I bent over her and kissed her wan Lips, which she requited by a thankful Smile, and then dozed off into what I was ready to believe was a restoring Sleep. I was very desirous not to disturb it, so sat perfectly still at my Netting, close to the open Window, through which the warm Summer Air came refreshingly, without waving the white Curtains of the Bed. Mr. _Fenwick's_ Window, which was also open, was immediately below; and through it I could hear Voices, and what they were saying. I should remark that I afterwards learnt from _Prue_, that, from the Time of my confining myself above Stairs, Mr. _Fenwick_, upon whom it had been her Portion to wait, had been uncommon restless and fidgetty. He so seldom received a Visitor, that I was surprised to hear a Man's Voice in his Chamber. Nor did I at first think I had ever heard it before. _Prue_ had probably announced the Name without its reaching me; for the first Exclamation I heard was from Mr. _Fenwick_, who appeared to start from the Window-Seat, with, "Sir!--This Condescension confers both Honour and Pleasure!" "Don't name it," said the other easily, "the Pleasure is mine. I came to see the ingenious Madman to whom I was indebted for the Letter and the Manuscript." "Madman?" repeated Mr. _Fenwick_, deprecatingly. "Yes, Madman," reiterated the other, "for who, in his Senses, would address a Poem to a Patron almost as penniless as himself?" "Sir, there are other Claims to Reverence," replied Mr. _Fenwick_, "besides those of Wealth." "Truly I hope so," replied his Visitor, "but I don't know that they are germane to the present Question. You write a Poem; you want a _Mecænas_; and instead of addressing a laudatory Dedication to some Peer of Mark and Magnitude, you light upon a poor Brother Witling and Authorling like myself." "Your Courtesy lessens not the Distance between us," said Mr. _Fenwick_; "you are a recognised Wit and successful Man of Letters; I only a poor Aspirant." "Aye, Man, but Wits don't make one another's Fortunes. _Shakspeare_, _Spenser_, and _Jonson_, did not dedicate to one another. _Shakspeare_ had his _Southampton_; _Spenser_ his _Raleigh_, _Sidney_, _Hatton_, _Burleigh_, a whole Cloud or Galaxy of Sponsors." "There's something wrong and humiliating in the System," said Mr. _Fenwick_. "Something rotten in the State of _Denmark_?" said the other. "Truly there is! _Shakspeare_ may have unfeignedly admired _Southampton_ and _Spenser Sidney_; but the relation between Patron and Client has degenerated into Something unworthy of free, upright Minds. Does my Thought jump with yours?" "It does, I confess to you. I am poor; most of our Fraternity are. I am cut off from my professional Duties, and have employed a Season of Leisure, and cheated some Hours of Languor, by what, it must be owned, I composed for downright Pleasure rather than for Gain. Yet a Man does not willingly let his cherished Thoughts die." "Certainly not."