 | Saratoga in 1901 |  |
GRAND HOP AT THE CLARENDON.
Congress Hall, Aug. 11.
All Saratoga was thrown into a furore of excitement yesterday,
by the announcement of a “Grand ball,” to be given by the
inmates of the aristocratic boarding-house on the hill.
The tickets read:
Y. M. A.
At the Clarendon Hotel.
Everybody was in a quandary about the meaning of the
ominous “Y. M. A.” Mr. Gilsey said it was an ambiguous
expression. The High Church Quaker ladies read it, “Young
Men's Association” and Requiescat in pace, while the giddy
damsels read it “for the Young Maiden's Amusement.”
THE BALL
was a great success—only it should not have been called a ball.
It was a religious meeting. The frivolous villagers turned out
and danced before the Clarendon boarders, who sat around the
sides of the room in proper attitudes.
And why not?
Did not David dance before Saul?
The Clarendonites listened to the music and observed the solemn
entertainment with religious awe. They did not dance.
Clarendonites never dance—that is, at the Clarendon. They are
exclusive. They dance only at Congress Hall—though, entre
nous, several giddy maiden ladies, occupying rooms in proximity
to Parlati's music, were seen last evening dancing the “Dip” in
their private rooms in presence of their aged grandmothers. My
remarks on the round dances have revolutionized matters at the
Clarendon. One of our “swell” New York fellows, with hat
deferentially in hand, thus saluted an ancient swell maiden lady
at the ball last night:
SWELLS.
Good evening, Miss W—;
charming evening!
Young Lady.—Yes, awful
charming—dance to-night?
Young Gentleman.—O, yes—
that is, the round dances. Ain't
they jolly nice?
Young Lady.—O, Mr. G—,
we kon't you kneuw,—they'r
beastly—perfectly beastly—
haw-a-ble!
Young Gentleman.—But, the
divine Boston! It's dreadful
sweet—but those fearful square
dances, they are horrid—they
are awful poky. Everything is
poky but the deux temps galop and dip.
Young Lady.—Poky! Ha! Ha! such a lovely pun—everything
poky but the galop—awful good—perfectly atrocious!
Young Gentleman.—Don't see any pun—but never mind, I'm
not clever, you kneuw. I never see a pun.
Young Lady.—But, Mr. G—, they say you are an awful flirt—
perfectly howid.
Young Gentleman.—O! no, I never flirt—kon't, yeu kneuw—
Do you like flirts?
Young Lady.—O! I think they're jolly nice. Who wouldn't
flirt. It's too lovely! But it's awful—perfectly dreadful to get
spooney—ain't it?
Young Gentleman.—Never got so. Love is poky—dref'ul
stupid. Couldn't spoon on a girl with less than a $30,000 revenue
and a rich Governor no way—could'nt think of it, yeu kneuw!
Young Lady.—No, I shouldn't think any one could. Pa's got
four brown stone fronts, and I've got four camel's hair shawls,
and a set of diamonds—and—
Young Gentleman—(with eye on brown-stone fronts).—And
such lovely hands to put them on—and such an arm! O, let's go
out on the balcony and have a nice—
But I lost the sentence as they waddled out, she with her deformed
shoulders and dangling hands, and he with empty head
and metropolitan morals. Wendell Phillips says “marriage
makes a man and his wife one,” but if this trash ever mate, the
world will have to understand decimals to compute them.
But to the Clarendon ball!
The ancient maiden ladies act with propriety, I say, when at
the Clarendon! but their mothers ought to see them when they
get loose, and come down to Congress Hall.
Bernstein seems to inspire them, for they dance, laugh, promenade
on the bridge, and occupy secluded nooks on rear balconies
with scampy Congress Hall fellows. Rumor has it that
young ladies from the Clarendon have lost their hearts, and
become engaged while dancing at Congress Hall.
| Saratoga in 1901 | |