The poor child little dreams that temptation may be approaching her,
softly, quietly, in the guise of friendship. So, all unconsciously, she
grows to rely upon the advice of this quiet, unassuming man. She looks
for his praise, for his approval. By and by their companionship reaches
beyond the walls of the theatre. She respects him, admires, trusts him.
Trusts him--he may be worthy, he may not! But it would be well for the
young actresses to be on their guard against the "sympathetic friend."

Since we are speaking about absolute beginners, perhaps a word of
warning may be given against _pretended_ critics. The young actress
trembles at the bare words "newspaper man." She ought to know that a
critic on a respectable paper holds a responsible position. When he
serves a prominent and a leading journal, he is frequently recognized as
an authority, and has a social as well as a professional position to
maintain. Further, the professional woman does not strongly attract the
critic personally. There is no glamour about stage people to him; but
should he desire to make an actress's acquaintance, he would do so in
the perfectly correct manner of a gentleman. But this is not known to
the young stranger within the theatrical gates, and through her
ignorance, which is far from bliss, she may be subjected to a
humiliating and even dangerous experience. I am myself one of several
women whom I know to have been victimized in early days.

The beginner, then, fearing above all things the newspaper, receives one
evening a note common in appearance, coarse in expression, requesting
her acquaintance, and signed "James Flotsam," let us say. Of course she
pays no attention, and two nights later a card reaches her--a very
doubtful one at that--bearing the name "James Flotsam," and in the
corner, _Herald_. She may be about to refuse to see the person, but some
one will be sure to exclaim, "For mercy's sake! don't make an enemy on