The weekly clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1863-1882, 1874-04-02
TASTES DIFFER.

In London, in order to get on" one
must be very great or famous, or mus
dance. Unless a man is very decided
catch and an object to the "mamas," or
is enough of a lion TO make him tit for
exhibition, dancing is about his only utility.
The average London man OF society
thinks dancing a very slow amusement.
He IS either athletic and prefers hunting
and yachting, or he is dissoiute, and sim
pie pleasures pail upon his jaded appetite.
As rule, too, the important young men
do not dance. The greater a man is the
more is he careful to abstain from any
thing which will make him entertaining
His dulness is always i'll proportion to
his distinction. The same holds true
with regard TO conversation or to any
other sort of contribution TO the amuse-
ment of others. He only is agreeable and
clever from whom fortune has withheld
better gifts than talent or the power of
/ pleasing He only would be witty who
is without solid advantages. A talking
man. is in danger of being snubbed, and
nobody can help plying the ridiculous
fellows who sing at the afternoon ''musi-
Gals
To be sure, all young people dance.
How would golden youth" be possible
if there were no bathrooms? But when
men get toward five-and-twenty, those
who can afford not to dance desert the
| balls for the CONVERSATIONS. Young
noblemen and eldest sons will spend a
few moments at the parties, and as a
great favor to the hostess, will walk
through quadrille with the prettiest girl
in the room. But how can one who has
at hand the cd1lcdn and the casinos find
amusement i'll anything so pHerile as the
waltz? Who cares to talk humdrum cousins
when one can drink bad champagne with
painted women in guided cafe near the
Haymarket? 1t is only caddists, clerks in
the Treasury, youths with no particular
expectations, who dance. Among diplo-
matists, attaches waltz: a councillor or
secretary may under protest. | knew
one excessively light-headed envoy who
would dance now and then, but who al
ways took care to dance badly.
The talk of the young men concerning
balls and parties is, however, to be taken
with considerable discount. They are
'borers," and this tone the poorer young
swells. \ clerk in the Foreign Office,
''To this-ball. OF course, the young
man was exceedingly glad to have got
card, but he shutfied off to "this
bali" with the air of martyr.
Still, dancing young men are scarce
enough to make ladies who give parties
anxious to get them and if one is going
to ball, though it may be more dignified
to walk about sofas and stare, it is GER
tainly plcasanter to dance.
Accordingly, when a diplomatic APP
pointment made me resident of London,
! determined to learn to dance Cato
learned Greek when he was eighty, and |
was twenty-five before / could do the
dellc temps | was reared in a pious house
hold; in which dancing was thought to be
wicked. After leaving college | acquired
a notion Of my own dignity quite incon-
sistent with so frivolous "a pastime Il
give my experience in this matter at some
length, because | know it will represent
that of great many others But Of
course, | outgrew this dignity in time,
and came to look upon that notion as only
another and rather small sort ofcoxcomb-
ny. Between your frivolous and your
phylosophic coxcomb | much prefer the
former, as the more amiable of the two.
What possible relation had the conduct
of my legs 10 the universe and the moral
law? My fears OF dancing was a symp-
tom of that timIdlty and strength destroy
ing consciousness which possesses so many
people OF the present day. They are
enamored of superiority, and they asso-
ciate certain external images with the
fashionable types of, greatness they ad-
mire. The philosophic young coxcomb
would be willing to kick up his heels at
home, or to skip through the Virginia
Reel with his sisters and cousins. Why
not, then, in public? He fears to be
thought foolish. The coxcomb in ques-
ton is fond enough of applause, and es-
pecislly Of the applause of ladies. If they
told him that he danced we'll, he would
soon discover that he liked dancing. 1t
is the impression he makes upon others,
then, Of which he is thinking. This last
is heroic one. Let not the philosopher
ascrlbe the very commonplace fear of
ridicule to "A grand and indefinite sense of
his own superior unftness for the frivo-
lous amusement. "-Lipplncotts Maya
zine.