Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, February 27, 1887, Page 9

el & v i { | ’) < d | 1 | | % THE OMAHA DAILY BEK: 1887.~TWELVE PAGES FASHION'S FANE FAREWELL! Tor Twenty-Five Years in an American Amusement Temple. FOOTLIGHTS FADED FOREVER. Favorite Faces—Patti's First Visit— Grist and Mario—Vestvali—Pice colomini — Kellogg's Debut— Notable Balls. New York, Feb, 23, —[Correspondence of the BEE.]—The scene of £o many lyric trinmphs, the home of fashion twenty- five years ago, the resort of the cultivated taste and artistic excellence of New York is to be closed; converted into a beer garden, perhaps, or a German threatre; given over to purposes of which its pro- jectors and owners never dreamed Within those walls I heard the farewell of Grisi and Mario to America, in Lu- crezia Borgia. There the sumptuous queen of tragic opera waved the arms which it was said were the same that the Venus of Milo had lost, and with a grac and passion and dignity that have never been equalled since, hurled the im- preeations and accusations of the Druid, or implored for the life of Gennaro, with a superb majesty and vathos that made the infatuation of Ferrara credible There the greatest tenor of our time warbled out the dying strains of Edgardo, or the love notes of the Spirto Gentil to enraptured audiences. The final scene of the Favor when Grisi crouched and crawled at the foot of the ero: arose in the raptu dragged her to him, inspiring notes of the finale—equalled in dramatic power and passionate ex- pression anything seen or heard on the modern stage. This the culmina- tion of Italian opera. The rendering of such artists was as indispensable to the ters of song as the instrumentation to-day is to the embodiment of Wagner's id but singers like these produced effects of exquisite expression and melodie delight not surpassed by the greatest triumphs of instrument or or- chestra in the only German harmony. Not GRISI AND MARIO oft their memories in lrving p “Huguenots” and the -“Tro vere first produced in America. Vestvali, the Pole, first sang the of Azucena toa New York andience, with ner fine presence and magnetic bearing fora while fascinated young W York. There the dehghtful trio Brignoh, Amodio and La Grange so long reijgned supreme; a tenor full of sweetness, if not 3 a baritone rich, full and sonorous; wno cultivated, refined, expressive, nt, and able to iterpret the music leyerbeer, Donizetti, Verdior Mozart. La Grange and Formes in the third act of the *Huguenots ve a rendering that has hardly been surpassed of that ex- quisite scene; and in Robert le Diable, in the great trio, without accompaniment where the struggle that comes to evel man, between temptation and principle is portrayed with Jdeur and power fully 1 to the expression of the same jaed i anhauser, an effect was pro- od that the greatest musicians and composers might ¢ At this opera house KELLC MADE HER DEBUT in Rigoletto, while Colonel Stebbins, her friend and patron, looked down from his box and shared with his family and the wlience the pleasure of that artistic 1ceess which he had done so much to render possible, I remember going be- hind the scenes to congratulate the new prima douna on her voice and her boots, which both were fine. Here also, of a Thanksgiving night, Patti first sang in opera, twenty-six ye ago, to a scant aud ence, who little dreamed they present at the entrance into the mu world of one of its greatest prodigies and queens. Nor not the most hopeful friend or enlightened eritic anticipated the brilhant career that ited the timid Tittle maiden, se D, who came outas | a di Lammermoor. CCOLOMINT RE ED HENR for a season; not the grestest of singer: but surely one of the most delicious of actresses. In comic roles she ean never e been surpassed, The exquisi coquetry with Rodolfo in spite of her loy for Elvino, in the “Sonnambula;” the malicious archness of Rosina, all through the ber;” the half unconscious naughtiness of the Batti- F minuet in *‘Don Giovanni®'- re brimful of womauly wiles and artistic genius, Ah me! the long procession of beautiful women ana delightful singers and actresses; the queens and pea: nuns and Iadies, the mad Lindas and Luc inging out their woes so that you wished they would never get well;the stately Semir es, the rattling, drum- ming v s; the abbesses that rose from their tombs 1n_ballet dresses to en chain the son of Robert; th saucy Susannas who flirted with Figaro; the gipsies, the Traviatas, the Safos, even hu- fair Romeos—where are all the en- chantresses now Their g and smiles all past, their songs all silenced; the curtain tallen foreveron their churms nd arts, Even the music is forgotten that in- spired them—another sign of the chang 'ml s come over New York. For 't not ¢ l')- the stage, and the style of th musie, but the people and their manner that are different. he fashion passud away, Yot who that knew the oid life at the academy of musie but re- grots the delightful house where every- ody could see everybody else, where the LADIES WER NOT STUCK like milliner’s figures 1n a shop window, but s a drawing-room, surrounded by their friends; where a man could walk about and find a dozen acquaintances as he sed; where it was possible Lo get )X without peering at half M n wos ng illogible name, OF pene..nt NE ”"“‘_‘!." an ud ovesshoes, ante-room full of clonks and then perhaps blundering and tloun- dering into the company of people you do not know. Who does out recall the gay look of the house where you were near enough to recognize a friend across the theatre, where \'t' nt women were accustomed to sit in the parguet and bal- cony in opera hats and light colored cloaks,a costume often as effective as full dress, but which is no longer known, and which gave the whole audience a bril- liant effeet as different as possible from the funeral aspect of the tloor of the Motropolitan. Iu those days, too, the people were far of % better known; not only known to them- selves, but distinguished by reputation and character; pcople of mark, whom any country might be glad to consider its representatives. Great authors hke Ban- eroft and Irving, cat lawyers and judges, composers ike Fry and Bristow; men of national fame in polities were abundant in New York society as i the: days they are rare, and all went to the opera. 'They even WENT TO THE CHARITY BALL; for this was one of the events that made the old academy of music notable. Peo- ple then were more certain of themselye: and not afraid to walk, ¢r even to danc on the tloor of the opera house not find their gentility so delicate that they wust shut it up in boxes ‘where no one could approach save through an ante- amber. Now the few who consider themselves somebodies, especially if they have recently Gome to that coaclusion, are 100 much afraid of being jostied by hose who ure nobodies. For at no other place does saclety walk he tloor decolettve, aud in dress couts, They did | VACANT LOTS In all Parts of the ('My‘, at the. 3 LOWEST PRIC 1513 Farnam St. Have moved their office to 1513 Farnam St TH®R NOTTER REAL ESTATE ACENCY cupied by Paulsen & Co. CALL ON US For Business and Residence Property. 1513 Farnam St. , to the office formerly oc- —= TIPTON PLACE. =— This beautiful addition is in the northwest part of the city; is high and dry, overlooking all of Omaha and Council Bluffs: is built up all around it; has good Schools, Churches and Stores within 2 blocks of it, and is the most desirable Property in the city. Is cheap and is sold on such terms that any one can buy. This is a snap. There are only a few lots left and they are all the very best. costs nothing, Thisis the best IRENE PLACE. property in the market for the money. Come and see them, It ‘T’he North- western depot will be located either on this property or very close to it. Don'’t let this slip. Lots only $275 to $350 each; $50 cash, balance $10 per month. WE ARE HEADQUARTERS for ARGAINS . Remember the Change of Location, 1513 Farnam St. Three lots near Saunders St., imile south of Plainview, only $1,200 cash; easy terms. This beats any body’s snap. MOTTER, 1513 Farnam Street. T A AR T X N AN NPT side by side with anybody who pays. In the street, if it walks, society is muflled, has on its and high bonnets; at the atre or Delmonico’s, though it shares amusements of the unfashionable, and sometimes sits on the same benches with them, 1t 18 passive; amused, not amusing; at church, if 1t prays by the side of Sinners of another set, it is, of as it liste exclusive course, in separate pews, ju (or laughs) at the oper boxes. a part of the crowd; you move in But at a ball you must seem to be among the others; you can’t be told from them except by the sacrifice d. Yot even this made to charity. tickets, and if 1t attends the ball, it only looks on from the grand tier. Itistrue a few fall into the march at the opening; that one may do, and not lose caste. And how odd iiscems! A quarter of a century ago some of the same people were doing the same thing ac the academy of music that they now do at the Metropolitan. T could tell you their names! But there are more TOUPEES AND BALD HEADS in the procession to-day; or, perhaps, it is other heads: those that were grey or bald then have disappeared altogether, I fea The chaperones of those times h g0 to their last ball, the sociul queens have entered a kingdom not of this world. The most frolicsome belles *‘before the war™ are the dowagers of 1387; it is the dan- cing men that I knew who sit in the boxes and look down; perhaps