Cranford | Page 5

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 spinet 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
before, she had been a good deal annoyed by Miss Jessie Brown's
unguarded admission (a propos of Shetland wool) that she had an uncle,
her mother's brother, who was a shop-keeper in Edinburgh. Miss
Jenkyns tried to drown this confession by a terrible cough--for the
Honourable Mrs Jamieson was sitting at a card-table nearest Miss
Jessie, and what would she say or think if she found out she was in the
same room with a shop-keeper'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-by Captain Brown sported a bit of literature.
"Have you seen any numbers of 'The Pickwick Papers'?" said he. (They
we're 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 them; indeed, she might say she had read
them."
"And what do you think of them?" exclaimed Captain Brown. "Aren't
they famously good?"
So urged Miss Jenkyns could not but speak.
"I must say, I don't think they are 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 "swarry" which Sam Weller gave at Bath. 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 had 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 Boz, and 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 him 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 recommended 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