Circus performers wander about the world more generally, and to a greater extent, than the acrobats and jugglers who perform in music-halls, from whom they are separated into a distinct class by the requirements of circus engagements. All aspirants to saw-dust honours being engaged for ‘general utility,’ it is necessary for them to understand the whole routine of circus business, whether their specialty is riding, vaulting, clowning, or any other branch. They are required to take part in vaulting acts, to hold hoops, balloons, banners, &c., which requires some practice before it can be done properly, and to line the entrance to the ring when a lady of the company flutters into it, or bows herself out of it. For this last duty, the proprietors of the best appointed circuses provide uniform dresses, which are worn by all the male members of the company, when not engaged in their performances, from the time the circus opens until they retire to the dressing-room for the last time. I am speaking, of course, of those who form the permanent company of a circus, and not of those engaged, as ‘stars,’ for six or twelve nights. The ‘bright particular star’ of the Amphitheatre, during the season of 1870, was the young lady known as Lulu, and who was recognized by frequenters of that popular place of entertainment as the agile and graceful child who had appeared, a few years previously, with her father, at the Alhambra and Cremorne, as ‘the flying Farinis,’ in a performance somewhat resembling that of the Brothers Hanlon and the child called ‘Little Bob.’ She was then supposed to be a boy, and much amusement was created after her appearance at the Amphitheatre as an avowed woman, by the recollection of her having, after descending from the lofty arrangement of trapezes and ladders on which she performed at the Alhambra, advanced to the footlights, and sang a song, each verse of which ended with the words, ‘Wait till I’m a man.’ The secret of her sex was at that time unknown even to the performers at the Alhambra, at least to the masculine portion, among whom the circumstance of her being accompanied by her mother, and performing the operations of the toilet in the ladies’ dressing-room, was a frequent subject of wonder and speculation. There was a doubt also about the sex of the child who for a long time did a gymnastic performance at the London Pavilion, very similar to that given by Olmar at the Alhambra. The child was announced as ‘Little Corelli,’ and was generally supposed to be a boy; but I have since heard that it was a girl.