they have good reason. When [ think of the other changes stil when I'see the crowds of people who have ot only grown up or grown old, but have come in and jostled aside those who were once s0 important; when Iremember, not only the belles are see and the beaux are , but the fortunes have been spent, the names that have been forgot- ten though their owners are still alive; when [ see some who were once socially vowerful, now humble and obscure; peo- ple who' lorded it over society and refused admission to their parties to some whose courtesis they are now happy to aceept; charitable courtesies which they ean return only by their presence, which still confers ~a distinetion— ay again. The fashion of vorld passseth away. Look at the list of the patrons and patron- esses of the charity ball—a long seroll of half-known names by the side of a few of social distinction. Many were not on that list only five years ago; they were conseg this not then o fillk‘llcv\v enough to be allowed to buw places with u dozen tickets. In five years more they will conwiueX Whether they care to be on the Tiot at all; ana m # decade they will be songht after; it will be tney yho confer distinction. In twenty-tive years yul can_become of “old family’” in New York. If your father and mother were in society, your aristocracy is incontest- able. wenty was an event. ~There were assem- blies,” atriarchs’” or triarchs’ then nobody dreamed of dancing at Del- monico’s; there were no other opportunity for so fine a tloor or so large an assem- blage, and nearly everybody went, be- cause it was the only chance in the year of seeing so many of the fashionable world together at once. Of course there was no more beauty then than now; was no smarter gowns; and, of what one sees in one’s youth has a mor that lasts across a generation; there is alwa lo when you look ack. But for all this I insist there was A distiction about New York fushion that has not entirely remaine There were more men of imports to be seen. Now the really IMPORTANT MEN OF NEW YORK are not in societ **Soc is com- '-...“ d, not of people whom society wants, ut of peonie who want to be in society T'here is intinitelp more wealth and dis- play, and infinitely less that sitracts cul tivated and retinéd e ‘T'liese are thrust aside by the throng, or frightened by the 1mpossibility of keep- ing up with the show disgusted wiih the success of vulgar ostentations; or they find so little to interest their d or reward their e ions that they keep e years ago the charity ball no ace aloof, anu society is not good company; and wowmen. | Viotter Rzal it is a pageant at which those who and dress and dine sumptuously con, te for their own purposes. here are, indeed, as_muny ch nce gre- rming people seattered about New York as elsc- whe but the elements are rarely You find one inter- esting or distinguished man at this house, fascinating or clever woman at an- one other: ree any hostess has the art to bring a room full of them together. Yet anybody who knows New York of half & dozen women with fortune acknowledged position, with wit and an think and cul- ture of their own, who might have made bril the their houses centers of nt ciety as exists anywhere 1n but tiey have b exelusive, but timid is the word. dared not ask those they liked, for fear they themselve a 50- world, en too timid; they call it The; would havi might be the subject of talk. But they nave not known thei Mankind still, as in Pope ,1s “'born tQ be con- trolled.” ire crowds of TIVATED WOMEN ciety to-day, and_new comers; of the Knickerbos families, and interlopers equal to but the brigit men ar sthey won goto teas or to balls, and they don’t for a dinner every night, no matter sumptuous, unl the company choice as the cuisine, and the talk i good as the wine. The result is there is no one cirel old habitues cker any cure how is as s as that in New York where every body of decided importance 18 sure to be found. A man peachable surroundings and ackni edged social distinetion unknown to another of precisely same stamp. This situation and does not exist anywhere else 1n world, But a soriet most distinguished people of the ne borhood is not *'society” in which the word is used elsewhere. who give dinners and balls, even 1f descended, and used to the fashionable life (which all of them not), cannot and do not constitute ety 1 of unim- owl- may be utterly the could not the that does not include the ngh- the sense n hose well etiquette of are soci- They may call it so and chromcle its doings, butit will not be the good company of the place until it attrac not admits, but ater people of portance other than fasnionable, Pt — im- Apay Bapeav REG 1ENDS. Men Who Are Always Looking at tel Registers, “What did that man wagt to fin this