CHAPTER V.

_Two Poets under a Dairy-Window._

Next Morning, my _Father_ at his Breakfast questioned us straitly as to what had been going on during his Absence, and seemed scarcely to know whether to take Offence at it or not. The receiving and nursing a Stranger under Mrs. _Gatty's_ Circumstances would have been Something to cavil at; but then she was own Woman to Lady _Betty_, for whom, though he only knew her in Public, he entertained great Respect; and besides, Mrs. _Gatty_ was a fine Woman, which of itself was a Letter of Recommendation to him. Moreover, she sat by all the While, knitting a White Silk Mitten; so that he could not, for Manners, speak against her in her Hearing; and my _Father_, when himself, was a well-mannered Man. So he hemmed once or twice, and swallowed any Objections he might have made, had we been by ourselves; and then, to turn the Subject, "Mrs. _Gatty_," says he, "that Mitten will become your Hand well; but most other Women's Fingers, coming out of it, would look like Radishes. And now, let us clear Decks, and make way for the Carpenters."

"The Carpenters, _Father_?" repeated _Prue_ and I in a breath.

"Aye, there are a couple of Fellows coming down to put up two little Shelves and Brackets, for some little Matters that the Mantel-Piece is too shallow for. I bespoke the Men overnight, and brought the Toys in with me. Here, _Peter_, you Knave, bring them in."

Where was the Use of saying Anything?

"Now," says he, laughing as he unpacked them, "here are the comicallest Things you ever saw in your life; and so _you'll_ say, Mrs. _Gatty_. Look here--a rural Piece in Cherry-Wood Carving, Farm-Yard and Farm-House; a Beggar approaching the Door. I wind it up behind, like a Time-Piece. Now, mark you, the Fun of the Thing! The Beggar advances--out flies a Mastiff from the House, and furiously attacks him! ha, ha, ha!

"Now, look at this other, its Companion; a lone House in the Country; Time, Peep of Day.... A Thief getting in at a First-Floor Window, by Means of a Ladder ... _Hodge_, coming out of the Barn, with a Pitchfork, assails him from behind,--you shall see how, as soon as I have wound it up. Now then! ho! ho! ho! see how he digs into him."

_Gatty_ burst into such an irrepressible Fit of pretty Laughter, that my _Father_ was her sworn Friend from that Moment; while _Prue_ and I, influenced by mixed Feelings of Vexation and Amusement, laughed with more Constraint.

While my _Father_ was making _Hodge_ assail the Marauder again and again, and each Time bursting into fresh Peals of Merriment, enters to him _Peter_, with a Paper in his Hand, a Glance at which changed my _Father's_ Note in an Instant.

"Hark ye, _Peter_!" says he; "why, your Face is a Yard long! What's your Name, Man? your Sirname, I mean."

"_Greaves_ is my Sirname, Sir--_Peter Greaves_."

"_Peter Grievous_, it should ha' been! _Peter Grievous-had-a-Cat!_ And your Crest, a Cat proper, with the Motto, 'When I'm pleased, I purr!' But this is no purring Matter, _Peter_; tell the Fellow who brought this Paper, that I'm not at Home--I sha'n't be, by the Time you get to him."

And, snatching up his Hat, he hastily made off through the Glass-Door into the Garden; and thence, no Doubt, to his Crony, _Don Saltero_, for whom, indeed, he had such a profound Admiration, that I believe no Title of Honour could have been conferred on himself that he would have liked half as well as that of _Don Honeywood-o_. When he was gone, _Prue_ and I locked up the new Purchases, and sent away the Carpenters, telling them to await future Orders; and _Gatty_ wrote a Billet to Lady _Betty_, to acquaint her with her Amendment, and request Directions concerning her Return. Meanwhile, I was carrying up Mr. _Fenwick's_ Chocolate, when _Prue_, meeting me on the Stairs, said, "Oh, I meant to have saved you that Trouble, dear _Patty_."

"Oh," I replied, "I am able to return to all my little Duties now; you have too long worked for both."

"I don't think of that," replied she, with a little Disappointment in her Air; "Mr. _Fenwick_ has got used to me now, and I thought you would be better for a little Rest."

"Ah, _Prudence, Prudence_!" thought I, as I pursued my Way, "this reminds me of the passing Shade on your Brow Yesterday Evening, when he was attending to Mrs. _Gatty_. Beware of playing, like a Moth, round a Candle, my dear little Sister, for it will lead to no good."

