
 
 toilette of the lady, while I looked at the younger 
 lady, Countess de Papillon, who had all kinds 
 of little fluttering ends of ribbons, and laces, 
 and scallops, and ruffles, and was altogether so 
 stylish ! 
 
 " I see now where Mr. Firkin gets his elegant 
 manners," said Mrs. Potiphar; "it is a great 
 privilege for young Americans to be admitted 
 familiarly into such society. I now understand 
 better the tone of their conversation when they 
 refer to the French Salons." 
 
 " Yes, my dear Madame," answered the Pacha, 
 " this is indeed making the best of one s oppor 
 tunities. This is well worth coming to Europe 
 for. It is, in fact, for this that Europe is chiefly 
 valuable to an American, as the experience of an 
 observer shows. Paris is, notoriously, the great 
 centre of historical and romantic interest. To be 
 sure, Italy, Home, Switzerland, and Germany, 
 yes, and even, England, have some few objects 
 of interest and attention. But the really great 
 things of Europe, the superior interests, are all 
 in Paris. Why, just reflect. Here is the Cafe 
 dc Paris, the Trois Fr&res, and the Maison Doree.
 
 222 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 I don t think you can get such dinners elsewhere. 
 Then, there is the Grand Opera, the Comic Opera, 
 and now and then the Italian I rather think 
 that is good music. Are there any such theatres 
 as the Vaudeville, the Varietes, and the Afonlansier, 
 where there is the most dexterous balancing on 
 the edge of decency that ever you saw ; and 
 when the balance is lost, as it always is, at least 
 a dozen times every evening, the applause is 
 tremendous, showing that the audience have such 
 a subtile sense of propriety that they can detect 
 the slightest deviation from the right line. Is 
 there not the Louvre, where, if there is not the 
 best picture of a single great artist, there are good 
 specimens of all? Will you please to show me 
 such a promenade as the Boulevards, such fetes 
 as those of the Champs Elysees, such shops as 
 those of the Passages, and the Palais Royal. 
 Above all, will you indicate to such students of 
 mankind as Mr. Boosey, Mr. Firkin, and I, a city 
 more abounding in piquant little women, with 
 eyes, and coiffures and toilettes, and je ne sais quoi, 
 enough to make Diogenes a dandy, to obtain their 
 favor? T think, dea* Madame, you would be
 
 THE POTIPHARS IN PARIS. 223 
 
 troubled to do it. And while these things are 
 Paris, while we are sure of an illimitable allow 
 ance of all this in the gay capital, we do right 
 to remain here. Let who will, sadden in mouldy 
 old Eome, or luxuriate in the orange-groves of 
 Sorrento and the south, or wander among the 
 ruins of the most marvellous of empires, and the 
 monuments of art of the highest human genius, 
 or float about the canals of Yenice, or woo the 
 Venus and the Apollo ; and learn from the silent 
 lips of those teachers a lore sweeter than the 
 French novelists impart ; let who will, climb the 
 tremendous Alps, and feel the sublimity of Switz 
 erland as he rises from the summer of Italian 
 lakes and vineyards to the winter of the glaciers, 
 or makes the tour of all climates in a day by 
 descending those mountains toward the south ; 
 let those who care for it, explore in Germany the 
 sources of modern history, and the remote be 
 ginnings of the American spirit ; ours be the 
 Boulevards, the demoiselles, the operas, and the 
 unequalled dinners. Decency requires that we 
 should see Eome, and climb an Alp. We will 
 devote a summer week to the one, and a winter
 
 224 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 month to the other. They will restore us re 
 newed and refreshed for the manly, generous, 
 noble, and useful life we lead in Paris." 
 
 "Admirably said," returned Mrs. Potiphar, 
 who had been studying the ladies opposite while 
 the Pacha was speaking, " but a little bit prosy," 
 she whispered to me. 
 