register?” asked a Big Clerk Davenport of the Mil da; rd, ye f you can tell me I'd like to you, shirt-iront, “‘He looked at every name on the Ho- d in reporter of ster- hear said the gentleman with the snowy Tast three pages,” said the scribe, by way of explanation. *Yes, and so do a hundred others every day. They come to the counter as if they desired to register, 1 hand them a pen, and sometimes th do mnot know enough to dec line it. They pore over the pages, as if they were looking for some f should ask them, five sixths would whom they w unable to teil be | This class of people is most numel are most hurried v of guests, when we They sf in the we end or business man, and if | 1, we. ous tand 1t ssume an import- ance wineh 11l becomes them, reach for a tooth pick, turn around and eventually slink aw after they have caun us a luss of time, and patience aad given great annovance to our bona-tide patrons,’ -~ Can consumption be cured? Yes. One | man only, discovered the laws of gravi tation. One man ouly, discovercd the | virtue of vaccination And oue man after years of ‘study and reflection, has discoy. ered the Pierce's cure for consumption. solden Medical end two letter stamps ce's pamphlet Address, World's Dis its -specific get 1lr Pie consumption sary Mudical Association, Buifulo, N Dr Discovery" 13 and treativs on pen Y. THE H “VIVA VERDI! VIVA VERDI!" Triumphant Reception of the New Opera “Othello” in Milan, MAUJESTIC AND MASTERLY MUSIC Superb Scenery—Perfect Costumes and Chorus—A Great Orchestra— Indifferent Cast — Unprece- dented Honors, Miray, Feb. 6.—[Correspondence of the Bre.]—The grand opera house of La has never ore contained an audi- ence that could compare with the one assembled last night in honor of Verdi's new opera,*Othello.” From pit to dome the immense auditorium was filled with eager faces, sparkling evesand bril- liant toilette: he new clectric lights shed an indeseribable softness over ‘\m quet and gallery, and the scene recalled some funtastic tale of the Kings' courts in the Arabian Nights an court in itself afforded n dazzling mass of colors, und Queen Margheri dies of honor and the high-bred Milanese women were covered with j Is. kully an hour be- fore the, curt ose every seat in the house was ocenpied, and the light mur- mur of expectant voices coming from three thousand throats, perfectly audible yet disereetly indistinet, reminded you of an enchanted forest on a moonlight night; where every leaf and flower stirs to the rhythm of some wandering bre where the million confused sounds of re- dundant nature, freight air and zephyr with an endless breath of imitative hs mony. No one was too exalted or too proud at this greatest of all solemnities, to jostle the contadina on the doorstep, or the fruit-vendor humming a Verdin- ian measure under the portico of La Scala; all were frantic to be seated before the curtain went up, Pride of rank, birth or position gave way before the universal homage which lialy still sows y n perennial laurel at the feet of he composer, rgreat BOITO'S LIBRETTO. Franco Faccio's appearance in the con- ductor’s chair, which he has filled so long and so well, was u signal tor thunders of applaus e orchestra at once struck up a few glorious chords representing tempest, which was followed by an in- stantancous rise of the curtan, Boito begins his libretto with the sccond act of Shakespeare’s “Otnello.” The scenes are laid in & maritime city of Cyprus, and afterwards in Venice. ‘1 mustfirst speak the Italian's po:t's work, to which Verdi has written such sublime measures. Arrigo bsoito I8 gifted in arts, misic and verse. He has Inid a hand upon the im- mortal bard’s work, which placed by an- other man than he, might have been heavy with sucrilegious weight. Boito hus transposed, added to, and—do not start—in some ways adorned the play of *'Qthello.”” He has done what no one else has yet done: he has made a study from our classic which, while not absolutely Shakespearean, puts_the English poe a still newer ligit. The eunormous culty of making an operatic libretto from a play, is i itseIf an almost insurmount- able obstacl What to retain, what to reject, what will lend itself to the con- firies musical space, what cannot be compressed within the limits of musical expression, are considerations weighty enough in themseives to paralyze the wmost facile pen or imagination. THE FIRST ACT Boito began to think of b fiftoen years ago. Six years down and in & many months wrote and completed his libretto, It flows with the limiidity which tranqguillises waters raf- led by the wildest storm, and reflects the light which we on the wave lately freed from the blacknessef the hurricane Tie opening scene on fhe island of Cy- prus presents lago, Roderigo and