We here reach a period when New York society turned over a new leaf. Up to this time, for one to be worth a million of dollars was to be rated as a man of fortune, but now, bygones must be bygones. New York’s ideas as to values, when fortune was named, leaped boldly up to ten millions, fifty millions, one hundred millions, and the necessities and luxuries followed suit. One was no longer content with a dinner of a dozen or more, to be served by a couple of servants. Fashion demanded that you be received in the hall of the house in which you were to dine, by from five to six servants, who, with the butler, were to serve the repast. The butler, on such occasions, to do alone the head-work, and under him he had these men in livery to serve the dinner, he to guide and direct them. Soft strains of music were introduced between the courses, and in some houses gold replaced silver in the way of plate, and everything that skill and art could suggest was added to make the dinners not a vulgar display, but a great gastronomic effort, evidencing the possession by the host of both money and taste. The butler from getting a salary of $40 a month received then from $60 to $75 a month. The second man jumped up from $20 to $35 and $40, and the extra men, at the dinner of a dozen people or more, would cost $24. Then the orchids, being the most costly of all flowers, were introduced in profusion. The canvasback, that we could buy at $2.50 a pair, went up to $8 a pair; the terrapin were $4 apiece. Our forefathers would have been staggered at the cost of the hospitality of these days. Lady Mandeville came over to us at this epoch, and at once a superb fancy ball was announced by one of our fashionable rich men. Every artist in the city was set to work to design novel costumes--to produce something in the way of a fancy dress that would make its wearer live ever after in history. Determining not to be outdone, I went to a fair dowager, who was up in all things; asked for and followed her advice. “Mapleson is your man. Put yourself in his hands,” said she; so off I went to him, and there I found myself, not only in his hands, but under the inspection of a fine pair of female eyes, who sat by his side and essayed to prompt him as to what my dress should be. “Why, man alive!” said she, “don’t you see he is a Huguenot all over, an admirer of our sex. Put him in the guise of some woman’s lover.” “By Jove, you are right, my fair songster!” said Mapleson. “I’ll make him the lover of Marguerite de Valois, who was guillotined at thirty-six because he loved ‘not wisely, but too well.’ Pray, what is your age?” “Young enough, my dear sir, to suit your purpose. Go ahead, and make of me what you will,” I replied. “Have you a good pair of legs?” “Aye, that I have! But at times they are a little groggy. Covering they must have.”