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 (apropos 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 identical Shetland wool required, “through my uncle, who has the best assortment of Shetland goods of any one in Edinboro’.”  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 reappeared with biscuits and wine, punctually at a quarter to nine, there was conversation, comparing of cards, 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 were 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.”