Cassio. A chorus sings & hymn of victory, rejoic- jng that Othello and has shups have been saved from Turk and tempest; a brindisi Othello™ ago he sat Estate Agency. add, Eeservoir cheap: only $200 cash on each lot, balance easy. Three lots in One east front lot on Park ave. at a bargain. MOTTER, 1513 Farnam St. by Iago represents the Moor's wish that the city rejoice. “Every man takes on a merry mood; some begin to dance, some to make bonlires, and each man goes to what sport and revels his addition leads im.” Cassio and Montana take these instructions literaliy, and the duel follows. Montana wounded, Othello ar- rives. Cassio delivers up his sword, and the | 3 ple 41i~5n~r~e, Desdemona apy and a tender love duet finishes the i act. It will be seen that Boito, in cutting the first act of Shakespes ¢, by Sup- pressing Desdemona's nee before the senal nd transposing the duel scene, brings her on at the moment when m must follow the storm. Instead of two almost nondescript apparitions, we have one, which, by its present arrange- ment, is the climax of the act, and, philo- sophieally considered, the veritablé situa- tion for such a climax. As a picee of dramatic writing, [ have never seen its equal 1n mtensity. One situation follows another with such headlong rush that I can only think of the arrows shot from a bow. GRAND SINGIN In the second act, we have Iago's solo and great scene, with a short speaking duet for Cassio and Iago. D -sdemona is seen at the back of the stage receiving Zifts from women and children who are singing a chorus that forms a most orig- inal accompaniment to a duet with Iago and Othello, both of whom stand well to the front, The chorus finished, Desde mona comes torward to solicit Cassio’s return to the Moor's favol quartette follows, and the act ends with a grand duet between Othello und Tago. Act third is where we have most of Boito’s changes from the original text. He has writien a_trio for Cassio, Oth and Iago, called the handkerchie so admirable in form and poetry that it i \glish bard’s play as a glove fits the hand; then follows s t between Desdemona and her lord; and one, more terrible for lago and Othelio, then comes the finale of the third act, which, in spite of its force, cannot help shocking th Anglo-Saxon worshivper at Shake speare’s shrine. We know that Othello was & Moor and a brute, but we cannot imagine that he would h done what Boito makes him do. The senators ar- rive and announce new honors Othello and also his required departure for Venice, Othello, worked up to the supremest heights of jealousy in the pre; ceding duet with Iago, breaks forth into @ paroxysm of on unknown even to Shak 's b Desdemona comes forward and begs to be allowed to ac- company her lord; she again almost im- prudently pleads’ Cassio's cause, when before court, senate and populace, Othello flings her to the ground, scream’ ing “TO EARTH AND WEEP," and dealing her such a blow that the united people rush forward with one commingled ey of shame and horroy While the chorus rages, the Moor, with bowed head, sits aside, but the quartette ended he starts up, and sends off the court, senate, and populace; seemingly alone, in a terrivle fury, he attempts a ery for vengeance, when' his force for sukes him, and he staggers and falls in- | ensible to the floor. At that ant, | in ago who had loitered behind & column forth, plants b of the peristyle, ru heel on the Moor’s breast and, with ac- \ts of piteous seorn, sings in contrast to the senate’s call for Othello and the | people’s acclamations to the Lion of Ven | lce. “Look upon him, here! Here is | your Lion of Venice? 'The curtain falls, | . This scene, as I have said, is Boito's | chief innovation, und it ms to me an unnecessary one, The orignal scene is | itself terrible enough to give the world an idea of Othello’s eharacter. This added expression of brutality strikes the first really discordant notcof ex era. tion in otherwise extraordinary li bretto he fourth act is fairly traditios "he Moor kills his wife, but spares gz for the traitor flees with ornful, “Never! Ah! Ab!"on his perjured ligs, while the Moor ends an existence that has never known peac Verdi's music, throughout the whole of | the first wet, is of @ majesty, mobility, power and inspiration which he has never before surpassed, perhaps never before equaled. The crchestration for the tempest chorus. the chorus itsclf, the brindisi and the duet parlanti or vocal ing, form one succession of sub- pages, rich, not alone in genius and style, but frauglit with that superior ex- cellence of techmque which the m chanic’s hand, after years of practice alone, knows how practically to set forth. Verdi knows what the public wants; he knows how to touch THE PUBLIC HEART; he knows every