my bro

buy treacle or liquorice powder at the apothecary's shop, I am so enamoured with

you,

that I can no more keep close my flaming desires 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, * and a house; and there is never a yard land in our field but it is as well worth ten pounds a year as a thief is worth a halter; and all thers and sisters are provided for: besides, I have good household stuff, though I say it, both brass

I 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 are 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.

No. 325. THURSDAY, MARCH 13.

-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.

Ovid.
(FROM THE FABLE OF NARCISSUS.]
What could, fond youth, this helpless passion move?
What kindled in thee this unpitied love?
Thy own warm blush within the water glows:
With thee the colour'd shadow comes and goes:
Its empty being on thyself relies;
Step thou aside, and the frail charmer dies. Addison.

vances.

Will HONEYCOMB diverted us last night with an account of a young fellow's first discovering 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 ad.

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

a

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 admire at his choice.

Will fancying that this story took, immediately fell into a dissertation on the usefulness of looking-glasses; 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.

Í 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 bason of water.

I am the more particular in my account of Will's last night's lecture on these natural mir

VOL. VII.

D

rors, as it seems to bear some relation to the following letter, which I received the day before.

6

OSIR,

• I have read your last Saturday's observations 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.

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,

6R. T.' The last consideration urged by my querist, is so strong, that I can not 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.

If you

a

That day I oft remember, when from sleep
I first awak'd, and found myself repos'd
Under a shade on flow'rs, much wond'ring where,
And what I was, whence thither brought, and how.
Not distant far from thence a murm'ring sound
Of waters issued from a cave, and spread
Into a liquid plain, then stood unmoy'd

Pure as th' expanse of heav'n: I thither went
With unexperienc'd thought, and laid me down
On the green bank, to look into the clear
Smooth lake, that to me seem'd another sky.
As I bent down to look, just opposite,
A shape within the watry gleam appear'd,
Bending to look on me; I started back,
It started back; but pleas'd I soon return'd,
Pleas'd it return’d as soon with answering looks
Of sympathy and love. There I had fix'd
Mine eyes till now, and pin'd with vain desire,
Had not a voice thus warn’d 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 shall bear
Multitudes like thyself, and thence be call'd
Mother of human race.' What could I do,
But follow straight, invisibly thus led?
Till I espy'd thee, fair indeed, and tall,
Under a plaintain; yet methought less fair,
Less winning soft, less amiably mild,
Than that smooth wat’ry image; back I turn'd;
Thou foilowing, cry'dst aloud, --Return, fair Eve;
Whom fly'st thou? Whom thou fy'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
Seiz'd mine, I yielded; and from that time see
How beauty is excell'd by manly grace
And wisdom, which alone is truly fair.

So spake our general mother-
BUDGELL