"Is it possible," I inquired, "that you have never had the opportunity of showing your delightful talents on the stage?"

"Very possible, indeed," she replied; "and, unless by some accident, I feel sure also I never shall. In fact, the rise of a junior performer entirely depends on the health or longevity of the senior. There have been limping old men tottering through Ranger and Charles Surface, exactly as they had done for forty years; and keeping in those parts for the express purpose of debarring younger men from them, whose talents, they think, would eclipse their reputation."

Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 71, No. 436, February 1852 — Part 81

"But can't a manager give the part to any one he likes?"

Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 71, No. 436, February 1852 — Part 81

"O, no. It is down in Miss de la Rose's engagement that she is to have all the principal characters."

Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 71, No. 436, February 1852 — Part 81

"But when there are two principal characters in one play?" inquired my mother.

"Mrs Ferdinand Windleshaw has secured all the second characters. She is always the Emilia to Miss de la Rose's Desdemona."

"And you!" I cried--"is there no part left for you?"

"Both those ladies would leave the theatre at once if I were allowed to speak one line."

"Then, my dear Miss Claribel," said my mother, greatly won by the simple openness of the visitor, "why do you remain on the stage, or rather not on the stage, but behind the scenes? You could surely find some other way of making your extraordinary talents of use."

"I draw a little in the intervals of study," she replied, "and compose a little music. I make quite enough for my own support; and, in short, there are reasons why I continue true to the stage."

"I have known you too short a time," replied my mother, "to ask you for your confidence; but I assure you I take a great interest in your success, and I hope you will always consider me a friend."

Miss Claribel took my mother's hand. "I won't try to thank you," she said; "for such kindness overcomes me. If you knew the loneliness of a poor actress's life, the solitude of the desolate room she goes back to after the glare of the lamps, the friendlessness she experiences in the very midst of the clapping of innumerable hands, you would know how doubly valuable to her heart is the kind sympathy of a lady in your position. You give me a new tie to existence in letting me feel assured of your goodwill, and I will come and see you whenever I feel my griefs too much for me to sustain alone."