Recently two young veterans who had just returned from eighteen months’ service with the American army in France were given a dinner by one of their neighbors who wished to celebrate their home-coming. Her six-year-old son, whose grandfather had served in the Civil War, was much excited for some weeks preceding the long-anticipated welcome dinner. On the memorable evening he was dressed in khaki, in imitation of the soldier guests, and wore his grandfather’s sword. The double significance of that evening will probably never be forgotten by this six-year-old, who felt the dignity of his position as grandson of a Civil War veteran and host of two World War heroes.
Folk Dancing
We sometimes forget that all of us use at least two languages, the language of speech and the language of gesture. The language of gesture is probably as old as the language of speech, but to-day the language of speech has so largely taken the place of the other that except among the more emotional people of southern climes gesture is largely neglected and frequently meaningless.
Folk-dancing is the practiced speech of gesture. By this means, primitive peoples acted out most of the occurrences of the tribe, the ways of various animals, the occupations of men, their wars, their loves, their religion, even the moods of the moment.
There is, of course, the closest relation between music and the dance, and the folk-dances and the music that accompanies them have lived on together. The old ballads were all originally written for choral dancing, so that song and gesture were closely united.
The theory that underlies belief in the educational value of dramatic dancing was stated by Plato, in the days and among the race that saw and knew lives of unexampled attainment and a record in the arts that has not been approached by any other people. He said: “Rhythm and harmony are made familiar to the souls of the youths, that they may grow more gentle and graceful and harmonious, and so be of service both in words and in deeds; for the whole life of man stands in need of grace and of harmony.”
There is no apparent boundary line between singing games, rhythmic games, and folk-dancing, in its simplest and innocent forms. Such old singing games as London Bridge; Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush; Oats, Peas, Beans and Barley Grow; The Hare in the Hollow; King William; and the Duke and the Castle embody dancing steps, though they are games set to music. The historic minuet is an expression of courtliness, as it was the historic dance of the old courtly days.
Miss Jane Addams and her fellow-workers at Hull House believe that the development of the characteristic national dances of the various countries that are sending us immigrants is going to be, together with their folk songs, a valuable contribution to the refinement of our national life, as well as an important support to the self-respect of these people who, because of the arrogance of Americans, suppose they have everything to learn and nothing to give.
Dramatic Parties
To the mother who is at her wits’ end in trying to devise something new and good for children’s parties, the idea of using the dramatic instinct should come as a godsend. Nothing could possibly be more delightful than an afternoon of dramatic games, varied by more quiet story-telling. Playing statues, getting up tableaux, performing charades, and even extemporaneously acting out story-plays are all methods of entertainment which win enthusiastic response. To be ready for such an emergency it might be well for mothers to follow the suggestion of Miss Nora A. Smith that “a drawer in the playroom closet be devoted to objects and old finery suitable for tableaux and dramatizations, such as trappings for soldiers, feathered hats, trained skirts, buckled belts, gold lace, and old jewelry.” To add to the delight of such a place, Miss Smith adds, “This closet should be treated in general as a high, exalted place, never to be opened in mother’s absence or without her consent.”