"You must excuse any blunders I may make in my dancing, Miss Melville, for I am an old bushman, and have been out of practice for many years," said Mr. Brandon.
In spite of Elsie's being an admirable dancer, she was too much excited to do her best, and the stranger made no great figure in his first debut in that line. Miss Rennie was inwardly rejoicing that she had herself got rid of him.
"What part of Australia do you come from?" asked Elsie, in the first pause.
"From Victoria, as it is called now. It was called Port Phillip when I went there."
"Have you been long in the colony?"
"A long time—long enough for all my friends to forget me. But yet I need make no complaint; they have all been very kind; but I think I am entitled to a spell now."
"To a what?" asked Elsie, to whom the term was new.
"To a rest, or rather a fling—a holiday. Ah! Miss Melville, you can have no idea what a rough life I have led for many years. You cannot fancy how delightful, how perfectly beautiful it is to me to be in such society as this after the Australian bush."
Miss Melville had a better idea than he fancied. It is curious to meet people as strangers of whom you know a great deal, and when Elsie looked at the very gentlemanly man beside her, whose dress was perfectly fashionable, whose air and mien were rather distinguished, and whose language, in spite of a few colonial colloquialisms, had the clear, sharp tone and accent which agreeably marks out an educated Englishman among an assembly of Scotchmen, and recollected the description of his dress and habitation which Peggy had given, and the scenes and conversation which she had narrated, she was almost afraid of betraying her knowledge by her countenance.
"Have you been long home from Australia?" she asked, as a safe question.
"A few months, and am enjoying it intensely."
"And what brings you to Scotland? I suppose your relations are all English?"
"Oh, an Australian thinks he ought to see the whole of Britain, when he can visit it so seldom. A man is treated with contempt on his return if he has not seen the Cumberland lakes and the Scottish Highlands. But I have relations in Scotland besides;—the old lady sitting by Mrs. Rennie in black MOIRE (is it that you call it?) is a sort of aunt of mine, and is connected in some inexplicable way with the Rennies. Your Scotch cousinships are an absolute mystery to me; it is a pity I cannot understand them, for I am indebted to them for a great deal of hospitality and kindness, of which this is one of the most agreeable instances;"—and Mr. Brandon looked at Elsie as if he meant what he said.
"It does one good to see a man enjoying a party; our fashionable style is for the indifferent and the done up," said Elsie, with a smile. "I do not know if gentlemen enjoy life in spite of that nonchalant or dismal manner; but I know it is not pleasant for the lookers on."
"I cannot see why they should assume such a disagreeable style of conduct. To me, you English and Scotch people seem the most enviable in existence—amusement after amusement, and education, elegance, and refinement to heighten every enjoyment. I often say to myself, 'Walter Brandon, my good fellow, this will not last; you must go back to your stations and your troubles in a few months;' but for the present I am in Elysium."
By this time they had finished their dance, and were standing beside Jane. She looked up at him with her steady eyes—"The happiness is in yourself—not in the country, in the amusements, or in the society. You have earned a holiday, and you enjoy it."
"All Australians feel the drawbacks of the colonies when they come to visit England," said Mr. Brandon.
"It depends on their circumstances, whether they do or not. I often wish that I were there," said Jane.
"And so do I," said Miss Rennie, who with Francis had just joined them. "There must be a grandeur and a freshness about a new country that we cannot find here; and those wonderful gold diggings, too, must be the most interesting objects in nature."
"The very ugliest things you ever saw—and as for grandeur or freshness, I never saw or felt it. The finest prospect I could see in Victoria is the prospect of getting out of it, particularly now that the diggings have spoiled the colony. We cannot forget Old England."
"Oh! of course I like patriotism," said Miss Rennie; "no country can be to us like the land of our birth."
"But I think we should try to like the land of adoption also," said Jane. "The Anglo-Saxons have been called the best of colonists, because they have adapted themselves so well to all sorts of climates and all sorts of circumstances."