 It would charm you to hear how intelligently 
 Mrs. P. speaks about French society, since that 
 evening at the opera. When we return, you will 
 find how accomplished she is. We ve been here 
 only a few weeks, and we already know all the 
 fashionable shops, and a little more French, and 
 we go to the confectioners, and eat savarins every 
 morning at 12, and we drive in the Bois de 
 Boulogne in the afternoon, and we dine splendidly, 
 and in the evening we go to the opera or a theatre. 
 To be sure, we don t have much society beside our 
 own party. But then the shop-girls point out the 
 distinguished women to Mrs. Potiphar, so that 
 she can point them out when we drive ; and 
 our banker calls and keeps us up in gossip ; and 
 Mrs. Potiphar s maid, Adele, is inestimable in fur 
 nishing information ; and Mr. Potiphar gets a great
 
 THE FOTIPHARS IN PAEIS. 225 
 
 deal out of his commissionaire, and goes about 
 studying his Galignani s Guide, and frequents the 
 English Beading Eoom, where, I am told, he 
 makes himself a little conspicuous when he finds 
 that Englishmen won t talk, by saying, " Oh ! dear 
 me !" and wiping his face with a bandanna. He 
 usually opens his advances by making sure of an 
 Englishman, and saying, "Bon matin, but, per 
 haps, sir, you don t speak French." 
 
 " You evidently do not, sir," replied one gentle 
 man. 
 
 " No, sir ; you re right there," answered Mr. P. 
 But he couldn t get another word from his com 
 panion. 
 
 In this delightful round the weeks glide by. 
 
 "You must be enjoying yourself immensely," 
 says the Pacha. You understand life, my dear 
 Mrs. Potiphar. Here you are, speaking very little 
 French, in a city where the language is an atmos 
 phere, and where you are in no sense acclimated 
 until you can speak it fluently with all French 
 life shut out from you living in a hotel cheated 
 by butcher, baker, and candlestick-maker going 
 
 to hear plays that you imperfectly understand to 
 
 10*
 
 226 THE POTIPIIAR PAPERS. 
 
 an opera where you know nobody, and where 
 your box is filled with your own countrymen, who 
 are delightful, indeed, but whom you didn t come 
 to Paris to see constantly buying a hundred 
 things because they are pretty, and because you 
 are in Paris entirely ignorant, and quite as care 
 less, of the historical interests of the city, of the 
 pictures, of the statues, and buildings surrounded 
 by celebrities of all kind?, of whom you never 
 heard, and therefore lose the opportunity of seeing 
 them in fact, paying the most extravagant price 
 for every thing, and purchasing only the con 
 sciousness of being in Paris why. who ought to 
 be happy, and considered to be having a fine time 
 of it, if you are not ? How naturally you will 
 sigh for all this when you return and recur to 
 Paris as the culmination of human bliss ! Here s 
 my honored Potiphar, who has this morning been 
 taken to a darkened room in a grand old house, 
 in a lonely, aristocratic street ; and there a picture- 
 agent has shown him a splendid Nicolas Poussin, 
 painted in his prime for the family, whose heir in 
 reduced circumstances must now part with it at a 
 tearful sacrifice. Honored P. s friend, the com-
 
 THE POTIPHARS IN PARIS. 227 
 
 missionaire, interprets this story, while the agent 
 stands sadly meditating the sacrifice with which 
 his duty acquaints him. He informs the good P., 
 through the friendly commissionaire, that he has 
 been induced to offer him the picture, not only 
 because all Americans have so fine a taste (as his 
 experience has proved to him) in paintings, nor 
 because they are so much more truly munificent 
 than the nobility of other nations, but because the 
 heir in reduced circumstances wishes to think of 
 the picture as entirely removed from the pos 
 sibility of being seen in France. Family pride, 
 which is almost crushed in disposing of so great 
 and valued a work, would be entirely quenched, 
 if the sale were to be known, and the picture re 
 cognized elsewhere in the country. Monsieur is a 
 gentleman, and he will understand the feelings of a 
 gentleman under such circumstances. The commis 
 sionaire and the picture-agent therefore preserve a 
 profound silence, and my honored friend feels for 
 his red bandanna, and is not comfortable in the 
 lonely old house, with the picture and the people. 
 The agent says that it is not unusual for the 
 owner to visit the picture about that very hour, to
 
 228 THE POTIPUAR PAPERS. 
 
 hear what chance there is for its sale. If this 
 knock should be he, it would not be very re 
 markable. The heir enters. He has a very 
 heavy moustache, dark hair, and a slightly 
 Hebrew cast of countenance. 
 
