with its
shouting and its surging, its blare and its cheap flare. Come away, the
summer's night is just the other side of the hedge, with its silence and
its stars."

You and I, Cinderella, are experienced people, and can therefore offer
good advice, but do you think we should be listened to?

"Ah, no, my Prince is not as yours. Mine will love me always, and I am
peculiarly fitted for the life of a palace. I have the instinct and
the ability for it. I am sure I was made for a princess. Thank you,
Cinderella, for your well-meant counsel, but there is much difference
between you and me."

That is the answer you would receive, Cinderella; and my young friend
would say to me, "Yes, I can understand YOUR finding disappointment in
the literary career; but then, you see, our cases are not quite similar.
_I_ am not likely to find much trouble in keeping my position. _I_
shall not fear reading what the critics say of ME. No doubt there are
disadvantages, when you are among the ruck, but there is always plenty
of room at the top. So thank you, and goodbye."

Besides, Cinderella dear, we should not quite mean it--this excellent
advice. We have grown accustomed to these gew-gaws, and we should miss
them in spite of our knowledge of their trashiness: you, your palace and
your little gold crown; I, my mountebank's cap, and the answering laugh
that goes up from the crowd when I shake my bells. We want everything.
All the happiness that earth and heaven are capable of bestowing.
Creature comforts, and heart and soul comforts also; and, proud-spirited
beings that we are, we will not be put off with a part. Give us only
everything, and we will be content. And, after all, Cinderella, you have
had your day. Some little dogs never get theirs. You must not be greedy.
You have KNOWN happiness. The palace was Paradise for those few months,
and the Prince's arms were about you, Cinderella, the Prince's kisses on
your lips; the gods themselves cannot take THAT from you.

The cake cannot last for ever if we will eat of it so greedily. There
must come the day when we have picked hungrily the last crumb--when we
sit staring at the empty board, nothing left of the feast, Cinderella,
but the pain that comes of feasting.

It is a naive confession, poor Human Nature has made to itself, in
choosing, as it has, this story of Cinderella for its leading moral:--Be
good, little girl. Be meek under your many trials. Be gentle and kind,
in spite of yo