"True—true enough," said Mr. Brandon. "The Adelaide men who came across to the diggings used to talk with the greatest enthusiasm about their colony, their farms, their gardens, their houses, their society. I fancied that it was because they left it for a rougher life, and that Adelaide was like a little England to them; but, perhaps, the poor fellows really liked the place. At any rate, almost all of them returned, though Victoria appeared to be by far the most prosperous colony. But I made an excellent colonist, in spite of my never becoming much attached to the place. I adapted myself to sheep wonderfully, and to black pipes and cabbage-tree hats, and all the other amenities of bush life; and now, Miss Rennie, will you be good enough to adapt yourself to me for a quadrille?"
Miss Rennie was not engaged, so she could not refuse. Elsie saw that her cousin wished to talk to her; she feared it was to be on the subject which was the most painful of all—her unfortunate poems. She fancied that he must think her presumptuous in her old ambition, and dreaded his condolences; so she made some pretext to move away out of hearing of his conversation with Jane, and stood by the hired musicians, who were the most unlikely persons in the room to know anything about her or her disappointment. Standing there, with her slight and graceful form stooping slightly, and her face cast down, Miss Rennie again pointed her out to Mr. Brandon, of whose dancing she was tired, and to whom she wished to talk, asking him if he did not think her a lovely creature, and explaining the very peculiar circumstances in which the two girls were placed.
"They have been well educated, papa says, but very peculiarly, so that their prospects are not the better for it. We live in a frivolous age, Mr. Brandon. I do not take much interest in Jane, but Elsie is a very sweet girl."
The Australian settler looked again more closely at Elsie, and acknowledged to himself, as well as to Miss Rennie, that she was certainly elegant.
"Shall we go to her now? she looks so deserted, Mr. Brandon. Oh! Mr. Malcolm, I must introduce you to Miss Melville's sister."
"And co-heiress in misfortune," said the young lawyer, shrugging his shoulder.
"She is lovely—come," said Miss Rennie. She took both gentlemen across the room. Elsie started when she saw them coming close up to her.
"Miss Alice Melville—Mr. Malcolm—a successful author. Your sister saw him here some months ago."
The sight of a successful author was rather too much for Elsie's present feelings. Her eyes filled with tears, but yet she must speak.
"Yes, Jane told me she had that pleasure," said she.
"Miss Melville is here also, I hope," said Mr. Malcolm.
"Yes, she is talking to—to Mr. Hogarth."
"To Mr. Hogarth? Yes, I see—very good friends they appear to be, in spite of circumstances. Two superior minds, you see."
"He takes such care of your horses and dogs, Miss Alice; and as for your room, when mama proposed making it into a card-room, as it was larger than the library, he looked as black as thunder, and said he never would have cards played there. It was a Blue Beard's room, so we got no access to it."
"I thought he would be kind to the animals; he promised as much to Jane."
"Oh! indeed, he is as good as his word, then," said Miss Rennie. Then, recollecting that this talk must be painful to the girl, she turned to Mr. Malcolm, and asked how his evangelical novel was getting on.
"Finished, and in the press by this time."
"Will it be a success? But everything you write is a success, so I need not ask," said Miss Rennie.
"The pub. says it has not exactly the genuine twang, but I hope no one will observe that but himself. I have more incidents in it than usual in works of the class—an elopement, a divorce, a duel, a murder, and a shipwreck."
"I must have a first reading, recollect. It must be so interesting," said Miss Rennie.
"Thrilling, I should say," said Mr. Brandon. "Well, to me there is a deep mystery in bookmaking. How one thing is to follow another—and another to lead to another—how everything is to culminate in marriage or a broken heart, and not a bit of the whole to be true, I cannot conceive; and as for poetry, it seems to me an absolute impossibility to make verses rhyme. Can you tell me how it is done, Miss Melville?"
