"I should like to hear about it if you please, Sir," said I quietly. "Why,--the Matter is this. I sent Something I had been writing,--Something I had taken a good deal of Pains with,--to Mr. _Paul Caryl_. He seemed a good deal pleased with it, took it up quite warmly, promised to put it in Train for me and give it his Patronage. A long Interval has ensued, without Anything coming of it; at length I venture to write him a gentle Reminder; and he, with a hundred thousand Protestations and Apologies, writes to say that 'how to excuse himself he knows not, but the plain Fact is, a Spark falling on my Manuscript, has utterly consumed it.'" "I don't believe it!" cried I with sudden Passion, "I don't believe one Word of it!" "Why, it's hard to believe--" begins Mr. _Fenwick_ with an aggrieved Air. "It's not to be believed!" interrupted I vehemently; "it's a Falsehood, if ever one was told! A trumped up, vamped up Story!" "Hush, Mrs. _Patty_--" "No, Sir, I can't hush, I know it's as I say: I'm sure of it! Oh, the Meanness!--" "My dear _Patty_!--" "It's abominable, Sir! _He_, call himself a _Gentleman_?" "My dear _Patty_, you quite astound me by the Vehemence of your Sympathy. I can't tell you how gratefully I feel it. But your undue Warmth makes me see my own in its proper Light--I was feeling this Matter too much. It is mortifying enough, I must own, but I dare say what he tells me is true...." "Not a Word!" "And whether true or not, the Loss to _me_ is the same--I shall never see my Manuscript again--" "If I were the _King_ or the _Lord Mayor_, you should!--" "Pooh, pooh! what, when it's _burnt_?" "Burnt or unburnt; or he should go to _Newgate_; that he should!" "No, no, _Patty_; Kings and Lord Mayors don't send Poets to _Newgate_, for being careless of other Poets' Papers. You make me laugh at my own Annoyance, you caricature it so! I have quite cleared up, now--I shall not think of it again; unless with a Smile. But I heartily thank you for your warm Sympathy, dear _Patty_!" "Ah, Sir!--" "Yes, _Patty_, for your acceptable, your _salutary_ Sympathy." And he cordially pressed my Hand. I withdrew it, and slipped away; but with a Feeling of Consolation and Complacence to which my lone Heart had of late been a Stranger. I wiped away a Tear, and went to pack my Box. "In a brotherly sort of Way," thought I; "he regards me kindly. Nothing more."