 " Mr. Potiphar is introduced. The heir con 
 templates the picture sadly, and he and the agent 
 point out its beauties to each other. In fine, my 
 honored Potiphar buys the work of art. To any 
 one else, of course, in France, for instance, the 
 price should be eleven thousand francs. But the 
 French and the Americans have fraternized ; a 
 thousand francs shall be deducted. 
 
 " You see clearly it s quite worth while coming 
 to Paris to do this, because, I suppose, there are 
 not more than ten or twenty artists at home who 
 could paint ten or twenty times as good a picture 
 for a quarter of the price. But you, dearest Mrs. 
 P., who know all about pictures, naturally don t 
 want American pictures in your house, any more 
 than you want any thing else American there. 
 
 " My young friends and allies, Messrs. Boosey, 
 Firkin, and Croesus, say that they come to Paris 
 to see the world. They get the words wrong, you
 
 THE POTIPHARS IN PARIS. 229 
 
 know. They come that the world (that is, their 
 world at home) may not see them. To accom 
 pany Mesdames de Papillon and Casta Diva to 
 the opera, then to return to beautifully furnished 
 apartments to sup, and to prolong the entertain 
 ment until morning, is what those charming 
 youths mean when they say see the world. To 
 attend at that reunion of the Haut Ton, Monsieur 
 Celarius dancing academy, is to see good society 
 in Paris, after the manner of those dashing men 
 of the world. It s amusing enough, and it s in 
 nocent enough, in its way. They won t go very 
 far. They ll spend a good deal of money for no 
 thing. They ll be plucked at gaming-houses. 
 They ll be quietly laughed at by Mesdames de 
 Papillon and Casta Diva, and the male friends 
 of those ladies who enjoy the benefit of the lavish 
 bounty of our young Croesuses and Firkins. 
 They ll swagger a good deal, and take airs, and 
 come home and indulge in foreign habits, now 
 grown indispensable. They will pronounce upon 
 the female toilette, and upon the gantier le plus 
 comme il faut, in Paris. They will beg your par 
 don for expressing a little phrase in French to
 
 230 THE POTIPIIAR PAPERS. 
 
 which, really, the English is inadequate. They 
 will have, necessarily, the foreign air. Some of 
 them will settle away into business men, and be 
 very exemplary. Others will return to Paris, as 
 moths to the light, asserting that the only place 
 for a gentleman to live agreeably, to indulge his 
 tastes, and get the most for his money, is Paris 
 which is strictly true of such gentlemen as they. 
 A view of life that starts from the dinner-table, 
 inevitably selects Paris for its career. For. ob 
 viously, if you live to dine well you must live 
 where there is good cooking. 
 
 " You women are rather worse off than the 
 young men, Mrs. P. ; because you are necessarily 
 so much more confined to the house. Unless, in 
 deed, you imitate Mrs. Vite, who goes wherever 
 the gentlemen go, and who is famous as L Ameri- 
 caine. If you like that sort of thing, you can 
 do as much of it as you please. It will always 
 surround you with a certain kind of man, and 
 withdraw from your society a certain kind of 
 woman, and a certain kind of respect. 
 
 " To conclude my sermon, ladies, Europe is a 
 charmed name to Americans, because in Europe
 
 THE POTIPHARS IN PARIS. 231 
 
 are the fountains of all our education and training. 
 History is the story of that hemisphere; the 
 ruins of empires, arts, and civilizations, are here. 
 Now, if there is any use in living at all, which I 
 am far from asserting, is it worth while to get 
 nothing out of Europe but a prolonged supper 
 with Madame Casta Diva, or a wardrobe of all the 
 charming dresses in Paris, and a facility of scan 
 dal which has all the wickedness and none of the 
 wit of the finest Frenchwoman ? I beg a thousand 
 pardons for preaching, but the text was altogether 
 too pregnant." 
 