When I went in, Mr. _Fenwick_ looked round briskly from his Writing-Table, with a Smile, exclaiming:

"Why, I have been expecting--oh! is it you, Mrs. _Patty_? (with a scarcely perceptible Change in his Voice); I have been expecting my Chocolate, I was going to say, this Half-Hour or more; but pray don't think me impatient--I'm sure I ought not to be so hungry, considering how you feasted me last Night. 'Tis a Sign of returning Health, I suppose."

"I fervently hope it may be, Sir," said I. "Most likely it is. I am sure every Thing in the Way of Nourishment this House contains is at your Service."

"Thank you, thank you," said he. "Yes, I really believe I am getting well--have turned the Corner, in Fact; and when I have taken this nice Chocolate, I think I shall go and bask in the Sun under those Elm-Trees yonder."

"Then I will put a Cushion for you, Sir, on the Garden-Seat, and a Foot-stool on the Grass before it; for indeed you must not get chilled!"

"Nay, you will coddle me too much--you have made me too luxurious a Fellow already. You don't suppose I had all these Vagaries in _Shoreditch_, do you? I want to be there again, though!--I long to return to my poor People; only, I don't know that my Voice is yet strong enough, either for Preaching or Reading. I must make Trial of it, Mrs. _Patty_; I must begin by small Degrees. I was thinking, that if you happened to be by yourselves this Evening, it might not be unagreeable to you for me to come down and read to you all for a little While--just for Practice."

"By ourselves, Sir?--My _Father_ may or may not be at Home; we are unlikely to have any one else; and I am sure your Plan will be a very delightful one to ourselves."

"Very well; we will wait till the Time comes, then, to see if it be convenient. You are all well this Morning, I hope? Your _Mother_, and _Sister_, and Mrs. _Gatty_?"

"All well, I kindly thank you, Sir.--I hear myself called ... I believe I am wanted in the Shop."

I made use of the first spare Moment, to run and place the Foot-stool and Cushion under the Elms, and then returned to my Post behind the Counter. In the course of the Afternoon, enters Mr. _Caryl_, who salutes me with easy Urbanity.

"Good Morning, Ma'am," says he; "pray, is Mr. _Fenwick_ within?"

"I believe, Sir, he is sitting under the Elms in our little Pleasure-Ground," said I; "I will show you the Way."

"There's no Need; I know it already," says he. "Pray, don't trouble yourself."

However, I knew what were Manners.

"Ha!" said he, as we passed through the Parlour, which happened to be vacant, "what a pleasant Evening we had in this Room last Night, and how funnily it ended!--Pray, Ma'am, has the Gentleman yet found his five Senses?"

And I saw he was brimful of Mirth, that was ready to explode at the merest Word.

"Sir," said I, "allow me to say that you did not know where the Gift of that Speech lay last Night. My _Father_ had presented my _Mother_ with a Group of Porcelain Figures, representing the Five Senses, which she, in her Care for them, had put away."

"Was that all?" cried he, his Countenance immediately changing. "Oh, I see!--aye, aye--How absurd my Blunder was! Upon my Word, Ma'am, I beg your Pardon for having been so unmannerly. Shocking! shameful!"

Here we came upon Mr. _Fenwick_, who finding himself exposed to a chill Current of Air under the Elms, had got under the Shelter of the House, where my _Father_ had set up a pretty enough rustical Seat, just outside of our Dairy Wire-Lattice. Hence it came to pass that I, being presently engaged in seeing the Afternoon Milk brought in, heard a good deal of what passed between the two Gentlemen, whether I would or no.

"I've secured _Dodsley's_ Ear," says Mr. _Caryl_, cheerfully, "so that I fancy I have but to speak a Word to secure your Piece a Place in his _Collection_. Nothing remains to be done but for you to attend to a little Revision in the first Place, before you submit it to his critical Eye. What say you?"

"Say? That I am infinitely obliged."

"'Let my future Life,' &c.--hey? We'll suppose that all spoken. Well, here is your Manuscript; I've just scored through what I think had better be altered and left out. You are not doubtful of my Judgment, I suppose?"

"Surely not--Just allow me to see."--

"Look _here_,--and _here_--those had better come out. Here again.... What's 'Phoebus' Mane?'"

"Phoebus' _Wain_."

"Oh, I see. That's your bad writing; _Hand_-writing, of course, I mean. Here again, 'thwarting Thunder.'"

