MABEL'S PROGRESS.

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

BOOK II.

CHAPTER IX. A LETTER FROM AUNT MARY.

THE steady-flowing stream of time, that will
neither hurry nor slacken its course for any
mortal of us all, brought, in due season, the
spring to earth, and the Easter holidays to Mrs.
Hatchett's establishment. Mabel had been looking
and longing for an answer to her letter to
her aunt, but it was not until about a week
before the breaking up that the wished-for letter
arrived. As, however, Mabel did not deem it
right to take Mrs. Hatchett by surprise, she had
given her notice of her intention to leave
Eastfield at Easter. "I am cutting myself adrift,"
she thought; "but, come what may, I will not
remain here. I would rather wear out my muscles
than my heart-strings; if the worst comes to
the worst, and Aunt Mary does not answer my
letter, I can take Betty's place at Hazlehurst.
It is better to do honest work with one's hands
than dishonest work with one's head."

From which it may be seen that Mabel was
quite insensible to the advantage of Mrs.
Hatchett's school being conducted on the
strictest principles of gentility.

Mrs. Hatchett, on the other hand, was
sufficiently alive to her own interest to regret Mabel's
departure, and even threw out, in a ruminating
way, which recalled the old grey pony more
vividly than ever, vague hints of a possible rise
of salary and diminution of labour, if she would
consent to remain.

At last came the letter from Aunt Mary.
And here it is:

                                 "Dublin, April 9th.

"My darling Child. I cried with joy to get
your letter, and with sorrow over the news it
contained. We all feel very much, dear Mabel,
for your mother in her bereavement, and for
you, and for the little boy. You know very
well that Mr. Saxelby never quite understood
us, but we have never felt any rancour
against him. I'm quite sure he was a good
conscientious man, who tried to do his
duty, and sometimes I fear that I may have
been a little hard upon him in my thoughts.
God forgive me, if it is so. Your letter was
forwarded to here by my old friend Richard
Price, of the York Circuit. It followed me
from place to place for a long time, so that will
account for the delay in answering it. You ask
a great deal about ourselves, but I must first
speak of you, darling Mabel, and get that off my
mind. You say you have firmly resolved to go on
the stage. Uncle John and I have talked it all
over together very anxiously. If your prospects
were better, or if you thought you could make
up your mind to your present life, I would say,
'Don't try a theatrical life.' Not that I
ought to speak ill of the bridge that has carried
me safely over. God knows I have many times
thanked Him with all my heart that I had the
power to earn my bread by my profession.
But then, you see, my dear child, I know all
the ins and outs of it; all the little troubles—
and sometimes the big troubles too!—and
trials, and heart-burnings. However, Uncle John
says that no calling in life is free from them, and
that the reason why professional men so often
wish their sons to follow any other profession
than their own is, that every man knows his own
troubles much better than he knows his
neighbour's, and I dare say that's very true, Mabel.
Shoes that look very pretty pinch very hard
sometimes; but who can tell that, except the
wearer? Well, now, I mustn't scribble on all
day, but come to the point. Uncle John and
I send you our dear love, and if you will come
to us, Mabel, and share our home, as in the old
days—happy days they were, dear, in spite of
all, at least they were so to us—we will try to
put you in the way of making a beginning. I
suppose you don't expect to come out in Lady
Macbeth, or anything of that sort? And then,
you know, dear Mabel, it remains to be proved
whether you have any real—I was going to
say talent, but Uncle John, to whom I am reading
aloud what I have written, makes me say—
aptitude for the stage. You were always very
clever and sensible as a child. But so many
clever and sensible people are so very stupid
behind the footlights. Not that I think you
would be stupid anywhere, only, you know, it is
not quite as easy as some folks fancy it to be.
For my part, I have always been very glad to
know that acting does not quite 'come by
nature,' as Dogberry says reading and writing
do. Uncle John says that is the real artist's
feeling; but I think it is only because I like to