From eleven to one. At my toilette; tried a new head. Gave orders for Veny to be combed and washed. Mem. I look best in blue. From one till half an hour after two. Drove to the 'Change. Cheapened a couple of fans. Till four. At dinner. Mem. Mr. Froth passed by in his new liveries.

From four to six. Dressed; paid a visit to old Lady Blithe and her sister, having before heard they were gone out of town that day.

From six to eleven. At basset. Mem. Never set again upon the ace of diamonds.

THURSDAY. From eleven at night to eight in the morning. Dreamed that I punted to Mr. Froth. From eight to ten. Chocolate. Read two acts in Aurengzebe* a-bed.

Sent to borRead the Mr. Froth.

From ten to eleven. Tea-table. row Lady Faddle's Cupid for Veny. play-bills. Received a letter from Mem. Locked it up in my strong box. Rest of the morning. Foutange, the tire-woman, her account of my Lady Blithe's wash. Broke a tooth in my little tortoise-shell comb. Sent Frank to know how my Lady Hectic rested after her monkey's leaping out at window. Looked pale. Fontauge tells me my glass is not true. Dressed by three.

From three to four. Dinner cold before I sat down.

From four to eleven. Saw company. Mr. Froth's opinion of Milton. His account of the Molocks. His fancy of a pincushion. Picture in the lid of his snut-box. Old Lady Faddle promises me her woman to cut my hair. Lost five guineas at crimp. Twelve o'clock at night. Went to bed.

FRIDAY. Eight in the morning. A bed. Read over all Mr. Froth's letters. Cupid and Veny.

Ten o clock. Stayed within all day, not at home. From ten to twelve. In conference with my mantua-maker. Sorted a suit of ribbons. Broke my blue china cup.

From twelve to one. Shut myself up in my chamber, practised Lady Betty Modely's skuttle.

One in the afternoon. Called for my flowered handkerchief. Worked half a violet leaf in it. Eyes ached and head out of order. Threw by my work, and read over the remaining part of Aurengzebe.

From three to four. Dined.

From four to twelve. Changed my mind, dressed, went abroad, and played at crimp till midnight. Found Mrs. Spitely at home. Conversation: Mrs. Brilliant's necklace false stones. Old Lady Loveday going to be married to a young fellow that is not worth a groat. Miss Prue gone into the coun

trs.

Tom Townley has red hair. Mem. Mrs. Spitely whispered in my ear that she had something to tell me about Mr. Froth; I am sure it is

not true.

Between twelve and one. Dreamed that Mr. Froth lay at my feet, and called me Indamora †.

SATURDAY. Rose at eight o'clock in the morning. Sat down to my toilette.

From eight to nine. Saifted a patch for half an hour before I could determine it. Fixed it above my left eyebrow.

From nine to twelve. Drank my tea, and dressed. From twelve to two. At chapel. A great deal

• Dryden', Tragedy.

+ ▲ captive queen in the tragedy of Aurengzebe.

of good company. Mem. The third air in the new opera. Lady Blithe dressed frightfully.

From three to four. Dined. Miss Kitty called upon me to go to the opera before I was risen from table.

From dinner to six. Drank tea. Turned of a footman for being rude to Veny.

Six o'clock. Went to the opera. I did not see Mr. Froth till the beginning of the second act. Mr. Froth talked to a gentleman in a black wig; bowed to a lady in the froat box. Mr. Froth and b friend clapped Nicolini in the third act. Ms. Froa cried out Ancora. Mr. Froth led me to my chair. I think he squeezed my hand.

Eleven at night. Went to bed. Melanchv dreams. Methought Nicolini said he was Mr. Froth.

SUNDAY. Indisposed.

MONDAY. Eight o'clock. Waked by Miss Kitty. Aurengzebe lay upon the chair by me. Kitty repeated without book the eight best lines in te play. Went in our mobs to the dumb man according to appointment. Told me that my lover's name began with a G. Mem. The conjurer was within a letter of Mr. Froth's name, &c.

Upon looking back into this my journal, I find that I am at a loss to know whether I pass iny time well or ill; and indeed never thought of considering how I did it before I perused your specu lation upon that subject. I scarce find a single action in these five days that I can thoroughly approve of, except the working upon the violet-leaf, which I am resolved to finish the first day I am at leisure. As for Mr. Froth and Veny, I did not think they took up so much of my time and though as I find they do upon my journal. The latter ef them I will turn off if you insist upon it; and if Mr. Froth does not bring matters to a conclusion very suddenly, I will not let my life run away in a dream. "Your humble servant, 'CLARINDA.

To resume one of the morals of my first paper, and to confirm Clarinda in her good inclinations. I would have her consider what a pretty figure săwould make among posterity, were the history of her whole life published like these five days of it I shall conclude my paper with an epitaph written by an uncertain author on Sir Philip Sidney, sister, a lady who seems to have been of a temper very much different from that of Clarinda. last thought of it is so very noble, that I dare my my reader will pardon me the quotation.

ON THE COUNTESS DOWAGER OF PEMBROKE.
Underneath this marble bear-e
Lies the subject of all verse,
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother:
Death, ere thou hast kill'd another,
Fair and learn'd, and good as she,
Tine shall throw a dart at thee.'

