Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-12-20
Written for The Evening Star.

"My first ball, !" was the reply.
Here was o truthful man. He might have
said his greatest grief had been q failure in
| business, or the death Of some friend, but he
knew that while these things had happened to
him he had practically forgotten them, whereas
the memory of the agony Of that first ball had
chung to him through life. His friend pondered
over this strange reply for while, and then he
propounded another question.
"What was the greatest happiness Of your
life?"
"A certain ball in Washington" he answered.
Again he was truthful. He might have said
he had been happiest when he had by lucky
stroke of fortune found himself rich man, for
this had TRANSFERRED in the course Of his career,
but he had got used to having money, and
thought less of that than he did Of those golden
moments when he had enjoyed himself at q
ball in Washington.
FIRST BALL AGONY.
The agony OF that first party, if it is an un-
successful party, is terrible. Not that first
party may not be pleasant, for it is sometimes,
indeed it often is, but if it isn't, oh horrors,
what torments are endured! Poor young
Jones Is college man. He has recently ac-
CURED fine dress suit, and while he is with
his companions he is thoroughly convinced
that he Ii full grown man, entitled to associ-
ate on equal terms with other men and women.
He has been taught how to dance. and when he
comes home on his vacation he sees no reason
why he should not launch out upon the spark
ling waters Of society. He thinks more OF this
than he does Of anything else. and finally an
invitation comes to him to a grand ball. What
purchases he makes Of cravats and gloves and
contemporaries of the ball he is going to! He
poses as q society man, and his friends envy
him. With FACILITATING heart he makes his
toilet. He tries on a dozen collars and none
suit; he finally accepts one as the
he wrestles with the white cravat.
Oh, why were white lawn cravats ever invented?
Here is one long enough for a surveyors meas
ure; the next is 30 short that it can't be tied
Poor Jones! He finally accepts one that is
already made up, and that is fastened by q
complicated buckle attachment. And then
there is his hair that won't be smooth, and
most terrible thing of ALL that budding mus
tache that is his glory and his pride never ap-
peared SO small before. His miseries come 80
thickly one upon the other that he is almost
he would do SO if it were not that he has told
the other fellows he was going. His trials and
trlbulatiOns have been so numerous that he is
very fashionably late in arriving at the ball. As
he goes upstairs to the dressing room the mu-
sicians are playing a lively waltz people pass
ing his hat and coat. Nobody notices
him. How is this? Hasn't anybody heard of
him? There Is one man in the dressing room,
much older than himself, whom he knows.
MUST BE SOPHOMORE.
"Oh, Mr.. Jones, how are you? Just got home
for vacation? Let me see, you must be a
sophomore now, aren't you?'
A sophomore! Heavens! can it be willful
insult on the part of this man, that he should
pretend not to know that Jones is q Junior?
Jones fumes with modification and rage and
having wrestled manfully with his white kid
gloves, which are too tight and which have split
In the thumb. he goes down stairs.
The music has ceased now, the couples are
walking about the halls, men are wandering in
the neighborhood Of the punch bowl everE-
body Is talking to somebody, everybody is
laughing and having good time. Poor Jones
He looks about him and he sees nobody that he
knows. He makes his way up to his hostess
and she greets him kindly-with maternal kind
ness as it seems to Jones. Never in his life has
he felt so young. He is conscious that his face
Is as red as peony, he knows that his voice is
tremulous with nervousness. and that internal
buckle attachment to that ready-made cravat is
breaking loose from its moOrings.
THAT READY-MADE CRAvAr
A pin, with which he had sought to anchor
it firmly, is sticking him in the back of the
neck. As he stands by his hostess, afraid to
move and yet afraid to stay, he sees man
whose cravat has worked around under his ear,
and yet the man is making merry. Jones won
ders how he can be unconcerned in the face of
such serious calamity. He begins to realize
that he is dead weight upon his hostess
hands. He is devising methods Of escape, but
he is afraid to execute them. He feels himself
presently led across the room and he is intro
duced to q pretty girl. She talks to him and
his spirits revive slightly, but soon an old fell
low with whiskers and bald head comes and
takes her away. He meets one or two people
whom he knows, but they do not greet him
effusively. The evening wears away and finally
he goes home. He goes to bed with q heavy
heart, and there the music of the dances that
he didn't dance follow him, and the laughter
and the chatter that he didn't take Part in
mingles with his troubled dreams. 1t was such
an experience as this that the old stager had in
mind when he said that the greatest unhappiness
he had ever known had been his first bali
YOUNG GIRLS DISAPPOINTMENT.
After al what agonies our pleasures cause
US. II a ball can be unpleasant to O young
man think of the unhappiness it can cause a
young girl. Think of all those preparations of
costume that have cost much time and
money, think Of the expectations that have
been so fOndly dwelt upon for years, think of
the family inspection when the girl is dressed
and just about to get into the carriage 1t is
too terrible to think Of the tears of disappoint-
ment and shattered hopes which wet her sleep
less pillow after she has come home having
spent the night unnoticed and neglected It is
the failure in the small affairs of life that
causes the greatest grief to many people.
MORE PLEASANT PICTURE.
Let us, in heavens name. turn to the bright
side of the picture before we perish miserably
Of the blues. Jones has graduated now and is
no longer conscious Of intense youth. He is
full Of animal spirits and good health and his
circle Of acquaintance is a wide one. Wherever
he goes he is greeted with pleasure and he is
young enough to enter into all amusements
with eagerness and zest. As he goes upstairs
to the dressing room at the ball the people
whom he meets on the stairs shake hands with
him and men call him by his first name. The
servants know him and grin welcome to him
| as they attend to his needs. No dark FORE
bodings OF accidents to his neck gear
| obscure his sunny thoughts, for much prac-
| tice with the stubborn linen ties has
| taught him how to master them. AS
| he enters the ball room his hostess preets him
| Familiarity, and begs him not to 20 home until
| all her other guests have left. Oh, those
dreamy waltzes, and those quick step polkas.
and that jolly, romping lancers! And the
sweet giances from those magnificent eyes, and
the little hirtation in the conservatory and
the whispered appointment to walk the next
| day! And the creamed oysters, and the salad
and the cheering glass Of sparkling Champagne
And as Jones goes hOme-JOnes who was
but q few years before poor unhappy. basbfnl