MABEL'S PROGRESS.

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

BOOK III.

CHAPTER III. KILCLARE.

KILCLARE is, or was at the time of my story,
one of the prettiest and pleasantest towns in the
south of Ireland. The river Clare flows past
it, and falls into the sea a few miles below the
town. But though so near the end of its course,
it has none of that dreary and wide-spread
desolation which often attends the last few miles
of a river's journey to the great deep. It runs
through a wide channel between high rocky
banks, at a short distance before reaching
Kilclare; and these rocks are mottled with patches
of bright green turf, and decked with a luxuriant
variety of creeping plants, with here and there
a tall tree of some hardy species clasping its
roots into the crevices of the stone, and bending
down towards the water's edge like some wild
creature stretching its graceful neck to drink.
A mile or so above the town, the river is
spanned by a long wooden bridge, approached
at each end by a sharp declivity. On a sudden
hill—little more, in fact, than a high knoll—on
the opposite side of the Clare to the town, stands
the ruin of a feudal castle, with its tall solitary
round tower relieved against the sky, like some
lone sentinel who has climbed to that vantage
ground to keep watch and ward over the city.

Beautiful river Clare! I know few scenes
more lovely than that which is beheld by one
standing on your old wooden bridge and gazing
up-stream at your winding course. Most beautiful
it is, on a fine summer evening, when the
daylight, flushed with slumber, shuts its eyes in
the west, and the first star comes out into the
pale green sky and trembles with its pure lustre
upon the hoary brow of the old ruined tower.
The water washes with a sleepy inarticulate
babble against the pebbly beach; the bats begin
their rapid elfin flight, and brush so near that
one can see their weird faces and bead-like eyes
as they wheel past; and the fragrant breath of
a turf fire curls slowly upward into the still
twilight heavens.

Beautiful river Clare! My benison be upon
thee in thy dark green depths and in thy sparkling
shallows; whether thy waters flow all molten
gold beneath the noonday sun, or tremble
onward in the moonlight, like a silver banner, barred
with sable shadows; or lie dreaming in some
still pool with one beloved star upon their glassy
bosom. My benison be upon thee, lovely Clare,
for all the glad abundance of thy beauty, and
for the images of those dear days that, with the
eyes of fond remembrance, I see reflected in
thy tranquil face!

Although Mabel Earnshaw had no such
recollections to endear the scene to her, she
nevertheless perceived it to be very fair when
she first caught a glimpse of it on approaching
Kilclare. The mail coach from Ballyhacket—at
which point, in those days, the line of railway
from Dublin terminated—came spinning down
the steep hill, swung round the sharp corner at
the base of the old castle, and rattled over the
long wooden bridge at a reckless pace, that made
the crazy planks start and clatter under the horses'
hoofs. Then, came about two miles of level road
leading past some scattered country houses of
rather dilapidated aspect, and one lodge gate
through which a fine avenue might be seen;
then, a few cottages of the humbler sort; then,
little straggling shops; then, one or two good
dwelling-houses, more shops; and at last at a
point where the street suddenly narrowed very
much, the driver pulled up his smoking team
before the door of a large inn, and they were
at their journey's end.

Mabel and her aunt alighted from the interior
of the coach, and Jack scrambled down from
the outside. " Here we are, Mabel!" said he,
gaily. "Rather a closeish shave coming round
that corner before the bridge, wasn't it? I hope
you were not very much frightened. Give me
your shawl and bag, mother. That's it. Halloa!
There's Biddy, bless her old heart. How are you,
Biddy? Here's my mother and the young
lady."

A clean apple-faced old woman in a great
mob cap came up to Mrs. Walton with
abundance of smiles and curtseys, and bade her
heartily welcome to the "ould town" again.
"I've got everything ready for yez," said she;
"ye'd betther step across at oncet, ma'am, and
Teddy and one of the boys 'ull  whip over the
boxes. Don't be standing here in the sthreet,
ma'am dear, and both of yez tired and hungry.
Sure the things 'ull be all right enough. This
way, miss, 'tis just across the sthreet there."
The old woman took Mabel's travelling-bag
from her arm, in spite of the latter's