would not notice her among a hundred others in our village church. Just now she is suffering for the tragedy of Lady Flora, and fears are entertained, whenever she appears, that there will be voices to cry out "Where is Lady Flora?" a sound that must pierce the poor young thing's heart Ah! she has come to the throne when royalty pays quite too dear for its whistle!
We had the ballet ha Gitana after the singing—and Taglioni. No praise of her grace is exaggerated. There is music in every movement of her arms; and if she would restrict herself within the limits of decency, there could not be a more exquisite spectacle of its kind than her dancing. I would give in to the ravings of her admirers, and allow that her grace is God's beautiful gift, and that fitting it is it should be so used. But could not this grace be equally demonstrated with a skirt a few inches longer and rather less transparent? To my crude notions her positions are often disgusting; and when she raised her leg to a right angle with her body, I could have exclaimed, as Carlyle did, "Merciful Heaven! where will it end?"
Familiarity must dull the sense to these bad parts of the exhibition; for Mrs. —— quoted a French-woman, who said, on seeing Taglioni, "Il faut être sage pour danser comme ça" (one must be virtuous to dance like that). I should rather have said, "Il ne faut pas être femme pour danser comme ça." And I would divide the world, not as our witty friend —— does into men, women, and Mary Wolston-
