"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 "I'm glad of that, for I really could not have withdrawn that Passage."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. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER VI. _Duties of my Lady's Own Woman._ Mrs. Gatty was circumspect not to occupy my _Father's_ Arm-Chair this Evening, whether he came to claim it or no. When the Tea-Things were set, I stept up to Mr. _Fenwick_ to let him know we were ready. "So soon?" said he, looking up from his Book; "why, do you want me to read to you before Tea?" "We hope you will oblige us with your Company to Tea, Sir," said I.