herself so long as she does not interfere with the rights of others. But when it becomes a matter of usurping the opportunities which should be open alike to the woman who regards her character and honor as something precious, then this lawbreaker does interfere with the lives of others in their development and progress. I repeat the words of Miss Dainty; frothy and cynical as they sounded to me when she spoke them, they ring like clarion notes of truth to me now after twenty years proving their pertinence:

"Given two women of equal beauty and talent, one with moral scruples, the other with none, starting out to make a name and place in the world of fame; the Cerberus who keeps the gates of opportunity a man whose watchword in life is Lust, and the odds are not even. The fight is not fair."

I have tried to set forth as unimpassionedly as possible the web into which the spider ambition lures the unwary, and I wish to add just a few words in answer to the much used argument that "the girl of an upright, strong character may enter the theatrical profession and go through all right, accepting such advancement as may come to her honorably."

She may. It depends entirely upon what you call "all right." To keep from realizing the iniquity which constantly surrounds her would take the limitations of the deaf, dumb and blind combined; there is a constant pouring into her ears of conversation which, almost to the exclusion of every other

topic, is made up (as I heard a playwright once say) of two subjects—“Grease paint, and licentiousness.' There are situations, upon which her actual living depends, which she must not only condone, but be in a measure an accessory to, and if she finally does succeed in going almost to the penetentiary door and yet manages to slip by, is she, in her memories and familiarity with that which is vile and slimy; is she, in her apathy to what goes on about her, feeling no revulsion to those things usually considered at least unconventional in the average young person's presence, in a position conducive to developing the soul beauful or the character noble? In other words, "Is she all right?" Does so much rubbing up against soot and grime leave us at last pure, white, and serene?

Remember, please remember, that one woman at the height of fame and life, left all the glitter, all the glory to seek happiness in a home and that she tells us quite plainly she did so because of the direful associations of the profession which was more than her pure nature could stand. Such a woman as she was, in my profession to-day, is a jest, a laughing stock, and her life is made so great a burden to her that she is glad enough, if she wishes to continue in the calling, soon to assume the "good fellow" attitude.

The real trouble seems to be not only with us, but is growing in other walks of life too. We have expended so much sympathy on "Hester Prynne" that any ordinary adulteress who can scare up a

tear immediately appeals to our pity; and we are so bombarded with the "cast the first stone" story and have forgiven the Magdalen so often when, like Miss Melloweye, she was only shamming repentance, that she has finally become our conqueror.

Understand I have not written the conditions which surround the chorus girl. I never knew more than one or two specimens of this greatly newspaper squibbed commodity. In the publicity given to her peccadillos she seems to me to be the scapegoat of her more "posy" sister of the dramatic world. She does not find it essential to wear the "virtue cloak," but rather glories in her unsavory reputation.

That we continue to live and suffer in the conditions as I have tried to show them is partially explained by the fact that human nature is generally optimistic and there is always a lurking hope that somewhere, somehow, one will come upon the ideal existence as it could be lived in following an artistic career. Moreover, the smoke and roar of battle is not nearly so terrible to the soldier in the midst of it, as it is to the anxious onlooker and listener ensconced in a position of safety. Or, as I have endeavored to show the gradual, insidious, deceptive unfolding of these elements; the knowledge coming upon one not in shocks and thunders which carry warning in their very path, but with slow easy creepings which fit so gradually into the very situation with almost harmonious complacency are all so delusive that one

is really unaware of the presence of any sin until it has actually fastened its talons about him. But perhaps Pope has expressed it in a few words as only a genius can and better than volumes of more common place prose, if one would only heed him.

"Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As to be hated, needs but to be seen;
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace."

"Will you walk into my parlor?" said a spider to a fly; "Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.

The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,

And I have many pretty things to show you when you are there." "O no, no," said the little fly, "to ask me is in vain,

For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."

"I'm sure you must be weary with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the spider to the fly;

"There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin,

And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in."

"O no, no," said the little fly, "for I've often heard it said, They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed."

Said the cunning spider to the fly, "Dear friend, what shall I do, To prove the warm affection I've always felt for you?

I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;

I'm sure you're very welcome; will you please to take a slice?" "O no, no!" said the little fly, "kind sir, that cannot be; I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see.”

"Sweet creature!" said the spider, "you're witty and you're wise, How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes! I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf,

If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."

"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say, And bidding you good-morning now, I'll call another day."

The spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly fly would soon be back again :
So he wove a subtile web, in a little corner, sly,

And set his table ready to dine upon the fly.

Then he went out to his door again, and merrily did sing,

“Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl and silver wing: Your robes are green and purple; there's a crest upon your head; Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead.”

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little fly,

Hearing his wily flattering words, came slowly flitting by,
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue;
Thinking only of her crested head-POOR FOOLISH THING!

At last,

Up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast.

He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlor; but she ne'er came out again!
And now, my dear young friends, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you, ne'er give heed;
Unto an evil counselor, close heart, and ear, and eye,
And take a lesson from the tale of the Spider and the Fly.

-Mary Howitt.