ded in while we are looking around. There
are five hundred men in the immense hall. There are a hundred
females--it would be mockery to call them women. The first we hear from
them is when half a dozen invade our box, plump themselves in our laps,
and begin to beg that we put quarters in their stockings for luck. There
are some shapely limbs generously and immodestly shown in connection
with this invitation. One young woman startles the crowd by announcing
that she will dance the cancan for half a dollar. The music starts up
just then, and she determines to do the cancan and risk the collection
afterward. She seizes her skirts between her limbs with one hand, kicks
away a chair or two, and is soon throwing her feet in the air in a way
that endangers every hat in the box. The men about the hall are all
craning their necks to get a sight of what is going on in the box, as
they hear the cries of 'Hoop-la' from the girls there. There is a waltz
going on down on the floor. I look over the female faces. There is one
little girl, who looks as innocent as a babe. She has a pretty face, and
I remark to a companion that she seems out of place among the other poor
wretches--for there is not an honest woman in the hall. Before we leave
the place it has been demonstrated that the little girl with the
innocent face is one of the most depraved of all the habitues of the
place.

"The dance is over, and a song is being sung by a man on crutches with
only one leg. 'He is an honest fellow, is the Major,' says one of the
girls. 'Poor fellow, he has a wife and six children. He sticks to them
like a good fellow and works hard to get a living. He sells pencils in
the day-time and works here at night.' A generous shower of coin goes on
to the floor when the Major finishes. I begin to notice the atmosphere
of tobacco smoke. It is frightfully oppressive. The 'champagne' that it
has been necessary to order so as to retain the box has not been drank
very freely. The girls have been welcome to it the visitors having
discovered that it is bottled cider, with a treatment of whisky to give
it a biting tang and taste. It costs three dollars a bottle. It would
cost a man more to drink it. There was a young business man of
Cincinnati here three or four weeks ago who filled himself up on it at a
cost of $300. He had been foolish enough to go to McGlory's alone. He
was found on the Bowery at five o'clock the next morning without any hat
or overcoat. His po