certain stateliness, a dignity of movement that has charm rather than gymnastic skill behind it. The charming dips and turns, the long, slow steps, and the various artistic measures of our dances of to-day all have a certain dignity. The hoidenish romping of the Two Step, the swift rush of the Polka and contortions of the Turkey Trot, have died a natural death because something finer has taken their place.
Shuffles and twists and wriggles and jumps are no longer words to be used in connection with dancing. What is more, the exercise gained through the new dances is just as great, the benefit just as lasting, and the pleasure much more than it was in former dances. If people had realized what dancing may mean, we should never have had the recent caricatures of it in our ball-rooms. Dancing should be the poetry of motion; the steps are mere incidents. What is important is that the dancer should be so attuned to the music that he merely expresses the themes of the composer. He is, as it were, a poetical architect who builds with his body the graceful formations that delight the eyes and express what the music breathes forth in its harmonies.
A beautiful dancer is a beautiful picture, man or woman; he supplies the words suggested by the
music, adding nobility to melody. Stately dances
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