The Presbyterian synod at Erie, Pa., has turned a lawyer named Donaldson
out of the church. The charge against him was not that he was a lawyer,
as might be supposed, but that he had danced a quadrille. It does not
seem to us as though there could be anything more harmless than dancing
a cold-blooded quadrille. It is a simple walk around, and is not even
exercise. Of course a man can, if he chooses, get in extra steps enough
to keep his feet warm, but we contend that no quadrille, where they only
touch hands, go down in the middle, and alamand left, can work upon a
man's religion enough to cause him to backslide.
If it was this new “waltz quadrille” that Donaldson indulged in, where
there is intermittent hugging, and where the head gets to whirling, and
a man has to hang on to his partner quite considerable, to keep from
falling all over himself, and where she looks up fondly into his eyes
and as though telling him to squeeze just as hard as it seemed necessary
for his convenience, we should not wonder so much at the synod hauling
him over the coals for cruelty to himself, but a cold quadrille has no
deviltry in it.
We presume the wicked and perverse Mr. Donaldson will join another
church that allows dancing judiciously administered, and may yet get to
heaven ahead of the Presbyterian synod, and he may be elected to some
high position there, as Arthur was here, after the synod of Hayes and
Sherman had bounced him from the Custom House for dancing the great
spoils walk around.
It is often the case here, and we do not know why it may not be in
heaven, that the ones that are turned over and shook up, and the dust
knocked out of them, and their metaphorical coat tail filled with boots,
find that the whirligig of time has placed them above the parties
who smote them, and we can readily believe that if Donaldson gets
a first-class position of power, above the skies, he will make it
decidedly warm for his persecutors when they come up to the desk with
their grip sacks and register and ask for a room with a bath, and a
fire escape. He will be apt to look up at the key rack and tell them
everything is full, but they can find pretty fair accommodations at
the other house, down at the Hot Springs, on the European plan, by Mr.
Devil, formerly of Chicago.