There was no dancing for show, or to display handsome clothes,
but simply for the love of it, its harmony and love of one another's
society and companionship.
When the cares and lessons of the day were laid aside, and the evening
meal was over, we sauntered up the hill to the Eyry, and passing near
the Cottage, would perhaps find some one at the piano in the music
room, and if we numbered four or five, would waltz or dance to one or
the other's playing, the players and dancers taking turns until it was
time to stop. It might be there was a class in history or in reading at
eight, or maybe singing school would soon commence. If so, that
terminated the matter. Perhaps there was to be music at the Eyry,--
there was no formality, we went without ceremony to hear it.
There were times when there was a regular "dance at the Hive." The
mistress of the revels was kind enough to assist young or old, whose
"education had been neglected," and who had never been taught their
"steps," by forming a dancing class and including all in it; and it
would have done your heart good to see the old fogies try for the first
time in their lives to put on grace. Grace it was, but often of the
oddest kind. Imagine the tall, spare figure of "the General," turned of
forty, full six feet in height and stooping in the shoulders, all legs
and arms--who could sit in a chair and wind his legs around each other
until the feet changed places, and sit comfortably so--as pupil of the
plump, little woman, straight as an arrow, and only (at a guess) four
feet six in height, and looking shorter for her plumpness, taking his
"one, two, three," and "forward and back steps.
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