musieal variety of light, shade, and effect to the nicety of a hair, and to the nicety of a hair weighs them, Perhaps in *'O:kello™ he has shown less respect for the feeling of the publ ever before. Divine bars of melody cut by so-ealled philosophical bri Surprise follows. dalight, and incredulity s desir Verdi has not sacrificed ias he has so often done. Verdi re- mains Verdi; an Italian and a composer who, in spite of innovation, temptation, nd revolution in modern musie, has tten a work intensely Italian, and an opera which only an Italian could write. I began by speaking of the first act, but the same power and inspiration is visible throughout the whole oper: As for a technical description of the music, why need I tell you that an irre sistible torrent of chromatic scales and groups of three and four describe the tempest; that Ingo sings a brindisi in D minor, or Othello an air in A flat; that Desdemona’s tears and laments flow in E natural, with harp accompaniment, or t Othello’s rage und cr nin A e preceded by a passage for the -busse unique in the philosophy of al composition? When 1 from the beginnin ¢ written four acts of grand and extraor- dinary musie, you will know that a vocab- ary more or Jess of set ph s can no more enhance the value of any opinion, than it could depict your appréciation of Verd terpicce. No word picture lequately deseribe the ingenious no words can portray the enthu- sinsm it excited, nor the ovations it won for its composer. A BLEATING TENOR Tamagno, the fenor, looked and acted Ottello, but he did not sing; he bleated, Desdemona has never been a favorite of mine in k y, and the present expo nent of the role suggested to me all my thousand unavenged wrongs laid at the door of Brabantio's daughter. Me. Pantaleoni is an excellent person, but as Desdemona she ought to have been smothered— night before, at the dress renearsal. Her voice 1s paturally fine and dramatic, but she has no more knowledge of the pure t of singing than I have of the real science of astro- nmur. She has a vil: emission of Yoice in the medium open notes; the upper notes are clear, but rarely in tune lovely music assigned to Othello’s wife id resisting powers not at 1n fier hands, or throat. Mme. Pantaleoni is 1i wise unfortunate; she is short, slightly cross-eyed, and of a vhysical plainness, which dwarfed the already insignilic: Desdemona. She acted very first and third acts, but not 50 well in th last. Of the other singers le that Pelsoviteh, as Emilio, was Iy hooted; .Ih‘ut. igo, W not imports n or hind the work; Cassio was Iy f: he, at nd M. P, second roli tenor; knew he ) sing, but nature ev never intended him tosinz at La Sc , The o s to V and Boito reached the climax of enthusiasm. Verdi was presented with a silver album filled with the autographs and ca itizen in Milan. He was wenty tin and at the last re e ] ofs were and the | audience rose in a body emotion was something cribable, and many wept. Verdi's carriage was drag | citizens to the hotel. He was to screnaded; and at five in the morning | erowds w still singing and shrieking | Viva Verdit Viva Verdi!” Who shall say that this ery will not re-cehio all over the t worla At shventy-foar this sccond con 1 suer may well exclaim Veni, vidi, viei! SUNDAY NIGHTS IN OMARA. | Scenes in The Varions Dance Halls of the Citys THE PEOPLE WHO GO THERE, A Motley Throng and How it is Com posed — Liquid Refreshments— The Toughs who go There to Fight—Scence, The Sunday Dances. A nocturnal visit to the numerous Sun- day dance halls in this city would dise close the fact that however well the Sab- bath day may be observed in Omaha, the Sabbath night 18 not as rigorously re- garded as strict Puritan ideas would re« quir There are three or four of these dance halls in this city, all of which throw theig doors open to the public on Sunday night. One of the most largely patron- ized 18 a hall in the southern part of the city, several blocks below the Thirteenth street bridge. Promptlyat eight o'clock the music strikes up in this resort. The crowds of men and women, boysaud girls begin to flock . In a very few moments the initial waltz is commenced by the or- chestra, which is composed of a violin or two, a cornet, clarionet und bass viol, The feet begin to fly, and it is not long before the floor is full of a jostling, joiting, but merry throng ot dancers. A polki or a schottische succeeds the waltz, then a e dance and so on. The ripple, la« comus, varsovienne, waltz-quadrille, make up a programme which keews the crowds busy until after mudnight. All kinds of people can be seen tripa ping on the floor of this hall. There iy the staid laboring man of Swedish, Dan. ish or German nationality, who is thera regularly every Sunday t with the 3 y-checked