this correspondent said was good, though the subject was hackneyed, but on all the others the sweeping scythe of censure fell unsparingly.  “Her poems,” he said, “were very tolerable, and not to be endured;” mediocrity was insufferable in poetry.  The tone of them was unhealthy, and would feed the sentimentalism of the age, which was only another name for discontent.  If poetesses went on as they were doing now-a-days, and only extracted a wail from life, the sooner they gave up their lays the better.  The public wanted healthy, cheerful, breezy poetry, with a touch of humour here and there, and a varied human interest running through it—­a fit companion to the spirited novels of Charles Kingsley, then at the height of his fame.  If poets were to teach the world, as they boasted that they were, they should not shut themselves up, and practise variations on the one poor tune, “I am miserable; I am not appreciated; the world is not worthy of me;” but go forth to the world and learn that there are nobler subjects for poetry than themselves.  Then, with regard to Elsie’s diction and rhymes, this critic selected a number of the most faulty and imperfect verses for censure, and Elsie had the miserable satisfaction of having to acknowledge that they deserved it.  I have little doubt that the critic thought he was giving the poetess a good lesson; but if he had seen the suffering that his letter caused, and the youth and inexperience, and the sad circumstances of the poor girl who received it, he would have repented somewhat of his very clever and satirical letter.

Heartsick and humbled, Elsie lost hope, and health, and spirits.  She wrapped the rejected manuscript in brown paper, and put it in the farthest corner of one of her drawers.  She was only prevented from committing it to the flames by Jane’s interference.

“Now,” said she, “I must be as busy as you.  Peggy must teach me to iron—­surely I can learn to do that—­and let me make Nancy’s frock.  But, after all, Jane, this will not do for a continuance; we must seek for employment somewhere.  I have spent a good deal of time over this useless work, and postages have come heavy on our small means.  I must try to earn something.”

The heavy tears fell fast on the frock as the girl worked at it; the listless hands dropped their hold of it occasionally, and she was lost in bitter thoughts.  She however finished it, and then busied herself with a new bonnet for Peggy, which was to be made not at all fashionable, but big and rather dowdy.  Elsie’s taste rebelled a little at the uncongenial task; but she was doing her best to please Peggy when the postman delivered two letters to Jane—­one from Francis, and the other from Mrs. Rennie.  Francis’ letters had been frequent, and had been a little interesting even to Elsie, and this one was more so than usual.  He was coming to Edinburgh for a week or two, and meant to see them as much as possible during his stay.  He was to be at a party at the Rennies’ on New Year’s Day, and his cousins were to be invited also; he trusted to meet them there.  The Rennies had occasionally called, and shown the girls more kindness than any of their Swinton friends, or their other Edinburgh acquaintances.  They had spent a fortnight, in autumn, at Cross Hall, and had enjoyed it very much.