possessed one poet. Steve exulted with irrepressible delight and
went about quoting Songs and Sonnets till he bored his friends
dreadfully by his fraternal raptures.
Archie took it more quietly, and even suggested that it was too
soon to crow yet, for the dear old fellow’s first burst might be his
last, since it was impossible to predict what he would do next.
Having proved that he could write poetry, he might drop it for
some new world to conquer, quoting his favorite Thoreau, who,
having made a perfect pencil, gave up the business and took to
writing books with the sort of indelible ink which grows clearer
with time.
The aunts of course had their “views,” and enjoyed much prophetic
gossip as they wagged their caps over many social cups of tea. The
younger boys thought it “very jolly,” and hoped the Don would “go
ahead and come to glory as soon as possible,” which was all that
could by expected of “Young America,” with whom poetry is not
usually a passion.
But Dr. Alec was a sight for “sair een,” so full of concentrated
contentment was he. No one but Rose, perhaps, knew how proud
and pleased the good man felt at this first small success of his
godson, for he had always had high hopes of the boy, because in
spite of his oddities he had such an upright nature, and promising
little, did much, with the quiet persistence which foretells a manly
character. All the romance of the doctor’s heart was stirred by this
poetic bud of promise and the love that made it bloom so early, for
Mac had confided his hopes to Uncle, finding great consolation
and support in his sympathy and advice. Like a wise man, Dr. Alec
left the young people to learn the great lesson in their own way,
counseling Mac to work and Rose to wait till both were quite
certain that their love was built on a surer foundation than
admiration or youthful romance.
Meantime he went about with a well-worn little book in his
pocket, humming bits from a new set of songs and repeating with
great fervor certain sonnets which seemed to him quite equal, if
not superior, to any that Shakespeare ever wrote. As Rose was
doing the same thing, they often met for a private “read and
warble,” as they called it, and while discussing the safe subject of
Mac’s poetry, both arrived at a pretty clear idea of what Mac’s
reward was to be when he came home.
He seemed in no hurry to do this, however, and continued to
astonish his family by going into society and coming out brilliantly
in that line. It takes very little to make a lion, as everyone knows
who has seen what poor specimens are patted and petted every
year, in spite of their bad manners, foolish vagaries, and very
feeble roaring. Mac did not want to be lionized and took it rather
scornfully, which only added to the charm that people suddenly
discovered about the nineteenth cousin of Thomas Campbell, the
poet. He desired to be distinguished in the best sense of the word,
as well as to look so, and thought a little of the polish society gives
would not be amiss, remembering Rose’s efforts in that line. For
her sake he came out of his shell and went about seeing and testing
all sorts of people with those observing eyes of his, which saw so
much in spite of their nearsightedness. What use he meant to make
of these new experiences no one knew, for he wrote short letters
and, when questioned, answered with imperturbable patience:
“Wait till I get through; then I’ll come home and talk about it.?
So everyone waited for the poet, till something happened which
produced a greater sensation in the family than if all the boys had
simultaneously taken to rhyming.
Dr. Alec got very impatient and suddenly announced that he was
going to L to see after those young people, for Phebe was rapidly
singing herself into public favor with the sweet old ballads which
she rendered so beautifully that hearers were touched as well as
ears delighted, and her prospects brightened every month.