The play went on. Perhaps the libretto had given an uneasy stir to Miriam's satisfaction, for as she sat now entranced with the music, suddenly there came to her the astounding revelation that this young girl on the stage, was singing those very words which the other young girl in the boxes had not quite liked to read. Singing them at the top of her sweet voice,--trying to bring them out distinctly and with full effect. It was only a queen, to be sure; but somehow (missing the royal robes) Miriam could see only a woman. Close upon this came another shock. These dingy, untidy, soiled-looking men were now making love to the young Prima Donna,--first one and then another; this one in bass, and that one in baritone, and she answering in her clear soprano. Answering,--sometimes _responding_. Then they touched her, and handled her, and drew her about, as the exigencies of the piece demanded. And there was no glitter of dress to turn the one into a kingly suitor and the other into a faithful knight; the tarnished men were but men; and she--poor little uncrowned princess--was but a woman among them all; rubbing off the bloom and reserve of her woman's nature with every touch. Miriam could never tell how sick hearted she grew as she looked. _That_ was this girl's livelihood; to go through all sorts of situations, with all sorts of men, for the amusement of other people. O yes, it paid well. Had she been a teacher,--had she painted cups or stitched seams for a living,--her salary, her wages, would have been brought down to the lowest figure; but on the stage, at _that_ work, give her what she asks!--or make her so popular that the manager will. Does she not "amuse" us all? If ever anybody was thoroughly cured of theatre going, that was Miriam. It had been the greatest temptation of her life; but now a great recoil came over her, so that from that day, the mere thought of the stage brought only loathing and disgust. And so all women, _as_ women, should set their faces against it in every shape; even down to the most "private" of private theatricals. There cannot possibly be a wholesome imitation of a bad thing. I know it is very unfashionable doctrine. I know that even while I write, the newspapers set forth an advertisement of a play, prepared by a clergyman, to be acted by Sunday Schools in this sweet Christmas time. Alas poor Sunday Schools!--in full training for service under "the world, the flesh, and the devil."--"Feed my lambs," the Lord Jesus said,--and between meals you give them whiskey and water! Nor is it the children only who suffer. I could tell of one lady in that very man's church, who being much delighted with some such performance in the Sunday School, went off the very next night to a theatre, to see the same thing _done better_. N. B.--She had never been before. "I will have dances at home for my children, lest they seek them elsewhere."--