The Courtship of Mrs Elton:
Part IV

The party that assembled in the Greens' drawing room was elegant in its appearance, though less so in mind, for the society there collected was not notable for any thing more than dull repartee and commonplace remarks.

Mr. Jeffereys had bought a new gun, and wanted to tell every one who would listen about its features, as it was the very latest of its kind; but his usual confidante, Mr. Bird, had determinedly affixed himself to the side of Miss Hawkins, and would not attend. Augusta had Mr. Elton on her other side, and wanted very much to continue her conversation of the morning with him; but was prevented by Mr. Bird whispering in her ear. She tried to discourage him, for every time he spoke, Mr. Elton glowered; but she had little success. Mr. Bird had hold of a fold of material of her gown, and he pulled it urgently as he went on:

"Miss Hawkins - my dear Miss Hawkins - you must listen. I tell you I have written something for you. A very particular production. It is, in fact - a poem!"

"You don't say, Mr. Bird? - " turning to Mr. Elton. "I am sorry. What were you saying to me of Highbury?"

"Highbury is a very musical society, Miss Hawkins. I am sure you would like it. I know you would. Why, Miss Woodhouse has had the best masters from London to teach her to sing and to play; Mrs. Weston is a most accomplished musician; and Mrs. Cole has been saying that she means to purchase a new pianoforte for her daughters. Could you but visit in Highbury, I know you would be delighted."

"I am sure I should. Is your vicarage quite within the town itself, then, Mr. Elton?"

Mr. Bird pulled her skirt again. "Do let me read it to you, Miss Hawkins. Only once, must you hear it from my lips; and then I shall make you a fair copy to keep. Only listen - "

She was forced to turn away from Mr. Elton, and listened in vexation, annoyed with herself for blushing angrily, as Mr. Bird read what appeared to be a half-and-half production of nonsense, partly a poem, partly an acrostic on Augusta's name:

"As sweet as the nightingale,
Under the tree,
Gay as a sparrow, perched
Upon your knee;
Singing, ah singing
To me, to me!
Ah, what is he saying to thee?

How can the birdsong
As blithe as the breeze,
Waft on the elements
Kissing the trees,
In sunlight and moonlight,
Night and in morn; the
Sweetest of avians is singing our song."

"Thank you, Mr. Bird, that will quite do. I am very sensible of the honour you do me, but it is quite unnecessary to read me any more such poems."

"Ah, but you do not understand, Miss Hawkins! Have you not noticed the rhyme scheme?"

"I have noticed that I do not have a sparrow perched upon my knee, and upon my word, I don't take in your meaning. Now, Mr. Elton, you do not write poetry, I think?"

"No - certainly not. I do not like the things. A friend of mine once wrote an epigram - a charade - that I borrowed and laid before a young lady; but I was very sorry afterwards that I did, and vowed never to do so again."

"A charade! Before a young lady! That was a dangerous, a rash act, Mr. Elton. I do not dare inquire who was this young lady. How long has she been a favorite?"

"She never was a favorite," he said quietly, "not as I feel now; and if I may say so, Miss Hawkins, my feelings have never been so engaged in my life as - as I suspect the sentiment that may be forming..."

At this interesting moment, with what annoyance did Augusta perceive Mr. Bird's half-whisper breathing into her ear again.

"Miss Hawkins, Miss Hawkins! I believe you did not perceive the meaning of my poem. It is an acrostic. Cannot you see? The first word of every line spells out your name. Augusta Hawkins! There! Do you not like it? Do you not think acrostics very clever things?"

"Insufferable puppy!" said Augusta to Mr. Elton, turning her head and speaking low. "Yes, yes, Mr. Bird - an acrostic. No, I do not think them clever: I believe acrostics are a low form of wit, like a pun."

Mr. Bird was crestfallen. "But Miss Hawkins! It is in honour to you! You do not think I could have written this to any one else, to Miss Milman for instance? You see your name - there - is felicity itself. Philadelphia Milman is far too long. It would never fit."

"I suggest that you try it, however," said Augusta, rising, in response to Mr. and Mrs. Green, who were beginning to collect the party for the procession into the dining-room.