 And so Kurz Pacha whirled out of the room, 
 humming a waltz of Strauss. He has heard of his 
 recall to Sennaar since he has been here and we 
 shall hear nothing more of him. We, too, leave 
 Paris in a few da3 S for home, and you will not 
 hear from us again. Mrs. Potiphar has been as 
 busy as possible getting up the greatest variety 
 of dresses. You will see that she has not been 
 to Paris for nothing. Kurz Pacha asked us if we 
 had been to the Louvre, where the great pictures 
 are. But when I inquired if there were any of Mr. 
 Diisseldorf s there, and he said no, why, of course,
 
 232 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 as he is my favorite, and I know more of bis 
 works than I do of any others, I didn t go. There 
 are some very pretty things there, Mr. Boosey 
 says. But ladies have no time for such matters. 
 Do you know, the other evening we went to the 
 ball at the Tuileries, and oh! it was splendid. 
 There were one duke and three marquesses, and 
 a great many counts, presented to me. They all 
 said, "It s charming, this evening," and I said, 
 " very charming, indeed." Wasn t it nice ? 
 
 But you should have seen Mrs. Potiphar when 
 the Emperor Napoleon III. spoke to her. You 
 know what a great man he is, and what a bene 
 factor to his country, and how pure, and noble, 
 and upright his private character and career have 
 been ; and how, as Kurz Pacha said, he is radiant 
 with royalty, and honors every body to whom 
 he speaks. Well, Mrs. P. was presented, and 
 sank almost to the ground in her reverence. But 
 she actually trembled with delight when the Em 
 peror said : 
 
 "Madame, I remember with the greatest plea 
 sure the beautiful city of New York." 
 
 I am sure the Empress Eugenie would have
 
 THE POTIPHARS IN PAEIS. 233 
 
 been jealous, could she have heard the tone in 
 which it was said. "Wasn t it affable in such a 
 great monarch towards a mere republican? I 
 wonder how people can slander him so, and tell 
 such stories about him. I never saw a nicer 
 man ; only he looks sleepy. I suppose the cares 
 of state oppress him, poor man ! But one thing 
 you may be sure of, dear Mrs. Downe, if people 
 at home laugh at the Emperor and condemn him, 
 just find out if they have ever been invited to the 
 Tuileries. If not, you will understand the reason 
 of their hatred. Mrs. Potiphar says to the Ameri 
 cans here that she can t hear the Emperor spoken 
 against, for they are on the best of terms. 
 
 " Of course the French dislike him," says Mr. 
 Firkin, who has a turn for politics, " for they 
 want a republic before they are ready for it." 
 
 How you would enjoy all this, dear, and how 
 sorry I am you are not here. I think Mr. Poti 
 phar is rather disconsolate. He whistles and 
 looks out of the window down into the garden 
 of the Tuileries, where the children play under 
 the trees; and as he looks he stops whistling, 
 and gazes sometimes for half an hour ; and
 
 234 THE FOTIPHAU PAPERS. 
 
 whenever he goes out afterward, he is sure to 
 buy something for Freddy. When the shop 
 keeper asks where it shall be sent, Mr. P. says, 
 in a loud, slow voice " Hotel Mureece, Kattery- 
 vang-sank-o-trorsyaim." 
 
 It is astonishing, as Kurz Pacha said, that we 
 are not more respected abroad. "Foreigners will 
 never know what you really are," said he to Mr. 
 P., " until they come to you. Your going to 
 them has failed." 
 
 Good bye, dearest Mrs. Downe. We are so 
 sorry to corne home ! You won t hear from us 
 again. 
 
 Your ever affectionate 
 
 CAROLINE.
 
 VI. 
 
 Jutr] facia 10 % Jung of Skttitaar, 
 
 UPON RECEIVING HIS LETTERS OF RECALL. 
 
