Here is
music in the back-ground, if her intended is present, and he is sure to
be there if he is in striking distance--if he is not down with typhoid
fever or in prison.
This music is in his heart, in the nature of clamoring for blood, by a
legion of different sized devils. It may be there is not one man in the
room that would have his girl under any consideration whatever, but he
imagines that they all want her. The female outfit for the ball consists
of girls and a number of young married women, and some a little older,
and some old women, forty to fifty years old, with grown children, false
teeth, false hair, and bloats to swell out their wrinkled cheeks, and
they, too, are dressed in the _fashion_ with red ribbons, and blue and
green; these furnish the _disgust_ for the occasion--and one of them has
been known to furnish disgust enough for a city of ten thousand
inhabitants, and of the very best quality. Let us return to the basket
containing the young married people, and examine the fruit therein.
Reader, did you ever see the young married woman watching her husband as
he glides up and down in the merry dance, _with an old sweetheart in his
arms?_ If you never did, the first opportunity you have, take a good
look at a cat's eyes in the dark and in imagination transfer them to the
young wife's head, and you will have a very correct idea of how _sweet_
and _amiable_ she looks.
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