Litchfield enquirer., 1875-03-25
humbly and sadly. ''You ought to know,

Sir" .s5 ee.
 Now this was suggestion which piefc- ed the preachers manly and noble con science somewhat keenly. For, after all, what did he know about the matter? Not only did he know nothing himself about the stage, but he did not know any body who had any greater knowledge on the subject.
 ''Well," he replied, rather quickly, 'eof course don't know practically much of the inner life of the stage, or any thing of it, in fact. But am convinced that it is in general an unnatural and unhealthy life and that it is especially unsuitable for young women. Ishould be sorry, indeed, to say any more than that. l am not ap- pointed to judge any class of my fellow Christians"
 Then he sat down and entered into Q quiet, friendly conversation with Georg ina. He made her feel quite at ease with him. She soon told him, wondering not little at her own boldness in the awful presence of the great preacher, the simple story of her life, her fathers ca reer, her mothers windowhood, their power tY, their struggles, and her earnings. Mr. Shelton was greatly interested in the sto- ", and asked her to come again and see his sister, and promised that her sister and himself would go to see Mrs. Wilton.
 'You would not be unwilling" he ask ed, ito leave the stage and take to some better-at least some other way of living if suitable occupation could be found for you?"
 ':I would do any thing, Sir, not to be wicked and not to lose my soul, if only could keep my mother and myself and pay the rent. used to like the stage always very much until yesterday. Now am afraid of it-very much afraid; never knew how dreadful it was until yesterday. And tears came again into her eyes, which had been brightening under the kindly and consoling manner and words of the great, true-hearted preacher.
 Very singular was the difference be- tween the operation going on in the two mindssunder the influence each of the oth- CT. The actress had begun to feel for the first how very bad her profession was; the preacher was beginning to think forS the first time that that profession could not be so very bad after all.
 He consigned Georgina for the moment to the care of hls sister, who had a nature as simple and sympathetic as his own, and he sat alone in his study for while, leav- ing the letters unanswered. and he thought good deal. Could there then really be innocence and purity in a life which all ministers of all creeds had in- variably agreed to regard as essentially baleful and impure?
 Anyhow he was satisfied that in Georg- ina Wilson he saw innocence and purity, and he resolved to rescue her from the dangers of the stage life while she was yet free from It's contagion. His sister and he inquired into the whole story of fGeorgina's life, and found that she had told it truly. Then he set about finding some employ ment for her which would enable her to give up the stage. But he found this ob- ject almost impossible to realize. Poor as was Georgina's place in the drama. it yet was distinct place, with a certain popularity attaching to 1t, and 1t enabled her to live and to support her mother, who was in bad health. He found that no occupation ot the ordinary kind which was open to Georgina would bring her anything like the sum she could earn on the stage. He was greatly embarrassed, and even distressed. As for Georgina her self, she had been seized with a genuine fervor of desire to get rid of the theatrical life and enter on anew and pure career. Joseph Shelton had never supposed that his denunciation of the drama could have produced such and so sudden an effect on such & mind. At times he almost wished he had been less fervid and fierce, or per haps that he had examined into the subject little more practically and thoroughly be- fore he delivered judgement on it. Now, indeed, he had rather to check than to stimulate the ardor of his young convert.
 He had to bid her be patient, to assure her that she might without peril to her soul consent to play Little Pickle 8 few weeks or months longer, until some means of living could be found for her. If he could possibly afford it, he would delight edlY have paid her pension equal to her stage salary, and thus enable her to take to a better life; but he could no more af- ford this than he could buy up the Royal Italian Opera-house and convert 1t into a reformatory; and even if he were a rich man it is certain Georgie Wilson and her mother would never have accepted solu tion of the difficulty in the shape of an eleemosynary pension.
 So MT. Shelton found himself burdened with the following perplexing problem: Given young woman who IS nothing of seamstress, who does not know music or drawing or French Cor, for that matter, very much English), and who has out of her own earnings to support her mother
 
 of making a decent, respectable living be brought within her reach? He began to think the problem insoluble, and yet it was he, and he alone, who had convinced the girl that her present occupation was at least dangerous, if not sinful, and so made it sinful for her to continue in it.
 Georgie Wilson attended every service at MT. Shelton's church. Her pretty face was always before him when he preached, her bright eyes burned darkly and deeply as he spoke, her whole soul hung upon his words. The theatre became hateful to her; she went through her parts in mechanical, or rather, indeed, in ghost like fashion; she began to grow unpopular with the audiences, and to incur the re- monstrances and rebukes of the manager; she summed her former companions, and was sneered at by them; and the newspa- per critics, who had hardly ever taken the trouble to notice her while she was successful, began to say harsh things of her now that she was failing. Life was becoming very cold and sad with this poor little girl, and her only consolation was in attending the services in Mir. Shelton's chapel, and hearing the great Dissenting orator preach. She pined all the week through for the Sunday to come, and when buO OUuOby WaS uS0k4y OEC1 6u0 E4uU0CA~ ed at the prospect of the coming week. Her mother noticed the change in her manner and her appearance, and was al- armed by it, and secretly sighed over it. Indeed, Georgie was greatly, sadly chang ed. Her face was always pale. her figure grew thin, her eyes were only too bright and restless, her relish for food was gone, her enjoyment of her profession had changed into detestation of it. There was more in all this than could be explained by the:change her feeling had undergone in regard to the stage. In truth, the poor little pantomime actress had fallen wildly incurably, hopelessly in love with the Dis senting pulpit orator. Her love was ado ration. It consumed her. United with sense, growing stronger and stronger eve " day, of her own utter unworthiness, it was eating up her heart. In all this strug- gle and pain, however, her nature was