 (NOW FIRST TRANSLATED.)
 
 $uir} flatly ta t|e Jung of 
 
 UPON RECEIVING HIS LETTERS OF RECALL. 
 
 (NOW FIKBT TRANSLATED.) 
 
 MOST SABLE AND SERENE MASTER: 
 
 I hear and obey. You said to me, Go, and I 
 went. You now say, come, and I am coming, 
 with the readiness that befis a slave, and the 
 cheerfulness that marks the philosopher. 
 
 Accustomed from my youth to breathe the 
 scented air of Sennaar saloons, and to lounge in 
 listless idleness with young Sennaar, I am weary 
 of the simple purity of manners that distinguishes 
 this people, and long for the pleasing, if pointless, 
 frivolities of your court. 
 
 Coming, as you commanded, to observe and 
 report the social state of the metropolis of a 
 people who, in the presence of the world, have
 
 233 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 renounced the feudal organization of society, I 
 have found them, as you anticipated, totally free 
 from the petty ambitions, the bitter resolves, and 
 the hollow pretences, that characterize the society 
 of older states. 
 
 The people of the first fashion unite the greatest 
 simplicity of character with the utmost variety of 
 intelligence, and the most graceful elegance of 
 manner. Knowing that for an American the only 
 nobility is that of feeling ; the only grace, gen 
 erosity ; and the only elegance, simplicity ; they 
 have achieved a society which is a blithe Arcadia, 
 illustrating to the world the principles they pro 
 fess, and making the friend of man rejoice. 
 
 We, who are reputed savages, might well be 
 astonished and fascinated with the results of 
 civilization, as they are here displayed. The 
 universal courtesy and consideration the gentle 
 charity, which does not consider the appearance 
 but the substance "the republican independence, 
 which teaches foreign lords and ladies the worth- 
 lessness of mere rank, by obviously respecting 
 the character and not the title the eagerness with 
 which foreign habits are subdued, by the positive
 
 KURZ PACHA TO THE KING OF SEXNAAR. 239 
 
 nature of American manners the readiness to 
 assist the total want of coarse social emulation 
 the absence of ignorance, prejudice and vulgarity, 
 in the selecter circles the broad, sweet, catholic 
 welcome to all that is essentially national and 
 characteristic, which send.s the young American 
 abroad only that he may return eschewing Euro 
 pean habits, and with a confidence in man and 
 his country, chastened by experience these have 
 most interested and charmed me in the observa 
 tion of this pleasing people. 
 
 It is here the pride of every man to bear his 
 part in the universal labor. The young men, in 
 stead of sighing for other institutions, and the 
 immunities of rank, prefer to deserve, by earning, 
 their own patents of Nobility. They are industri 
 ous, temperate, and frugal, as becomes the youth 
 to whom the destinies of so great a nation, and 
 the hopes of the world, are committed. They 
 are proud to have raised themselves from pov 
 erty, and they are never ashamed to confess that 
 they are poor. They acknowledge the equal 
 dignity of all kinds of labor, and do not presume 
 upon any social differences between their baker
 
 240 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 and themselves. Knowing that luxury enervates 
 a nation, they aim to show in their lives, as in 
 their persons, that simplicity is the finest orna 
 ment of dress, as health best decorates the body. 
 They are cheerfully obedient to those who com 
 mand them, and gentle to those they command, 
 frull of charity, and knowing that if every man 
 has some sore weakness, he has also a human 
 soul latent in him, they trust each man as if that 
 soul might, at any moment, look out of his eyes, 
 and acknowledge with tears, the sympathy that 
 unites them. 
 
