Japonicadom

It is vain to attempt to describe a New York party within the limits of Japonicadom. Moustached German barons and French counts were there—some Hungarian adventurer trying to throw into his manner some air of Kossuth—a sparing mixture of literary celebrities, not more than one or two, mustn’t risk spoiling the stylish air of the party—ladies who carried on their persons far more than their husbands were really worth, if their accounts were settled and debts paid—an array of lovely girls such as only new York can boast—flippant youths who aspire to marry the fortunes that old men grasped so tightly—soul-ravishing music—costly flowers—lights—paintings—statuary—all were grouped together.

Wall-street cannot pay its notes, and japonicadom must pawn its jewels for bread.

The Patriarchs will open the ball season on Monday, when all Japonicadom will be supposed present.