in's description of
the children who performed in the Drury Lane pantomime. The kind
critic was in ecstasies--as well he might be--and he talked with
enthusiasm about the cleanliness, the grace, the perfectly happy
discipline of the tiny folk. Then, again, in "Time and Tide," the
great writer gives us the following exquisite passage about a little
dancer who especially pleased him--"She did it beautifully and simply,
as a child ought to dance. She was not an infant prodigy; there was no
evidence in the finish and strength of her motion that she had been
put to continual torture during half of her eight or nine years. She
did nothing more than any child--well taught, but painlessly--might
do; she caricatured no older person, attempted no curious or fantastic
skill; she was dressed decently, she moved decently, she looked and
behaved innocently, and she danced her joyful dance with perfect
grace, spirit, sweetness, and self-forgetfulness." How perfect! There
is not much suggestion of torture or premature wickedness in all this;
and I wish that the wise and good man's opinion might have been
considered for a little while by some of the reformers. For my part, I
venture to offer a few remarks about the whole matter; for there are
several considerations which were neglected by the debaters on both
sides during the discussion.

First, then, I must solemnly say that I cannot advise any grown girl
or young man to go upon the stage; and yet I see no harm in teaching
little children to perform concerted movements in graceful ways. This
sounds like a paradox; but it is not paradoxical at all to those who
have studied the question from the inside. If a girl waits until she
is eighteen before going on the stage, she has a good chance of being
thrown into the company of women who do not dream of respecting her.
If she enters a provincial travelling company, she has constant
discomfort and constant danger; some of her companions are certain to
be coarse--and a brutal actor whose professional vanity prevents him
from understanding his own brutality is among the most horrible of
living creatures. After a lady has made her mark as an actress, she
can secure admirable lodging at good hotels; but a poor girl with a
pound per week must put up with such squalor as only actors can
fittingly describe. Amid all this the girl is left to take care of
herself--observe that point. A little child is taken care of; whereas
the adolescent or adult mu