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anything so beautiful.’
This remark recalls the oft-quoted dialogue between Margaret Fuller and Emerson apropos of Fanny Elssler's dancing:—
‘Margaret, this is poetry.’
‘Waldo, this is religion.’
I remember, years after this time, a talk with Theodore Parker, in which I suggested that the best stage dancing gives us the classic in a fluent form, with the illumination of life and personality.
I cannot recall, in the dances which I saw during that season, anything which appeared to me sensual or even sensuous.
It was rather the very ecstasy and embodiment of grace.
A ball at Almack's certainly deserves mention in these pages, the place itself belonging to the history of the London world of fashion.
The one of which I now speak was given in aid of the Polish refugees who were then in London.
The price of admission to this sacred precinct would have been extravagant for us, but cards for it were sent us by some hospitable friend.
The same attention was shown to Mr.Mann and Mrs. Mann, who with us presented themselves at the rooms on the appointed evening.
We found them spacious enough, but with no splendor or beauty of decoration.
A space at the upper end of the ball-room was marked off by rail or ribbon—I cannot remember which.
While we were wondering what this should mean,
Houghton and Mifflin Company, 1899.
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