54
to a sin. "That would be a reproach to your mother; you only name me/' was the proud retort of a smart dancing-girl to a filthy epithet cast at her by the voluptuous Sirajuddoula. What is labelled as a necessary profession by society, is rarely felt to be a degrading occupation; and the consoling thought that one <need not be better than is expected of one, easily satisfies the casual compunction. That "want-begotten rest" which the poet rates lower than the worst bondage, is the doom of the unfortunate nursling of sin who is never made to feel that her tainted life marks her off as a moral leper. Thus the gate of repentance, open in Heaven's grace to the vilest sinner, is virtually closed by a custom-ridden community that thereby makes itself an abettor of impenitent guilt. How many a Kanchanamali that would repent and seek the ways of the Lord, is being thus lulled into suicidal security by a society that thoughtlessly cries "Peace! Peace!" when there is no peace!"—Again, nothing can justify the