Elsie started. "No, I cannot—I cannot tell."
"You must ask Miss Rennie about poetry," said Mr. Malcolm; "she does some very excellent things in that way."
"You perfidious creature, I see I must never tell you anything, for you are sure to come out with it at all times and all places," said Miss Rennie.
"It is a true bill then," said Mr. Brandon, bowing to the tenth muse. "I cannot help wondering at you. I must not approach so near you, for you are so far removed from my everyday prosaic sphere. I must take shelter with Miss Melville, who knows nothing about the matter. I cannot comprehend how people can make verses; it cannot be easy at any time."
"It is sometimes easier than at other," said Miss Rennie. "If the subject is good the words flow correspondingly fast."
"And what do you consider the best subject,—marrying or burying, love or despair? I suppose you have tried them all."
"Oh, no. Do not imagine me to be a real author—only an occasional scribbler. Mr. Malcolm can tell you that I do not write much."
"You must show Mr. Brandon your album," said Mr. Malcolm, "and let him judge for himself."
"Will you let me see it too?" said Elsie eagerly; "do let me see it."
"You may look over it together," said Miss Rennie good-naturedly, "though I do not show it to every one. It will perhaps convince Mr. Brandon that it is nothing so wonderful to write verses, and make him less distant in his manner. My own pieces are signed Ella."
Miss Rennie's album contained a number of selections from her favourite poets, but except her own there were no original verses in it. Her friends preferred copying to composing, and among a very large circle she was the only one who had tried any independent flight into the regions of poetry; so that it was natural she should think a good deal of herself, for every one begged for something of her own to put into their albums, though they could not reciprocate in kind. Mr. Malcolm contributed some smart prose pieces; Herbert Watson was clever at caricatures; Eleanor painted flowers sweetly; while Laura Wilson, ambitious to have something to show in Miss Rennie's album, had copied a number of riddles in a very angular hand, which was illegible to an unpractised eye.
Elsie and Mr. Brandon, however, had got the album to see Ella's verses, and they turned to them with curiosity and interest. Her quicker eye and greater experience, both in poetry and in ladies' handwriting, made her read each piece in less than half the time taken by Mr. Brandon, and she re-read and scanned every line and weighed every sentiment and simile while he was making his way to the end.
"Well, really this is remarkably good," said he. "I wonder Miss Rennie does not publish: she could fill a nice little volume. I am sure I have seen far worse verses printed. Have not you?"
"Yes," said Elsie. "I believe Miss Rennie has had pieces published in periodicals, but it is not so easy to get a volume printed."
"Of course, there is a risk; but then the pleasure, the fame, should count for something. To have one's name on the title-page of a pretty little volume must be very gratifying to the feelings."
"Oh no, not at all. I do not think so; but I do not know anything about it. I should not speak."
"You shrink from any publicity; well, I suppose that is very natural, too, yet I should not think that Miss Rennie does so; and as she is the author, I am imagining her feelings. What is this other piece called?—'Life's Journey.' What can Miss Rennie know of life's journey—staying at home with her father and mother all her short life?"
"If she had been to Australia and back again, she would have been entitled to speak on the subject," said Elsie.
"But really it is a very pretty piece, after all," said Mr. Brandon, after he had read it.
"Though written by one who has never been further from home than Glasgow in her life," said Elsie.
"I do not mean that Miss Rennie's never being out of Scotland should make her know little; but you young ladies are taken such care of, that you know very little of what life really is."
"It must be a disadvantage to all female authors," said Elsie, "to know so little of business and so little of the world. I do not wonder at men despising women's books."
"Now, Miss Melville, have I really said anything that you should put such a construction on? If I have, I must ask pardon. I am only astonished at the extraordinary talent which your sex show in turning to account their few opportunities; and for my part, I should not like them to have greater means of knowing the world. I am not a reading man, by any means. My remarks about books are perfectly worthless, but I can only say that I think these verses very pretty. I don't know whether they are subjective or objective—transcendental or sentimental. In fact, between ourselves, I do not know what the three first words mean. I can give no reason for my liking them."