 They show in all this social independence and 
 originality, the shrewd common-sense which we 
 have so often heard ascribed to them. For if, by 
 some fatal error, they should undertake a social 
 rivalry, in kind, with the old world and all 
 its splendid accessaries of antiquity, wealth and 
 hereditary refinement, the observer would see, 
 what now is never beheld, foolish parvenus 
 frenzied in the pursuit of an elegance which, in 
 its nature, is inaccessible to them. We should 
 see lavish and unmeaning displays. We should 
 pee a gaudy ostentation, serving only as a
 
 KURZ PACHA TO THE KING OF SEN3AAR. 241 
 
 magnificent frame to the vanity of the subject. 
 "We should see the grave and thoughtful, the 
 witty and accomplished, the men and women 
 whose genius fitted them for society, withdraw 
 ing from its saloons, and preferring privacy to 
 a vulgar and profuse publicity. We should see 
 society become a dancing school, and men and 
 women degenerated into dull and dandified boys 
 and girls, content with (pardon me, sable sir, 
 but it would be the truth) "style." We should 
 see, as in an effete civilization, marriages of con 
 venience. We should hear the heirs, or the 
 holders, of great fortunes, called " gentlemanly" 
 if they were dull, and "a little wild" if they 
 were debauched. We should see parents pant 
 ing to " marry off" their dear daughters to the 
 richest youths, and the richest youths affecting 
 a "jolly" and "stunning" life, reputed to know 
 the world because they were licentious, and to 
 have seen life because they had tasted foreign 
 dissipation. We should hear insipidity praised 
 as good-humor, and nonchalance as ease. We 
 should have boorishness accounted manliness, 
 
 and impudence wit. We should gradually lose 
 11
 
 242 TUE POTIPIIAK PAPERS. 
 
 faith iii mail HA we associated with men, and 
 soon perceive that the only safety for the city 
 was in its constant recruiting from the simplicity 
 and strength of the country. 
 
 The sharp common-sense of this people pre 
 vents so melancholy a spectacle. In fact, you 
 have only to consider that this society docs not 
 remind you of the best characteristics of any 
 other, to judge how unique it is. 
 
 But, for myself, as milk disagrees with my 
 constitution, and my mind tires of this pastoral 
 sweetness, I am too glad to obey your summons. 
 In my younger days when I loved to press the 
 stops of oaten pipes, and a plaintive swain 
 fancied every woman what she seemed, and every 
 rnan iny friend, I should have hailed the pros 
 pect of a life in an Arcadia like this. How gladly 
 I should have climbed its Pisgah-peaks of hope, 
 and have looked off into the Future, flowing with 
 milk and honey. I would grieve (if I could) that 
 my sated appetite refuses more, that I must Iny 
 down my crook and play the shepherd no longer. 
 Yet I know well enough that in the perfumed 
 atmosphere of the circle to which I return, I shall
 
 KURZ PACHA TO THE KING OF SENNAAR. 243 
 
 recur, often, with more than regret, to the hu 
 mane, polished, intelligent, and simple society I 
 leave behind me, shall wonder if Miss Minerva 
 Tattle still prattles kindly among the birds and 
 flowers, if Mrs. Potiphar still leads, by her 
 innate nobility, and not by the accident of 
 wealth, the swarm of gay, and graceful, and 
 brilliant men and women that surround her. 
 
 I humbly trust, sable son of midnight, my lord 
 and master, that my present report and summary 
 will be found worthy of that implicit confidence 
 immemorially accorded to diplomatic communi 
 cations. I could ask for it no other reception. 
 Your slave, 
 
 KURZ PACHA.
 
 VII. 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 grata ioire to firs. 
 
 (PKIVATI.)
 
 |rmn tlje $elr, jf)enrj) golre tu 
 
 (PRIVATE.) 
 
 EDEXSIDE. 
 
 MY DEAR MRS. POTIPHAR: 
 
 I am very anxious that you should allow rne 
 to receive your son Frederic as a pupil, at my 
 parsonage, here in the country. I have not lived 
 in the city without knowing something about 
 it, despite my cloth, and I am concerned at the 
 peril to which every young man is there ex 
 posed. There is a proud philosophy in vogue 
 that every thing that can be injured had better 
 be destroyed as rapidly as possible, and put out 
 of the way at once. But I recall a deeper and 
 tenderer wisdom which declared, " A bruised 
 reed will he not break." The world is not
 
 248 THE P0TIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 made for the prosperous alone, nor for the 
 strong. We may wince at the truth, but we 
 must at length believe it, that the poor in 
 spirit, and the poor in will, and the poor in 
 success; are appointed as pensioners upon our 
 care. 
 
