THE “SCHOOL.”
Ask any old and experienced officer on the police force, What does more
to corrupt the morals of the young men and young women of this city
than anything else, and he will answer almost certainly, “These dancing
schools.” And if he added that they also did more to undermine the
constitutions of many a “buirdly chiel and bonny lassie” than even the
doctors do, he would also be right. You will hear a young man or woman
talk about “going to school,” but you do not need to be deceived into
thinking that they are taking a course at the public night schools. The
arts taught in the school that they attend, they are already probably
very proficient in.
Some eight or nine years ago these dancing assemblies were very common,
and were attended by nice people, but year by year they have grown worse
until the average “school” of the present day would be shocking and
ruinous to any girl of correct sensibilities.
The “school,” and its congener the hop, or dancing social, is invariably
held in some public hall. A committee is formed by a number of young
men, who stand to make some money if the “school” is a popular one. The
committee should be composed of fighting men, as there is a good deal of
constabulary duty to be done. At most of the schools the fair sex are
admitted free, and quite a number of the blushing damsels who cannot get
a “fellah” take advantage of that rule. When they get into the hall,
however, they run a fair chance of
PICKING UP A CAVALIER
who came to the festivities unattached. On one occasion a spectator who
had made up his mind to pry into the mysteries of a school which met in
an east end hall, near Queen street, was rummaging for his entrance fee
when a buxom young lady came blithely forward and addressed the janitor
in a tone of reproach, “You’re not going to charge the reporder, are ye,”
and the change collector expressed himself to the effect that he never
had any intention of charging such a distinguished personage. Mendacious
youth!—he had his hand extended for the coin and a fixed expression on
his face that meant to get it or die. I did not remember having ever
been introduced to the lady before, but I was very grateful for her
kindness and flattered that I was so widely known. Seeing that I was
known it behooved me to retire to a corner far from those who knew me.
I had not long been there, however, before another man in a shepherd
tartan shirt and minus collar or tie came up and volunteered to give me
any information concerning the ladies and gentlemen on the floor which
I desired. Without being bid he went off into graphic biographical
dissertations on these, but as they were of an exceedingly scandalous
nature I would not promise him that they would be published. One lady,
whom he designated Big Mouth Moll, and who must have rivalled Messalina
in the variety of her amours if this young man were to be believed, he
was especially severe upon.
“Will you put that in, reporter?” he said.
I explained that Miss B. M. Moll was undoubtedly a lady, and that
it might wound her feelings to publish facts concerning her “little
accidents.” He went away very much disgusted with me.
A more intelligent “scholar” whom I met confirmed a good deal of my
collarless friend’s unfavorable account of
THE GENERAL MORAL TONE
of the assembly. He said he knew them all, and that they nearly all
worked in different industrial establishments in the city, and that
pleasure rather than lucre ruled their lives.
One young woman was calculated to attract attention in particular. Her
face was colorless, with the exception of a slight flush that seemed to
flicker over her sunken cheek. She was languid, and after each quick
movement of the dance a quick little gasp escaped out of the faded
rose of her lips. Everything betokened a life being extinguished by
consumption’s chill embrace. She was an object for tender solicitude, but
the burly curly-headed young ruffian who dragged her through the dance
seemed not to be aware that a grisly guest was following at his heels to
claim his partner for another scene than this.
I gathered from a remark made by one of the ladies that something had
been going on of which I had not been cognizant. She whispered that
“O’Brien was as drunk as Billy Bedam,” and investigation showed that
quite a number, while not as drunk as the historical Mr. Bedam was in the
habit of getting, were pretty well on. Having therefore seen enough to
disgust me I left.
This perhaps is an unusually low type of the “school,” but the best is
only a degree or two higher.
Most of the persons present were boys and girls born and reared in this
Canada of ours. I am confident from what I have observed that these young
women will become the wives of these or similar young men, and it is
pitiable and humiliating to think that another generation of Canadians
will grow up under the tutelage of such parents. Free schools are a
failure if they cannot teach a man that squirting tobacco juice over your
dancing partner’s shoulder is bad manners.
And yet parents permit their daughters to go to such places, and be
dragged down to the level of the lowest, not only in actions and
conversation, but in the habits of thought which such associations create.