ngland must she have been, and a very natural one, when a young girl
sat even on the throne. But no nation can keep its ideal for ever, and
it needed none of Mr. Gilbert's delicate satire in 'Utopia' to remind us
that she had passed out of our ken with the rest of the early Victorian
era. What writer of plays, as lately asked some pressman, who had been
told off to attend many first nights and knew what he was talking about,
ever dreams of making the young girl the centre of his theme? Rather he
seeks inspiration from the tried and tired woman of the world, in all
her intricate maturity, whilst, by way of comic relief, he sends the
young girl flitting in and out with a tennis-racket, the poor eidolon
amauron of her former self. The season of the unsophisticated is gone
by, and the young girl's final extinction beneath the rising tides of
cosmetics will leave no gap in life and will rob art of nothing.

'Tush,' I can hear some damned flutterpate exclaim, 'girlishness and
innocence are as strong and as permanent as womanhood itself! Why, a few
months past, the whole town went mad over Miss Cissie Loftus! Was not
hers a success of girlish innocence and the absence of rouge? If such
things as these be outmoded, why was she so wildly popular?' Indeed,
the triumph of that clever girl, whose debut made London nice even in
August, is but another witness to the truth of my contention. In a very
sophisticated time, simplicity has a new dulcedo. Hers was a success of
contrast. Accustomed to clever malaperts like Miss Lloyd or Miss Reeve,
whose experienced pouts and smiles under the sun-bonnet are a standing
burlesque of innocence and girlishness, Demos was really delighted,
for once and away, to see the real presentment of these things upon his
stage. Coming after all those sly serios, coming so young and mere with
her pink frock and straightly combed hair, Miss Cissie Loftus had the
charm which things of another period often do possess. Besides, just
as we adored her for the abrupt nod with which she was wont at first to
acknowledge the applause, so we were glad for her to come upon the stage
with nothing to tinge the ivory of her cheeks. It seemed so strange,
that neglect of convention. To be behind footlights and not rouged! Yes,
hers was a success of contrast. She was like a daisy in the window at
Solomons'. She was delightful. And yet, such is the force of convention,
that when last I saw her, playing in some burlesque at the G