nd burning them to a crisp,--and they are
borne from the theatre to the grave. Yet these girls, thus nightly
exposed to so frightful a death, are paid a third to a half less than
men employed in the same vocation, and who by dress are exempt from such
hazards. Moreover, the wardrobe of the men is furnished by the
theatrical manager,--while the girls, those even who receive but five
dollars a week, are compelled out of this slender sum to supply their
own. They must change it also at every caprice of fashion or of the
manager, sometimes at very short notice, and are expected, no matter how
heavy the heart or how light the purse, to come before the public the
impersonation of taste and elegance and happiness. A single dress will
at times consume the whole salary of a month; and to obtain it even at
that cost, the ballet-girl must work on it with her own hands day and
night. She must submit to these impositions, or give up her occupation,
when perhaps she can find nothing better to do.

The star-actor, the strutting luminary of the theatre, whether native or
imported,--he who receives the highest salary for the least work,--when
the performance is closed, unrobes himself and departs, with no care or
oversight of the drapery in which he charmed his audience. He leaves it
in the dressing-room,--it is the manager's tinsel, not his,--and the
owner may see to it or not. Not so the poor ballet-girl, whose elaborate
performances have been an indispensable feature of the evening's
entertainment. Her gossamer dress, her costly wreaths of flowers, her
nicely fitting slippers, are carefully packed up,--for they are her own,
her capital in trade, and must be taken care of. The well-paid actor
goes to the most fashionable restaurant, gorges himself with rich dishes
and costly wines, then seeks his bed to dream blissfully over his fat
salary and his luxurious supper. The ballet-girl takes up her solitary
walk for the humble home in which perhaps an infirm mother is anxiously
waiting her return, exposed to such libertine insults as the midnight
appearance of a young girl on the street is sure to invite. It is many
hours since she dined; she is fatigued and hungry, but she sups upon a
crust, or the cold remains of what was at best a meagre dinner, with
possibly a cup of tea, boiled by herself at midnight,--then goes wearily
to bed, and sleeps as well as one so hard-worked and so poorly paid may
be able to.

The gay crowds who spend their