"But they please you," said Elsie; "and that is all a poet can wish."
"Oh, I thought the poets of this age gave themselves out as the teachers of the world; but you take a lower view. I am glad to meet with some one who is reasonable. The young ladies have all got so clever, so accomplished, and so scientific since I left England, that I am a little afraid of them. I hope you are not very accomplished."
"Not at all," said Elsie.
"Don't you play the most brilliant music with great execution?"
"I do not play at all."
"Nor sketch from nature—nor draw from the round—nor paint flowers?"
"Nothing of the kind."
"Then you must have gone in for science, and you are more formidable than any of the sex."
"My uncle wished me to go in for science, but unluckily I came out without acquiring it."
"How glad I am to hear it! I can talk to you without being tripped up at an incorrect date, or an inaccurate scientific or historical fact. You can warrant yourself safe to let me blunder on?"
"Is it not very good of the young ladies to set you right if you are wrong, and if they are able to do so?"
"It may be very good for me, but it is not at all agreeable. I cannot help wondering very much at the industry and perseverance that young ladies show in becoming so very accomplished. I am sure that many a lady spends as much time and energy in learning music as would, directed otherwise, realize a fortune in Australia."
"Yes, many men in Australia have got rich with very little toil," said Elsie; "but women cannot make fortunes either here or there, I suppose."
"So they content themselves with making a noise," said Mr. Brandon. "I like some music, Miss Melville; but not the brilliant style. It shows wonderful powers of manual dexterity, but it does not please me."
"My sister says, she wonders why so many women spend so much time over the one art in which they have shown their deficiency—that is, music."
"Their deficiency? I think they show their proficiency, only that I do not care about it; that is probably my fault, and not theirs."
"But Jane says, that as so many thousands—and even millions—of women are taught music, and not one has been anything but a fourth-rate composer, it shows a natural incapacity for the highest branch of the art. In poetry and painting, where the cultivation is far rarer, greater excellence has been attained by many women. Their inferiority is certainly not so marked as in music."
"That is rather striking, Miss Melville; but I did not expect such an admission from such a quarter. I see you are not strong-minded My aunt, Mrs. Rutherford, and her daughters, have rather been boring me with their theory of the equality of the sexes: this is a first-rate argument. Will you take it very much amiss if I borrow your idea, or rather your sister's, without acknowledgement? I have felt so very small, because they were always bringing up some instance or other out of books which I had never read, that to bring forward something as good as this, might make them have a better opinion of me."
"I am sure neither Jane nor I would care about the appropriation of the idea, though it seems rather treacherous to put ours into our enemy's hands."
"Your enemy's!—that is hard language for me. I trusted to your being friendly."
In spite of Mr. Brandon's expressed admiration for Miss Rennie's verses, he got soon tired of reading them, and preferred the intervals of conversation between the pieces. Before they had looked through more than half of the album, which was a very large one, he proposed to return to the dancing-room, and Elsie reluctantly left the book on the library table, hoping to snatch another half-hour to finish it. Miss Rennie's verses were decidedly inferior to her own;—even her recent humiliation could not prevent her from seeing this, and she felt a good deal inspirited.
Several times during the evening, she was on the point of mentioning Peggy Walker's name to her old master, but she knew too much about them to be able to do it with ease; she, however, ascertained that he was to be some time in and about Edinburgh, and learned from Miss Rennie where Mrs. Rutherford lived, so that she could tell Peggy where she might find him, if she wished to see him.
