The girl who six months ago had looked forward to playing Juliet made her way down the dingy staircase drearily. This was but one of many dramatic agents with whom she had gone through the form of registering her name. Mr. Passmore's booking-fee had been five shillings; the booking-fee of most of the others had been five shillings; one had charged a guinea. All had been affable when she paid her first visit, and forgotten who she was when she paid her second; all had been reminded who she was, and failed to recognise her when she called again. She called on one or another of them every day, and contrived to gain such an interview as she had just had about once a week. She had taken in the theatrical papers and replied to shoals of advertisements, but as she had to state that she was a novice, nobody ever took any notice of her applications. She had haunted the stage-doors when she read that a new piece was to be produced, begging in vain to be allowed to see the manager. She had, in fine, done everything that was possible; and she was as far from securing an engagement as on the day that she arrived in England. And she had talent, and she was beautiful, and was prepared to begin upon the lowest rung of the ladder. The stage is generally supposed to be the easiest of all callings to enter. The girl who is unhappy at home, the boy who has been plucked for the army, the woman whose husband has failed on the Stock Exchange, all speak of "going on the stage" as calmly as if it were only necessary to take a stroll to get there. As a matter of fact, unless an extraordinary piece of luck befalls her, it is almost as difficult for a girl without influence, or a good deal of money, to become an actress as it is for her to marry a duke. She may be in earnest, but there are thousands who are in earnest; she may be pretty, but there are hundreds of pretty actresses struggling and unrecognised; she may be a genius, but she has no opportunity to display her gift until the engagement is obtained. And this is the tremendous obstacle. She can prove nothing; she can only say, "I feel I should succeed." If she is allowed to recite--and it is very rarely that she is--a recital is little or no test of her qualifications for the stage. She may recite cleverly, and as an actress be very indifferent. She has to beg to be taken on trust, while a myriad women, eager for the vacant part, can cry, "I can refer you to so-and-so; I have experience!" Though other artistic professions may be as hard to rise in, there is probably none other in which it is quite so difficult to make the first steps. If a girl is able to write, she can sit alone in her bedroom, and demonstrate her capability; if she can paint, her canvases speak for her; if she pants to be a prima donna, she can open her mouth and people hear her sing. The would-be actress, alone among artists, can do nothing to show her fitness for the desired vocation until her self-estimate has been blindly