two livings, who had the appetite of a glutton with the daintiness of a gourmet, and who had once, in a fit of delight at a haunch of venison done to a turn, narrowly escaped marrying the cook, when he fortunately remembered it would spoil her for her situation.
Distantly related to the Silleries, he paused there for a night on a journey—he hated sleeping at inns, the beds were so often damp; and they received him with that glad respect which poor relations pay to their rich ones. At dinner he was very much struck with the gravy to the wild ducks; a college pudding forced from him an inquiry: both were made by Miss Sillery. Some potted larks next morning completed the business: he finished the jar, and made her an offer, which was received with all the thankfulness due to unexpected benefits.
Henry VIII. rewarded the compounder of a pudding which pleased his palate by the gift of a monastery; Dr. Clarke did more—he gave himself. To say the truth, the marriage had turned out as well as marriages commonly do: she was fortunate in having a house to manage, and he in having a wife to scold; and certainly their dinners were as near perfect felicity as earthly enjoyments usually are.