In the quadrille which Elsie danced with Mr. Brandon, William Dalzell and Laura Wilson were at first placed as vis-a-vis, but they moved to the side, and Elsie had the pleasure of seeing her sister and cousin instead. But both sisters could not but hear the familiar voice making the same sort of speeches to Miss Wilson that he had done a few months ago to Jane. How very poor and hollow they appeared now! Elsie thought Miss Wilson would just suit him. She was rich enough to make him overlook her defects of understanding and temper, and what was even harder to manage, her very ordinary face and figure. There was an easy solution of Mr. Dalzell's cultivating the acquaintance of the Rennies in this wished-for introduction to the wealthy ward.
Mr. Dalzell thought he ought to ask Jane to dance once, just to show that he did not quite forget his old friends. He tried Elsie first, but she was fortunately engaged to Mr. Malcolm, so he walked slowly to Miss Melville, and asked her hand in an impressive manner. She willingly accepted, and spoke to him as she would to any ordinary acquaintance. He was piqued; he had hoped to have made her a little jealous of his attentions to Miss Wilson, and tried to get up a little sentimental conversation about old times, and the rides they used to have, and the romantic scenery about Cross Hall and Moss Tower, but not the slightest sigh of regret could his ear catch. He apologized for not having been to see her, and said his mother regretted that her last visit to Edinburgh had been so hurried that she had no time. Jane said quietly that she had not expected to see either of them. Had she not found it dull living in the Old Town with Peggy Walker?—No, she had never felt it dull; she had always plenty to do. Was Peggy as much of a character as ever?—Yes; she was glad to say, Peggy was the same admirable woman she had always been, and on nearer acquaintance her character became still more appreciated. The children must be a nuisance?—The children were particularly fine children, and a great resource to her. He thought Miss Alice was not looking well. Had she felt the want of the fresh country air?—For a moment this arrow struck her; a painful expression passed over her face, but she subdued her feelings quickly.—Yes, perhaps Alice did suffer from the change; but they were going to have a week's amusement while their cousin was in town, and she hoped her sister would be the better for it.
Neither Mr. Dalzell nor Jane were sorry when the dance was ended and they were relieved of each other's company; and he returned to Miss Wilson, while she joined Elsie in the library, where she was finishing her critical reading of Miss Rennie's album, with a better coadjutor than the Australian settler, in the person of her cousin. She was rather afraid of him at first, but she found that in general their opinions were the same as to merits and demerits, and she could not help owning that it would have been well to have taken him into her counsels before she tried the public.
"I have been telling Francis," said Jane, "that I am making up my mind to go to Mrs. Dunn's."
"Then I will go with you, Jane; we must go together; you are not to have all the drudgery."
"I say I am only making up my mind; it is not made up yet. I will wait another week before I decide. You are to be in town for a few days, Francis, and you will see us every day before we go. I wish to have a little amusement before I settle; so, Elsie, let us arrange. The theatre to-morrow night, the exhibition on Thursday morning, a concert on Thursday evening, and on Friday an excursion to Roslin; Saturday I am not sure about, but we will see when the time comes."
Elsie stared at her sister; it was so unlike Jane to be pining for amusement. "I do not care for going out, I am so unfit for it. I would rather stay at home till the time comes to go to Mrs Dunn's."
"No, we will not let you stay and mope at home. If it has somewhat unsettled my strong nerves to be living as we have done, so that I feel I must have a change, what will be its effect on you to stay at Peggy's without me?"
"Your sister would rather not go out with me," said Francis.
"No; I have been unjust and uncharitable to you, but I hope I will not be so again. Forgive me for the past, and I will promise good behaviour for the future."
"If you are not too tired in the morning, would not a walk be pleasant?" said Francis. "I want to show you what strikes me as the finest view of Edinburgh. I do not expect Jane to appreciate it; but from your remarks on these verses, I am sure you have an eye for nature, and a soul for it."
Elsie was pleased, and felt more kindly to her cousin than she had ever done before. There are times when a little praise, particularly if it is felt to be deserved, does a sad heart incalculable good. She agreed to the walk with eagerness, and looked forward to it with hope.
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