From the Ball-Room to Hell | Page 4

where she sinks
exhausted on the cushioned seat. Oh, if I could picture to you the
fiendish look that comes into his eyes as he sees his helpless victim
before him. Now is his golden opportunity. He must not miss it, and he
does not, and that beautiful girl who entered the dancing school as pure
and innocent as an angel three months ago returns to her home that
night robbed of that most precious jewel of womanhood--virtue!
When she awakes the next morning to a realizing sense of her position
her first impulse is to self-destruction, but she deludes herself with the
thought that her "dancing" companion will right the wrong by marriage,
but that is the farthest from his thoughts, and he casts her off--"he

wishes a pure woman for his wife."
She has no longer any claim to purity; her self-respect is lost; she sinks
lower and lower; society shuns her, and she is to-day a brothel inmate,
the toy and plaything of the libertine and drunkard.
How can I picture to you the awful anguish of that mother's heart, the
sadness of that father's face, or the dreadful gloom which settles over
that once happy home. Neither their love nor their gold can repair the
damage done. Their sighs and tears cannot restore that virtue. It is lost,
gone forever. Ah, better, yes, infinitely better, would it have been if
instead of placing their only darling in the dancing school, they had laid
her in the grave by her little sister's side while her soul was pure and
spotless.
But how is it with her ball-room Apollo? Does society shun him? Does
he pine away and die? Oh, no; he continues in the dancing school,
constantly seeking new victims among the pure and innocent.
Like flowers, the choicest ones are plucked first, and most admired,
their beauty soon fades and they are cast aside for new ones. Parents,
do not discredit my statement. There is no mistake; I know whereof I
speak when I say that just such villains as I have described are to be
found in, and leaders of, the select dancing school, in the ball room and
at the parlor dance, figuring in what is called the best society, as the
most refined and highly polished society gentlemen of the day.
Nor is the ball-room scene an imaginary one.
I have seen it, just as described, hundreds, yes, thousands of times, and
have known of many and many a case with the same sad ending.
Do not delude yourself, my dear reader, with the thought that such
scenes occur only at low public dances. Some of the lowest and most
disgusting deeds of which I have had any knowledge, have occurred at
and in connection with, the most fashionable parlor dances.
The following infamous deeds were done on one of the principal

avenues and at the home of one of the most aristocratic families of this
city.
The occasion was a fashionable dance of which I was manager.
There was present the creme de la creme of the city's society. Among
them two beautiful young women who were actors in the play I am
about to put before you. The play is in five acts.
The first scene is of exquisite loveliness. It is a large drawing room,
elegant in all its appointments. Its coloring as seen by gas light is soft,
rich, and beautifully blended or prettily contrasted. Its pictures are rare
bits of art from the brush of the most popular artists of ancient and
modern times, and all its ornamentation is forcibly suggestive of
culture and refinement. All these things we feel rather than see, for our
attention is riveted upon the gay company assembled.
We hear the hum of many voices and see before us scenes of fair
women and handsome men, diamonds flash, silks rustle, and no garden
of flowers ever displayed a greater variety of rich and dainty color
intermingled, or flashed more brightly its gems of morning dew. But
hark! From behind that bower of blossoms and evergreens in yonder
recess come strains of music which set the little white slipper to tapping
out the time as its wearer waits impatiently for the waltz to begin, and
now the room presents a scene of whirling, whirling figures.
Notice particularly this couple near us and that one in yonder corner,
for I know them well. The ladies are beautiful and respectable.
To be sure, one not accustomed to such scenes would consider them
anything but respectably dressed, with their nude arms, neck and
partially exposed breast, and tightly clinging skirts which more than
suggest the contour of body and limb.
But society and fashion demand such dress; vile men demand it; for
them the waltz would be spoiled of