“Where am I to go to now?” said Jane to herself as she again trod the pavement of Princes Street and walked along it, then turned up into the quieter parts of the town where professions are carried on.  She passed by shops, and warehouses, banks and insurance companies’ offices, commission agencies, land agencies, lawyer’s offices.

“Every one seems busy, every place filled, and there appears to be no room for me,” she said to herself.  “I must try Mr. MacFarlane, however; he knows something of me, and will surely feel friendly.  I hope he will not be so much astonished at my views as other people have been.”

Mr MacFarlane, however, was quite as much surprised as Mr. Rennie, or the publisher, when Jane asked him for employment as a copying or engrossing clerk, either indoors or out of doors.  He was quite as much disposed to exaggerate the difficulties she herself would feel from not understanding the forms of law, or not being able to write the particular style of caligraphy required for legal instruments.  He had heard of the singular education Henry Hogarth, an old crony and contemporary of his own, had given to his nieces, and as his own old-bachelor crotchets lay in quite another direction, he had never thought of that education doing anything but adding to their difficulties, and preventing them from getting married.  When the girls had been left in poverty he only thought of their trying for the nice quiet situations that every one recommended, but which seemed so hard to obtain, and then sinking into obscure old maidenhood in the bosom of a respectable family.  When Jane mentioned the matronship, Mr. MacFarlane strongly advised her to apply for it, for the salary was more than she could look for in a situation, and she would probably be more independent.  But as for him employing a girl as a law-writer, what would the profession say to that?  It was quite out of the question.

“I fear I have no turn for teaching, but I suppose I must try for something better than a situation.  Could I not get up classes?”

“Oh! yes, certainly—­classes if you feel competent.”

“Not quite for French or Italian.  My uncle was never satisfied with our accent; and we must advertise French acquired on the Continent now-a-days, if we want to succeed in Edinburgh.  The things I could teach best—­English grammar and composition, writing and arithmetic, history, and the elements of science—­are monopolized by men; but I must make an effort.  I am sorry my dear old friend, Mr. Wilson, is no more, he would have recommended me strongly; but I will go to Mr. Bell.  I studied under him for four winters, and though I am threatening him with competition, I know I was his favourite pupil, and I hope he will help me.  I never would encroach on his field if I could find any elbow-room elsewhere.”

This was another long walk, and to no purpose, for Mr. Bell was away from home, in bad health, for an indefinite period, leaving his classes in the care of a young man, who had been strongly recommended to him.