or liquorice powder at the apothecary's shop, I am so enamoured with you, that I can no more keep close my flaming desire to become your servant. And I am the more bold now to write to your sweet self, because I am now my own man, and may match where I please; for my father is taken away, and now I am come to my living, which is ten yard-land,1 and a house; and there is never a yard of land in our field but it is as well worth ten pound a year as a thief is worth a halter; and all my brothers and sisters are provided for; besides I have good household stuff, though I say it, both brass and pewter, linens and woollens; and though my house be thatched, yet, if you and I match, it shall go hard but I will have one half of it slated. If you think well of this motion, I will wait upon you as soon as my new clothes is made and hay-harvest is in. I could, though I say it, have good. . . . The rest is torn off, and posterity must be contented to know that Mrs. Margaret Clark was very pretty, but are left in the dark as to the name of her lover. T.

2

1 A yard-land contained from twenty to thirty acres, according to the county in which it was situated.

2 According to a note by Bishop Percy, Mrs. Cole's niece, Mrs. Cantrell, remembered what was torn off from the letter by a child at play; it ran as follows:

Good matches amongst my neighbours. My mother, peace be with her soul, the good old gentlewoman has left me good store of household linen of her own spinning, a chestful. If you and I lay our means together, it shall go hard but I will pave the way to do well. Your loving servant till death, Mister Gabriel Bullock, now my father is dead."

No. 325. Thursday, March 13, 1712

[BUDGELL.

Quid frustra simulacra fugacia captas?

Quod petis, est nusquam: quod amas, avertere, perdes.
Ista repercussæ, quam cernis, imaginis umbra est:
Nil habet ista sui; tecum venitque, manetque;
Tecum discedet, si tu discedere possis.

-ÖVID, Met. iii. 432.

VILL HONEYCOMB diverted us last night

WILL with an account of a young fellow's first dis

covering his passion to his mistress. The young lady was one, it seems, who had long before conceived a favourable opinion of him, and was still in hopes that he would some time or other make his advances. As he was one day talking with her in company of her two sisters, the conversation happening to turn upon love, each of the young ladies was, by way of raillery, recommending a wife to him; when, to the no small surprise of her who languished for him in secret, he told them with a more than ordinary seriousness, that his heart had been long engaged to one whose name he thought himself obliged in honour to conceal; but that he could show her picture in the lid of his snuff-box. The young lady who found herself the most sensibly touched by this confession, took the first opportunity that offered of snatching his box out of his hand. He seemed desirous of recovering it, but finding her resolved to look into the lid, begged her, that if she should happen to know the person she would not reveal her name. Upon carrying it to the window she was very agreeably surprised to find there was nothing within the lid but a little looking-glass, in

which, after she had viewed her own face with more pleasure than she had ever done before, she returned the box with a smile, telling him, she could not but admire1 at his choice.

Will fancying that his story took, immediately fell into a dissertation on the usefulness of lookingglasses, and applying himself to me, asked if there were any looking-glasses in the times of the Greeks and Romans; for that he had often observed, in the translations of poems out of those languages, that people generally talked of seeing themselves in wells, fountains, lakes, and rivers. 'Nay,' says he, 'I remember Mr. Dryden in his Ovid tells us of a swinging fellow, called Polypheme, that made use of the sea for his looking-glass, and could never dress himself to advantage but in a calm.'

My friend Will, to show us the whole compass of his learning upon this subject, further informed us that there were still several nations in the world so very barbarous as not to have any looking-glasses among them; and that he had lately read a voyage to the South Sea, in which it is said that the ladies of Chili always dress their heads over a basin of

water.

I am the more particular in my account of Will's last night's lecture on these natural mirrors, as it seems to bear some relation to the following letter, which I received the day before :

'SIR,

2

'I HAVE read your last Saturday's observation on the fourth book of Milton with great satisfaction, and am particularly pleased with the hidden

moral which you have taken notice of in several parts of the poem. The design of this letter is to desire your thoughts, whether there may not also be some moral couched under that place in the same book where the poet lets us know that the first woman, immediately after her creation, ran to a looking-glass, and became so enamoured of her own face, that she had never removed to view any of the other works of nature, had not she been led off to a man. If you think fit to set down the whole passage from Milton, your readers will be able to judge for themselves, and the quotation will not a little contribute to the filling up of your paper.

Your humble Servant,

R. T.'

The last consideration urged by my querist is so strong, that I cannot forbear closing with it. The passage he alludes to is part of Eve's speech to Adam, and one of the most beautiful passages in the whole poem.1

That day I oft remember, when from sleep
I first awaked, and found myself reposed
Under a shade of flowers, much wondering where
And what I was, whence thither brought, and how.
Not distant far from thence, a murmuring sound
Of waters issued from a cave, and spread
Into a liquid plain, then stood unmoved,
Pure as the expanse of heaven; I thither went
With unexperienced thought, and laid me down
On the green bank, to look into the clear
Smooth lake, that to me seemed another sky.
As I bent down to look, just opposite,

1 Paradise Lost,' iv. 449–492.

A shape within the watery gleam appeared
Bending to look on me; I started back,
It started back, but pleased I soon returned,
Pleased it returned as soon, with answering looks
Of sympathy and love; there I had fixed
Mine eyes till now, and pined with vain desire,
Had not a voice thus warned me, "What thou seest,
What there thou seest, fair creature, is thyself,
With thee it came and goes: but follow me,
And I will bring thee where no shadow stays
Thy coming, and thy soft embraces; he
Whose image thou art, him thou shalt enjoy
Inseparably thine, to him shalt bear
Multitudes like thyself, and thence be called
Mother of human race." What could I do
But follow straight, invisibly thus led?
Till I espied thee, fair indeed and tall,
Under a platan, yet methought less fair,
Less winning soft, less amiably mild,

Than that smooth watery image; back I turned,
Thou following criedst aloud," Return, fair Eve,
Whom fli'st thou? whom thou fli'st, of him thou art
His flesh, his bone; to give thee being I lent
Out of my side to thee, nearest my heart,
Substantial life, to have thee by my side
Henceforth an individual solace dear;
Part of my soul I seek thee, and thee claim
My other half!" With that thy gentle hand
Seized mine, I yielded, and from that time see
How beauty is excelled by manly grace
And wisdom, which alone is truly fair.'
So spake our general mother-

X.