So decidedly does this animal belong to the Bimana order of beings, that
to his two legs he is indebted for existence. Most of his fellow bipeds
live by the work of their hands, except indeed the feathered and tailor
tribes, who live by their bills; but from his thighs, calves, ancles, and
toes, does the opera-dancer derive subsistence for the less important
portions of his anatomy.

_Physiology._--The body, face, and arms of the opera-dancer present no
peculiarities above the rest of his species; and it is to his lower
extremities alone that we must look for distinguishing features. As our
researches extend downwards from head to foot, the first thing that
strikes us is a protuberance of the ante-occipital membranes, so great as
to present a back view that describes two sides of a scalene triangle, the
apex of which projects posteriorly nearly half way down the figure. That a
due equilibrium may be preserved in this difficult position (technically
called "the first"), the toes are turned out so as to form a right angle
with the lower leg. Thus, in walking, this curious being presents a mass
of animated straight lines that have an equal variety of inclination to a
bundle of rods carelessly tied up, or to Signor Paganini when afflicted
with the lumbago.

_Habits._--The habits of the opera-dancer vary according as we see him in
public or in private life. On the stage he is all spangles and activity;
off the stage, seediness and decrepitude are his chief characteristics. It
is usual for him to enter upon his public career with a tremendous bound
and a hat and feathers. After standing upon one toe, he raises its fellow
up to a line with his nose, and turns round until the applause comes, even
if that be delayed for several minutes. He then cuts six, and shuffles up
to a female of his species, who being his sweetheart (in the ballet), has
been looking savage envy at him and spiteful indignation at the audience
on account of the applause, which ought to have been reserved for her own
capering--to come. When it does, she throws up her arms and steps upon
tiptoe about three paces, looking exactly like a crane with a sore heel.
Making her legs into a pair of compasses, she describes a circle in the
air with one great toe upon a pivot formed with the other; then bending
down so that her very short petticoat makes a "cheese" upon the ground,
spreads out both arms to the _roues_ in the stalls, who understand the
signal, and cry "