ment in this figure, which
admits of great variety, no two performers being at all alike in it,
is somewhat stronger than in the first. The undulation, too, instead
of dying away gradually from its commencement, runs with equal force,
like the line of an S, through the body. Without any pause in the
music the dancer sometimes glides imperceptibly into, sometimes begins
with startling suddenness, the next movement. The general position
remains what it was before, but to describe how its principle of
life and motion seems concentrated below the dancer's waist, and
from thence flows in undulating streams, to flash from or to dull,
according to her organization, the eyes, and to crisp the child-like
feet with which she grasps the carpet, is for me impossible. A Gavarni
might draw what would recall this wonderful pantomime to the brain of
one who had seen it, but nothing but his own imagination could suggest
it to him who had not. One of these girls is a perfect actress:
numberless shades of expression pass over her delicate features, but
the prevailing one is a beseeching, supplicating look. We administer
to her, as the custom is, some rupees in token of our admiration, and
with an arch smile the no longer supplicating damsel passes on.

A vague notion prevails that a nautch is a very naughty and improper
exhibition. My experience is limited, but I must say that in the few I
have seen there was nothing that a _sergent de mile_ at Mabille could
have objected to. Certainly, no one who retains a seat during the
performance of a ballet can say a word on the subject. If the charge
of indelicacy is to be brought against either, it would, I think,
weigh most heavily against the latter. The Indian dance is voluptuous
and graceful, as a dance should be; which is more than can be affirmed
of a ballet of the French school, some of the attitudes of which are
certainly not addressed only to the sense of beauty. But it was now
late, and, although the festivities showed no signs of abatement, we
bade our host adieu and returned home. W.H.S.

NO DANBURY FOR ME.

Not in Danbury. No: life has too many vicissitudes in that Connecticut
borough. It presents too kaleidoscopic an appearance to suit my style.
Family catastrophes succeed each other at a brisker rate than I am
used to. I shouldn't relish being a Danbury man on North street or
South street: indeed, if you urge the thing, not even on East, West or
any other street. I could by n