MABEL'S PROGRESS.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "AUNT MARGARET'S TROUBLE."

BOOK I.

CHAPTER I. A DRIVE IN HAMMERHAM.

A BRIGHT September sun was shining over
the great midland town of Hammerham. Every
dingy brick and grey flagstone reflected back an
oven-like heat. The shining brass plates on the
shop-fronts and office-doors dazzled the
spectator's eyes like so many burning-glasses, and
polished bell-handles and brazen knockers were
hot enough to scorch any ungloved fingers that
might be applied to them. Notwithstanding
the heat and the glare, however, the streets of
Hammerham had been thronged from an early
hour in the morning by people of all ranks and
classes; and the pavement of the principal
thoroughfares was polished by the tread of
innumerable feet.

Hammerham was (and is) a great working
town. Its tall chimneys puffed forth their
clouds of smoke into the upper air as usual;
the clang and whirr of wheels had not ceased;
and the long rows of factory windows
(conventionally called there "shop" windows) still
trembled and vibrated to the metallic pulse of
machinery. But a stranger, who should have
stood at the central point of the town, where
several principal streets converge towards the
spot on which stand some of its chief public
buildings, might have fancied that the busy
hives of labour had been emptied of their
occupants, and that men, women, and children had
unanimously taken holiday and abandoned their
toils for the day. Though it was now late in the
afternoon, crowds still lingered, with the inexplicable
patience that belongs to an assemblage of
idle people, outside the wooden barriers erected
opposite to the principal entrance of a large
building, from the open windows of which rich
waves of sound rolled forth into the still autumn
air. It was the last day of the great Music
Meeting at Hammerham, and the concluding
chorus of Handel's Messiah was being sung in
presence of a densely packed audience, which
filled the spacious hall from floor to ceiling.
In their appointed sequence the various
instruments and voices took up the noble theme of
the final fugue, succeeding each other with an
irresistible force and majesty that left an
impression on the mind of power and vastness,
such as is made by an Atlantic tide rolling
grandly in upon some western shore. Peal after
peal of harmony shook the air. Higher and
higher rose the soaring voices. Fuller and
fuller swelled the tones of the instruments
until they all met and blended in the massive
final chords with an overwhelming volume of
sound, through which the mighty pulse of the
great organ throbbed tumultuously. There was
a moment's silence, then a long-continued
hurricane of applause, and the Music Meeting was
over. And now the long line of carriages in
waiting began to move, and the policemen on
duty in the roadway waved their white-gloved
hands to bewildered coachmen, and shouted
hoarse injunctions to them to "move on," or
to "pull up there," or to "keep the line."
Behind the barriers erected to prevent the
pressure of the crowd from obstructing the
approaches to the hall, a sudden movement took
place also. The closely packed multitude, who
had been standing there for several hours
without any symptom of impatience, all at once
appeared to be possessed with an overpowering
sense of the value of time, and an unanimous
desire to get away from the spot without losing
an instant. They consequently hustled, pushed,
and struggled; the stronger making their way
through the throng by dint of ruthless elbowing
and foot-crushing, while the weaker or more
timid (a category which in a Hammerham crowd
by no means includes a majority of women)
were driven hither and thither, wavering and
staggering, and uttering loud remonstrances
against the roughness of their neighbours, but
all equally intent on getting away with the
greatest possible speed.

A sudden check to the movement of the front
ranks of the crowd forced those behind back
upon the barriers, at the moment when a lame
man, holding by the hand a little girl of some
nine or ten years old, made a dart across the
roadway from the hall, and endeavoured to
dive under the horizontal timbers. He had
succeeded in getting just within the paling,
dragging the little girl after him, when he was
met by the receding wave of crowd, and the
child, forcibly separated from him by the
pressure, was pushed back into the road, and fell
under the wheels of a handsome carriage drawn
by two spirited horses.

A cry of horror rose from all who saw the