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."

When I brought it to her, she turned to Captain Brown--

"Now allow _me_ to read you a scene, and then the present company can
judge between your favourite, Mr. Boz, and Dr. Johnson."

She read one of the conversations between Rasselas and Imlac, in a
high-pitched, majestic voice; and when she had ended, she said, "I
imagine I am now justified in my preference of Dr. Johnson as a writer
of fiction." The captain screwed his lips out, and drummed on the table,
but he did not speak. She thought she would give a finishing blow or
two.

"I consider it vulgar, and below the dignity of literature, to publish
in numbers."

"How was the _Rambler_ published, ma'am?" asked Captain Brown, in a low
voice, which I think Miss Jenkyns could not have heard.

"Dr. Johnson's style is a model for young beginners.