butterflies and plucking of wild flowers. With rapid sallies hither and thither, now a-tiptoe, now on bended knee, she danced the joy of all living things in the spring. The dream she dreamed before Botticelli’s “Primavera” had become reality. A comparison with Pavlova’s “Danse des Papillons” inevitably suggests itself, and it is hardly possible to claim that in sheer brilliance of movement, in papilionaceous gaiety, the “natural” school has yet outstripped a style that is founded upon the older technique of the ballet. But the climax of the performance was the “Vision of Salomé.” Many harsh things have been said of this dance, from the propriety of the costume of jewels and gauze to that of rendering a stage version of a Biblical episode. It has been called by a respectable critic, “sensuous, decadent, _macabre_.” It was stated that it preserved a nice balance between the lascivious and voluptuous. Above all, the Corporation of Manchester, believing that it would sully the immaculate atmosphere of their city, prohibited its performance within the limits of their jurisdiction--an action which resembles nothing so much as that of an English duchess, who, when she was offered the translation of a French play that she was witnessing, refused it, saying, “I do not wish to understand.” It is to be feared, however, that the deputation of City Fathers that was sent down to witness the dance was able only to misunderstand. To state that the dance was as pure in intention as it was powerful in execution would be a superfluous commentary. I cannot do better than let the dancer relate in her own words the meaning of the vision: “Drawn by an irresistible force, Salome in a dream descends the marble steps leading from the bronze doors that she has just flung to, behind her frightened attendants. The sombre stone obelisks, backed by the inky darkness of the cypress trees, shut out the silver rays of the moon, and, save for the flickering red light of the cresset flames that the slaves have lit, all is mystic darkness, and to Salome’s overwrought brain all is fantastic, vague. “She lives again the awful moments of joy and of horror which she has just passed through. Alone in the gloom the poor child’s fancy assumes dominion over her.