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's and the _Jardin Mabille_, or
have never been out of their father's shops--whether they have "air" and
"style," and are "so gentlemanly" and "so aristocratic," or not. Your
shoemaker, your lawyer, your butcher, your clergyman--if they are
simple and steady, and, whether rich or poor, are unseduced by the
sirens of extravagance 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, Garrick, Reynolds, and their friends, met at
supper in Goldsmith's rooms, where was the "best society" in England?
When George the Fourth outraged humanity 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 as rapidly as it has been made? Who are 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, longing and sighing for more sharply emphasized social
distinctions? Who squander, with profuse recklessness, the hard-earned
fortunes of their sires? Who diligently devote their time to nothing,
foolishly and wrongly supposing that a young English nobleman has
nothing to do? Who, in fine, evince by their collective conduct, that
they regard their Americanism as a misfortune, and are so the most
deadly enemies of their country? None but what our wag facetiously
termed "the best society.
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