 In my house your son will miss the luxuries 
 of his home, but he will, perhaps, find as cor 
 dial a sympathy in his little interests, and as 
 careful a consultation of his desires and aims. 
 lie will have pure air, a tranquil landscape, a 
 pleasant society ; rny books, variously selected, 
 my direction and aid in his studies, and a 
 neighborhood to town that will place its re 
 sources within his reach. A city, it seems to 
 me, is mainly valuable as a gallery of oppor 
 tunities. But a man should not live exclu 
 sively in his library, nor among his pictures. 
 Letters and art may well decorate his life. But 
 If they are not subsidiary to the man, and his 
 character, then he is a sadder spectacle than a 
 vain book or a poor picture. The eager whirl 
 of a city tends either to beget a thirst that can 
 only be sated by strong, yet dangerous excite-
 
 REV. MR. DOVE TO MRS. POTIPHAR. 249 
 
 rnent, or to deafen a man s ear, and harden 
 his heart, to the really noble attractions around 
 him. 
 
 It is well to know men. But men are not 
 learned at the billiard table, nor in the bar 
 room, nor by meeting them in an endless round 
 of debauch, nor does a man know the world 
 because he has been to Paris. It is a sad thing 
 for a young man to seek applause by surpass 
 ing his companions in that which makes them 
 contemptible. The best men of our own time 
 have little leisure, and the best of other days 
 have committed their better part to books, 
 wherein we may know and love them. 
 
 There is nothing more admirable than good 
 society, as there is nothing so fine as a noble 
 man, nor so lovely as a beautiful woman. And 
 to the perfect enjoyment of such society an ease 
 and grace are necessary, which are hardly to 
 be acquired, but arc rather, like beauty and talent, 
 the gift of Nature. That ease and grace will 
 certainly run great risk of disappearing, in the 
 embrace of a fashion unchastened by common 
 
 sense : and it is observable that the sensitive 
 11*
 
 2(30 THE POTIPHAR PAPERS. 
 
 gaucherie of a countryman is more agreeable 
 than the pert composure of a citizen. 
 
 I do not deny that your son must lose some 
 thing, if you accede to ray request, but I 
 assuredly believe that he will gain more than 
 he will lose. My profession makes me more 1 
 dogmatic, probably, than is strictly courteous. 
 But I have observed, in my recent visits to 
 town, that Courtesy, also, is getting puny and 
 unmanly, and that a counterfeit, called Compli 
 ment, is often mistaken for it. You will smile, 
 probably, at my old-fashioned whims, and regret 
 that I am behind my time. But really, it 
 strikes me, that the ineffectual imitation of an 
 exploded social organization is, at least, two 
 centuries behind my time. The youth who, 
 socially speaking, are termed Young America, 
 represent, in character and conduct, anything 
 but their own time and their own country. 
 
 I will not deny that the secret of my interest 
 in your son, is an earlier interest in yourself 
 a wild dream we dreamed together, so long ago 
 that it seems not to be a part of my life. The 
 companion of those other days I do not reco;:
 
 REV. MR. DOVE TO MRS. POTIPHAR. 251 
 
 nize in the glittering lady I sometimes see. But 
 in her child I trace the likeness of the girl I 
 knew, and it is to the memory of that girl 
 whose lovely traits I will still believe are not 
 destroyed, but are somewhere latent in the 
 woman that I consecrate the task I wish to 
 undertake. I am married, and I am happy. 
 But sometimes through the sweet tranquillity 
 of my life streams the pensive splendor of that 
 long- vanished summer, and I cannot deny the 
 heart that will dream of what might have 
 been. 
 
 Madame, I can wish you nothing more sin 
 cerely than that as your lot is with the rich in 
 this world, it may be with the poor in the 
 world to come. 
 
 Your obedient servant, 
 
 HENRY DOVE.
 
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