Lottie Collins was a favorite of the English, French and American audiences, though she was little more than a jumper of a new style. The watchword of the ballet _habitués_ of this time was novelty at any price. It is extremely amusing to read a Kansas City criticism of Miss Collins’ performance in that city: ‘Lottie Collins has the stage all to herself and she bounces and dances and races all over it in the most reckless and irresponsible way, precisely as if she were a happy child so full of health and spirits that she couldn’t keep still if she wanted to. Sometimes she simply runs headlong all the way round the stage, finishing the lap with perhaps a swift whirl or two, or a whisk and kick. Sometimes she simply jumps and bounces, and sometimes she doubles up like a pen-knife with the suddenness of a springlock to emphasize the “boom.” She is invariably in motion except when she stops to chant the gibberish that passes for verses, but the wonder is that she has breath enough to sing after the first cyclonic interlude.’ Still more debased were the performances of Olga Desmond, Villiani and others, who made erotic gestures and nude dances a fad of many European capitals. The argument of these dancers was that dancing, like sculpture, is predominantly an art of nudes. Only the naked body could show the perfect plastic lines and graceful poses. They strove to dance slow music, sonatas and symphonic poems, in order to display the effects of certain pretty poses and arabesques. They put a special stress upon the rhythm, but their interpretation was morbidly perverse. The best figure of this decadent school of dancing was Kate Vaughan, who strove to follow the style and manners of Taglioni’s dance. But the sensation and novelty-loving public of England found her art too tame and old-fashioned, so she died in poverty and broken health in South Africa. Mr. Crawford Flitch says of her: ‘Although of course she never reached the perfection of her predecessor [Taglioni], it was to her careful training in the school of the ballet that she owed the ease and grace of her movements and the wonderful effect of spontaneity with which she accomplished even the most difficult steps. She danced not only with her feet, but with every limb of her frail body. She depended not merely upon the manipulation of the skirt for her effect, but upon her facility of balance and the skillful use of arms and hands. Her andante movements in particular were a glorious union of majesty and grace. It is true that she condescended at times to introduce into her dance some of those hideous steps which vulgarized the dancing of the period--in particular that known as the “high kick”; but even this unpleasant step she accomplished with a certain sense of elegance and refinement which disguised its essential ugliness and suggestion of contortion. She danced with a distinct inspiration, and upon her style was built up all that was best in the dancing of her time.’