curtain drop.




THE INDISCRIMINATE DANCE.


It is the anniversary of Herod's birthday. The palace is lighted. The
highways leading thereto are ablaze with the pomp of invited guests.
Lords, captains, merchant princes, and the mightiest men of the realm
are on the way to mingle in the festivities. The tables are filled
with all the luxuries that the royal purveyors can gather,--spiced
wines, and fruits, and rare meats. The guests, white-robed, anointed
and perfumed, take their places. Music! The jests evoke roars of
laughter. Riddles are propounded. Repartees indulged. Toasts drunk.
The brain befogged. Wit gives place to uproar and blasphemy. And yet
they are not satisfied. Turn on more light. Give us more music. Sound
the trumpet. Clear the floor for the dance. Bring in Salome, the
graceful and accomplished princess.

The doors are opened and in bounds the dancer. Stand back and give
plenty of room for the gyrations. The lords are enchanted. They never
saw such poetry of motion. Their souls whirl in the reel, and bound
with the bounding feet. Herod forgets crown and throne,--everything
but the fascinations of Salome. The magnificence of his realm is as
nothing compared with that which now whirls before him on tiptoe. His
heart is in transport with Salome as her arms are now tossed in
the air, and now placed akimbo. He sways with every motion of the
enchantress. He thrills with the quick pulsations of her feet, and is