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,