There were all sorts of dances and dancers. I myself tackled the Virginia reel, Lancers, Quadrille, Caledonia, Polka, Hornpipe, Mazourka, a Spanish dance, the Irish Washwoman, and several others. The favorite music was "Pussy in the Rainbarrel;" it served for a half dozen different dances. I never liked the music—a sort of windpipe or bagpipe which allowed no breathing-spell from start to finish. In my second dance I went off my feet, my head caught under the sloping roof, and the floor master had to knock my "pins" from under me to get me loose.
There was one pretty girl there, and I tried to engage her for a dance, but every time I approached her she shied away; at last, she got used to my odd appearance, and allowed me to clasp her to my bosom in a waltz. Just as we got started, the dance closed, and the caller shouted to choose partners for a square dance. My pretty partner agreed to dance it with me; I could see several of her admirers looking "daggers" at me.
"Forward; right and left!" sounded the call. "Lead yer partners round the outside!"
I thought the caller meant the outside of the house, and started down stairs, but was soon stopped, and the call explained to me.
"Alaman left!—grand right and left!—half way and back—change partners, and four ladies salute!—balance again and swing the opposite lady!"
That succession of calls completely demoralized me. I got all mixed up, and soon found myself clasping an upright instead of somebody's partner, and concluded my part by violently sitting on the floor. After that I contented myself with looking on.
Although the two prettiest features of the ball—the Minuette and the St. Vitus Dance—had not yet taken place, I felt more than satisfied, and bidding my friends good morning, set out for the Cornbin domicile.
After a late breakfast of tea, bread, salt pork and fried potatoes, I started for Geneva.
All through New York State people had supposed on seeing me that "Uncle Tom's Cabin" had "busted," and that Marks, the lawyer, was homeward bound with his mule. In Ohio, the curious countrymen inquired if I was on my way to join Maine's Circus, at its winter quarters, Geneva. Mac, as well as I, was quite sensitive over these inquiries. Through the driving snow-storm we managed to reach a hotel where, after a noon meal, I led my animals on to Madison.
When a half mile yet to the village we passed the Old Woman's Home, which I visited the following morning, Sunday. The man who planned it was a genius. The rooms of the commodious building were fitted up to suit the whims of the most fastidious fossils of second childhood. Paintings and plaster bas-reliefs of old women knitting, washing false teeth, and sewing, decorated the walls. Sewing baskets, crazy quilts, dolls, and paper soldiers were strewn about the rooms. The most novel of all departments was the dental and hirsute Check Room, where the old ladies checked their false teeth, wigs, cork legs, etc., when they happened in disuse. A little brass ring containing a number is given the owner of the article to be checked, so that it may be preserved in good condition, and not get lost. Incidents are cited where very old women, during intervals of temporary aberration, have got their checks mixed and tried to wear an extra set of teeth, or an additional wig; and it is said that once a woman with two normal legs endeavored to hook on a cork leg. But when we consider the great age of the inmates, such cases are quite pardonable.