favourite with all the ladies present. Ruffled
brows were smoothed, sharp voices lowered
at his approach. Miss Brown looked ill, and
depressed almost to gloom. Miss Jessie
smiled as usual, and seemed nearly as popular
as her father. He immediately and quietly
assumed the man's place in the room;
attended to every one's wants, lessened the
pretty maid-servant's labour by waiting on
empty cups, and bread-and-butterless ladies;
and yet did it all in so easy and dignified a
manner, and so much as if it were a matter of
course for the strong to attend to the weak,
that he was a true man throughout. He
played for three-penny points with as grave
an interest as if they had been pounds; and
yet, in all his attention to strangers, he had
an eye on his suffering daughter; for suffering
I was sure she was, though to many eyes she
might only appear to be irritable. Miss
Jessie could not play cards; but she talked to
the sitters-out, who, before her coming, had
been rather inclined to be cross. She sang,
too, to an old cracked piano, which I think
had been a spinnet in its youth. Miss Jessie
sang "Jock of Hazeldean" a little out of tune;
but we were none of us musical, though Miss
Jenkyns beat time, out of time, by way of
appearing to be so.

It was very good of Miss Jenkyns to do
this; for I had seen that, a little while before,
she had been a good deal annoyed by Miss
Jessie Brown's unguarded admission (à-propos
of Shetland wool) that she had an uncle, her
mother's brother, who was a shopkeeper in
Edinburgh. Miss Jenkyns tried to drown
this confession by a terrible cough for the
Honourable Mrs. Jamieson was sitting at the
card-table nearest Miss Jessie, and what
would she say or think if she found out she
was in the same room with a shopkeeper's
niece! But Miss Jessie Brown (who had no
tact, as we all agreed, the next morning) would
repeat the information, and assure Miss Pole
she could easily get her the identical Shetland
wool required, "through my uncle, who has
the best assortment of Shetland goods of any
one in Edinbro'." It was to take the taste of
this out of our mouths, and the sound of this
out of our ears, that Miss Jenkyns proposed
music; so I say again, it was very good of
her to beat time to the song.

When the trays re-appeared with biscuits
and wine, punctually at a quarter to nine, there
was conversation; comparing of cards, and
talking over tricks; but, by-and-bye, Captain
Brown sported a bit of literature.

"Have you seen any numbers of 'Hood's
Own?' " said he. (It was then publishing
in parts.) "Capital thing!"

Now, Miss Jenkyns was daughter of a
deceased rector of Cranford; and, on the
strength of a number of manuscript sermons,
and a pretty good library of divinity,
considered herself literary, and looked upon any
conversation about books as a challenge to
her. So she answered and said, "Yes, she
had seen it; indeed, she might say she had
read it."

"And what do you think of it? " exclaimed
Captain Brown. "Isn't it famously good?"

So urged, Miss Jenkyns could not but
speak.

"I must say I don't think it is by any
means equal to Dr. Johnson. Still, perhaps,
the author is young. Let him persevere, and
who knows what he may become if he will
take the great Doctor for his model." This
was evidently too much for Captain Brown to
take placidly; and I saw the words on the tip
of his tongue before Miss Jenkyns had
finished her sentence.

"It is quite a different sort of thing, my
dear madam," he began.

"I am quite aware of that," returned she.
"And I make allowances, Captain Brown."

"Just allow me to read you a scene out of
this month's number," pleaded he. "I had it
only this morning, and I don't think the
company can have read it yet."

"As you please," said she, settling herself
with an air of resignation. He read the
account of the gentleman who was terrified
out of his wits by political events, who "could
no more collect himself than the Irish tithes."
Some of us laughed heartily. I did not dare,
because I was staying in the house. Miss
Jenkyns sat in patient gravity. When it was
ended, she turned to me, and said with mild
dignity,

"Fetch me 'Rasselas,' my dear, out of the
book-room."

When I brought it to her, she turned to
Captain Brown:

"Now allow me to read you a scene, and
then the present company can judge between
your favourite, Mr. Hood, or Dr. Johnson."

She read one of the conversations between
Rasselas and Imlac, in a high-pitched
majestic voice; and when she had ended, she
said, "I imagine I am now justified in my
preference of Dr. Johnson, as a writer of
fiction." The Captain screwed his lips up,
and drummed on the table, but he did not
speak. She thought she would give a finishing
blow or two.

"I consider it vulgar, and below the
dignity of literature, to publish in numbers."

"How was the 'Rambler' published,.
Ma'am?" asked Captain Brown, in a low
voice; which I think Miss Jenkyns could not
have heard.

"Dr. Johnson's style is a model for young
beginners. My father recommended it to me
when I began to write letters. I have
formed my own style upon it; I recommend
it to your favourite."

"I should be very sorry for him to
exchange his style for any such pompous
writing," said Captain Brown.

Miss Jenkyns felt this as a personal
affront, in a way of which the Captain had
not dreamed. Epistolary writing, she and
her friends considered as her forte. Many a