damsel, upon whom, us his best girl, he lavishes his afs fection. Dancingin the same set with him, £q ps, 1s a gambler, who has left the able long enough to enjoy the pleasures of the evening, with a fomale friend. Opposite him you can spy the brawny form of a man who can be seen any day in the week driving a e m.” A giddy youth who sells calico Farnam street dry goods store coms- vletes the mule port on of the sct, All classes of laboring men, hack drivel wvers, mblers, bar i girls, whiose reputation Al test, jostle to- nd wome not stand a eri gether in the heterogencous throng. By no means are the dancers contined to the lower sses. Quite occasionally you can see gliding through the crowd a youn, man who belongs to good and with whom the best young ladic Omaha are proud to sh: a waltz. He has thrown ul con- ventionalities to the winds, and is enjoy- ing a “night out.”” Dancing is by no means the only pleas- ure enjoyed hire. On either side of the main plattorm isa long,narrow platform, on which are placed tables. Around these are seated the thirsty, quafling beer, wine —or something stronger. White aproned waiters fly hither and thither, and during the intermissions between the dances are kept tremendously busy answering the re made upon them h cents admission wod it enters the hall, it is r portion_ of revenue fromy nces comes from the sale off snty-five ever said the larg these d liquor. About ten or eleven o’clock the crowd grows hilarious, and then a new feature of the evening's fun is developed. The fighting begins. There are usually ind the crowd several specimens of ~the, Omaha tough—who would rather figh than eat a square meal. Several glasses of beer and a real orim y griev- | ance are suflicient to set his fists (o work- ing upont the countenunce of his appon- ent. For a few moments the scenc 18 a chuotic mixture of blood, broken noses, sulphurous prof. fiying beer glasses, o and dozen on the other are tug- ging av I an attempt to part the pugilists. ~The police come tothe rescue, work their clubs handily for a few m ments, and then the fighters are earried bruised and bleeding, off to jail. Several oflic are kept on hand for such ¢ geucies, and manage to pre fair order. Another dance hall, almost opposite this one, is the Boheminn hall. Here on® Sunday mights the people of this najion- ality, young and old, enjoy themselves: to the” music of a fiddie, bass viol cornet. ‘This hall is not nearly as large as the other one, and its patrons are al- most entirely limited to the Boheminns, “Beer on the side,” with a fight or two now and then, adds to the evening’s en- tertaiment. her another hall also in the south- ern part of the city which isa .‘rf nop- lar Sunday night resort, esvecially for mans. From eight o’clock unti! after midnight the pleasures of the dance are enjoyed, to the music of a really good orchestra, These dances are attended for the most part by the Germans, al- though a dancer of the Swedish or Dan- ish_nationality may oc-asior ily bo seen gliding through the crowd, Beer and wine dispensed during the interyals hes tween the dance-nunbers, serve to keep the throng in a happy mood. The crowds which attend these differ- ent dance halls aze made up of substane tially the same elements. The women, for the most part are respectable, though veral notoriously fast characters are witys to be seen in the crowd of dancers or spectators, It must be said that of the dancers are your i their teens, whose morals, als as loose as their parental restraint 1t is by no means :ommon sight to find sinall m sven, eight or ten rs of age dancing at these places. To at extent these children must be in- by such contaminati tions, let the moralizing res mine. ODDS AND ENDS, Stray Leaves § rom a Reporter's Note Book, “Well, when in the ne of all that is celestial, are you going to die?" asked A, D. Jones of John M. Clark, two days ago. Mr. Jones 15 seventy-four, and Mr, Clark seventy-nine years of age You five ye older than I am, and yet you don't use a cane Itis you who ought to have this stick of mine, and I gught to Le runmng even more lively than you are. ButIain't.” “Thank you, ! don't want your cane until [ get 1o be an old man,” faughingly retorted Mr, Clark “Ihave just made my will," said Judge Neville yesterday to W. 1. ljams, clerk of the district court. “I teel I am ting old, and now 1 would like to get two or three young men to witness it.” *“I'hen let me suggest one of the young men,” said Mr. Ijams 4 HCer replied the judge 5 Suppose you selcet Jolin M. Clarks" he judge laughed heartily. seeing im- mediately the point of Mr.” ljams' sug- tion. - Mr. Clark, though within ten days of being seventy:-nine years ot age, is one of the youngest men of his yeurs BLascis Kooseveis, | i the couny.