The following is the experience of a lady whose name is withheld, but
who has distinguished herself in literature, and made a world-wide
reputation:

"In those times I cared little for polka or varsovienne, and still
less for 'Money Musk' or 'Virginia Reel,' and wondered what people
could find to admire in these slow dances. But in the soft floating
of the waltz I found a strange pleasure, rather difficult to
intelligibly describe. The mere anticipation fluttered my pulse,
and when my partner approached to claim my promised hand for the
dance, I felt my cheeks glow a little sometimes, and I could not
look him in the eye with the same frank gayety as heretofore.

"But the climax of my confusion was reached when, folded in his
warm embrace, and giddy with the whirl, a strange, sweet thrill
would shake me from head to foot, leaving me weak and almost
powerless, and really obliged to depend for support on the arm
which encircled me. If my partner failed, from ignorance, lack of
skill or innocence, to arouse these, to me, most pleasureable
sensations, I did not dance with him the second time.

"I am speaking openly and frankly, and when I say that I did not
understand what I felt, or what were the real and greatest
pleasures I derived from this so-called dancing, I expect to be
believed. But if my cheeks grew red with uncomprehended pleasure
then, they grow pale to-day with shame when I think of it all. It
was the physical emotions engendered by the magnetic contact of
strong men that I was enamored of--not of the dance, not even of
the men themselves.