Dancers, of various schools, whether of the traditional ballet “school,” or otherwise, have quickly found their way into popular favour. Looking back over theatrical memories of the past twenty years or so, dance lovers will recall with pleasure seeing at the Palace Theatre that statuesque and extremely graceful dancer, Miss Mimi St. Cyr, in a delightful little miniature ballet, “La Baigneuse,” a dance-_scena_ invented by Mr. George R. Sims, in which she lured to life the fountain-statue of a piping faun. Some will recall also a dancer of very different school, Miss Lottie Collins, whose “Tarrara-boom-de-ay” was a sensation in its way. Then, too, who that saw her could ever forget that electric dancer hailing from Australia, Mlle. Saharet, who entered as on the wings of a whirlwind and, seeming all compact of “Passion and power and pride incarnate in laughter,” held us all spellbound and breathless with sympathetic joy in her abounding vitality, stimulating and tonic as champagne. In more recent times the sensational success of Miss Maud Allan--who presented us with the somewhat mystical definition of dancing as “the spontaneous expression of a spiritual state”; and, subsequently, of Mme. Pavlova and M. Mordkin; is too recent to need recalling, and too evident to call for specific praise from me when so many and abler pens have already exhausted their ink in regretting they could not write in fire. Admirers, particularly feminine devotees, flocked in hundreds to see Miss Maud Allan dance in a manner which many doubtless thought wholly new to London, though some might have recalled that it was somewhat of the same school--though temperamentally very different--as that of Miss Isadora Duncan, who had given us dances of a rather similar order some ten years before, and that they were akin to the mimetic dances of ancient days. Miss Allan achieved a remarkable flexibility of movement that was seen to advantage in her dances to the music of Chopin and other classic masters. Her interpretation of the “Spring Song” of Mendelssohn was not wholly new to those who had seen Miss Isadora Duncan’s exposition of the same music some ten years before. Her “Salome,” a melodrama in dancing, created a sensation, though somewhat morbid in effect, and hardly of the same artistic interest as some of her other achievements. Of her popularity there was no doubt, and a photograph of one of the queues which awaited any one of her performances, especially the _matinées_, would--if one exist--always be valuable to future historians of our time as a mute but eloquent record.