"That's Miltonic."

"Is it?"

"'_And heal the Harms of thwarting Thunder blue._'"

"Hum! Well then, it strikes me, that _Milton_ having said so once, you had better not say it again."

"Very well, I will not."

"Then, this about Truth. It's very bad--will never do. I was obliged to skip it in reading to _Dodsley_."

"But why?"

"Why? Why, because it isn't the Thing!--won't go down, Sir! You carry it out too far, farther than Anybody goes; it's so much Clap-Trap, and spoils what's real."

"But it is not Clap-Trap. It says no more than I mean and feel! No, no; I'll give up verbal Points to your better Taste, but in Matters of Principle, I cannot alter."

"Nay then, the Thing's at an End, for I honestly tell you I won't concern myself with it as it stands. You may surely allow me some _little_ Knowledge of these Things. However, it's no Use talking to an infatuated Man--otherwise, there is another Passage I was going to propose to you to withdraw, which doubtless you will maintain to be the best in the Manuscript."

"Which is that?"

"This, about the Water-Nymphs."

"Well,--I think it pretty, and can't see what there is to object to in it; but, to yield to your better Taste, it shall be withdrawn, if you like."

"My dear _Fenwick_! you don't say so?"

"I say so, and mean it too."

"Why, this will be a great Sacrifice of yours, especially as it is against your own Judgment,--of one of the most showy Passages, though I won't say one of the best!"

"Never mind! Let it be so."

"Come, this is docile and agreeable of you. The Men at _Will's_, in Fact, extolled this Passage, and pronounced it to be my own! Taxed me with reading a Poem I had written, as that of another Hand!"

"Nay, now the Water-Nymphs begin to rise in Value in my Eyes."

"In Fact, I _had_ said Something like this, only not so well, in a former Piece; and they thought I had now worked it out, and improved on it. So that you see I don't exactly want our Things to clash; nor to get you accused of Plagiary...."

"Mr. _Caryl_, not another Word.--The Passage shall be omitted."

"Well, I like this; I like your Feeling. Thank you, thank you. We need never allude to it."

"Never again."

"As for 'Truth,' let it stand. You have yielded a Point to me, I'll yield one to you."

"I'm glad of that, for I really could not have withdrawn that Passage."

"And I'll speak to _Dodsley_ to-morrow, and get you into the _Collection_; so expect a Proof-Sheet at no very distant Date, and then we shall look on you as one of the Guild."

And shaking Hands with him, Mr. _Caryl_ departed.

This Conversation afforded me afterwards, as I sat netting behind the Counter, Subject for a good deal of Thought. Here was Jealousy peeping out again; a great Poet jealous of a small one; for so, without any competent Knowledge of their respective Merits, I concluded them to be. But if (which I was not sure of) Mr. _Caryl_ were the better Poet, Mr. _Fenwick_ was the better Man. I had seen him absorbed in the Composition of that Poem Day after Day; he had given it the nicest Finish in his Power; there were Thoughts in it which he cherished as part of himself, and would not be false to, nor give up, to please any Patron in the World; but yet a favourite Passage, the Fancy and Expression of which he believed to be good, but which another Man was envious of, he could obliterate with Magnanimity. That seemed a great Word for a little Thing; but was it a little Thing? The Wits at _Will's_ had applauded it; had given it to a popular Writer; then the real Writer deserved to be as popular. He might have been as popular, had he kept it in; he might not become popular if it were taken out. Then again, Expediency. Had it crossed his Mind that it was expedient to keep well with Mr. _Caryl_, at the Expense of a Passage of Poetry? That did not seem like Mr. _Fenwick_; I did not believe the Thought had weighed with him.

Then I proceeded, in my Foolishness and Self-Ignorance, to ponder how strange it was that it should be hard to Anybody of Common-Sense and Good-Feeling, to hear:

"_Praise of another with unwounded Ear._"

"Why now," thought I to myself, "_I_ have never found it a hard Matter to do so. These many Years I have known that Everybody considered _Prudence_ pretty _Prue_, and me plain _Patty_, and yet I have never experienced the slightest Emotion of Envy or Jealousy on that Account."

Ah! we little know ourselves. "The Heart is deceitful above all Things, and desperately wicked--who can know it?" That's the Scriptural Account of the Matter; and however we may gloss it over, escape from it, or flatly disbelieve in it altogether, it turns out to be the true one at last.