"Oh no! A Quarter of a Mile nearer!" "I don't mean _that_ Sort of Distance, Sir. But no Matter--I rejoice in it with all my Heart, Mr. _Fenwick_!" He looked at me earnestly, was going to say Something, and stopped. "Don't you think," said he, after a Minute's Silence, "that I might marry on this?" "Surely, Sir!" "And could you, _Patty_, whom I know so thoroughly and love so heartily, consent to be the Wife of a City Parson?" --Oh! there could be only one Moment in Life like that!--And yet, have not I had many happy Moments, Hours, and Years since? I can't, to this Day, make out how he ever came to think of me; when there were _Prue_, and _Gatty_, and doubtless many young Gentlewomen of his Congregation, to say Nothing of remote Country Cousins, (for he had no near Relations,) to whom I could be but a mere Foil! I could not make it out then, and I can't make it out now; but I am quite content to leave the Mystery unsolved, and decide that Affection settles all Distinctions, and Marriages are made in Heaven. I must say I was very thankful to dear, good Dr. _Elwes_, when his Will came to be opened, (which had been made some Months before his sudden Death,) to find he had left _Prue_ and me Five Hundred Pounds each, in the handsomest Manner, with more Terms of Praise of our "laudable Conduct in difficult Circumstances," than I need to repeat. I say, I was glad of this Legacy, and of the handsome Way in which it was left, because it seemed to make me a little less unworthy of Mr. _Fenwick's_ Regard; not that it had a Bit of Influence with him, however, his Offer having been made and accepted before the Will was opened: so that Nothing could be more disinterested than his Behaviour from first to last. And the Presentation to this Living came through the Recommendation of Mr. _Caryl_!--accompanied by a very flattering Letter, saying it was a Piece of Justice, and that he knew of no Man on whom his Uncle could have better bestowed it. A Piece of _Justice_, I privately consider it; and a Salve to his own Conscience for pitifully burning the Poem of a Man that writ better than himself. Nothing can destroy that Conviction. But I keep it quite secret; the only Secret I have ever kept or will keep from my Husband, and this only because I would not lower his Patron's Nephew in his Estimation. Certainly the Gift of a good Living was far more than an Equivalent for the best Poem that ever was writ; but yet, Poets have naturally such an overweening Opinion of the Importance of their Productions to the World, and of their own Mission as Regenerators of Society, that to them it is an exceeding hard Thing to lose the Fame and Influence they believe they deserve; and I question whether those of 'em that take the highest Flights (from practical Affairs and common Sense, that is,) would consider themselves at all compensated for the Loss of a heavy Poem by the Gain of a fat Living.