• Duncan Campbell. See also Tat. No 14.

+ Generally supposed to be Ben Jonson.

[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.

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 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 bad 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 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 lookingglas-es among them; and that he had lately read a

Strer elition of this letter, N° *328.

'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. 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:

That day I oft remember, when from sleep
I first awak'd, and found myself repos'd
Under a shade of flow'rs, much wond'ring where
And what I was, whence thither brought, and bow.
Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound
Of waters issu'd from a cave, and spread
Into a liquid plain, then stod unniov'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 watery 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 til now, and pined 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 gocs: but follow rae,
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 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 plantain, yet methought less fair,
Less winning soft, less amniably mild,

Than that smooth watery image: back I turn'd;
Thou following cry'dst aloud, Return, fair Eve,
Whom By'st thou? Whom thou fly'st, of him thou art.
His flesh, his bone; to give thee being 1 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 fait.
So spake our general mother-

BUDGELL.

See Ovid. Met. Lib. til. ver. 457, &c.

orrespondent's letter relating to fortuneand your subsequent discourse upon it *, en me encouragement to send you a state se, by which you will see, that the matter ed of is a common grievance both to city try.

a country gentleman of between five and and a year. It is my misfortune to have ie park and an only daughter; upon which I have been so plagued with deer-stealers , that for these four years past I have joyed a moment's rest. I look upon mye in a state of war, and am forced to constant watch in my seat, as a governor › that commanded a town on the frontier my's country. I have indeed pretty well ny park, having for this purpose provided f four keepers who are left-handed, and quarter-staff beyond any other fellows in try. And for the guard of my house, beand of pensioner matrons and an old elation whom I keep on constant duty, I nderbusses always charged, and fox-gins in private places about my garden, of have given frequent notice in the neigh; yet so it is, that in spite of all my hall every now and then have a saucy rasby, reconnoitring (as I think you call it) y windows, as sprucely dressed as if he ng to a ball. I am aware of this way of ; a mistress on horseback, having heard a common practice in Spain; and have taken care to remove my daughter from side of the house, and to lodge her next -n. But, to cut short my story; what can o after all? I durst not stand for member ment last election, for fear of some ill nce from my being off my post. What I herefore desire of you is, to promote a have set on foot, and upon which I have o some of my friends; and that is, that be taken to secure our daughters by law, s our deer; and that some honest gentlea public spirit, would move for leave to a bill for the better preserving of the fe

ne.

'I am, SIR, "Your humble servant.'

"Mile-End-Green, March 6, 1711-12.

PECTATOR,

s a young man walks by our door every at the dusk of the evening. He looks up indow, as if to see me; and if I steal toto peep at him, he turus another way, and

NO $11.

looks frightened at finding what he was looking for. The air is very cold; and pray let him know that, if he knocks at the door, he will be carried to the parlour fire, and I will come down soon after, and give him an opportunity to break his mind. 'I am, SIR, "Your humble servant,

'MARY COMFIT.'

'If I observe he cannot speak, I'll give him time to recover himself, and ask him how he does.'

DEAR SIR,

I BEG you to print this without delay, and by the first opportunity give us the natural causes of longing in women; or put me out of fear that my wife will one time or other be delivered of something as monstrous as any thing that has yet appeared to the world; for they say the child is to bear a resemblance of what was desired by the mother. I have been married upwards of six years, have had four children, and my wife is now big with the fifth. The expenses she has put me to in procuring what she has longed for during her pregnancy with them, would not only have handsomely defrayed the charges of the month, but of their education too; her fancy being so exorbitant for the first year or two, as not to confine itself to the usual objects of eatables and drinkables, but running out after equipages and furniture, and the like extravagancies To trouble you only with a few of them; when she was with child with Tom, my eldest son, she came home one day just fainting, and told me she had been visiting a relation, whose husband had made her a present of a chariot, and a stately pair of horses; and that she was positive she could not breathe a week longer, unless she took the air in the fellow to it of her own within that time. This, rather than lose an heir, I readily complied with. Then the furniture of her best room must be instantly changed, or she should mark the child with some of the frightful figures in the old fashioned tapestry. Well, the upholsterer was called, and her longing saved that bout. When she went with Molly, she had fixed her mind upon a new set of plate, and as much china as would have furnished an Indian shop: these also I cheerfully granted, for fear of being father to an Indian pagod. Hitherto 1 found her demands rose upon every concession; and had she gone on, I had been ruined: but by good fortune, with her third, which was Peggy, the height of her imagination came down to the corner of a venison pasty, and brought her once even upon her knees to gnaw off the ears of a pig from the spit. The gratifications of her palate were easily preferred to those of her vanity: and sometimes a partridge, or a quail, a wheat-ear, or the pestle of a lark, were cheerfully purchased; nay, I could be contented though I were to feed her with green peas in April, or cherries in May. But with the babe she now goes, she is turned girl again, and fallen to eating of chalk, pretending 'twill make the child's skin white; and nothing will serve her but I must bear her company, to prevent its having a shade of my brown. In this, however, I have ventured to deny her. No longer ago than yesterday, as we were coming to town, she saw a parcel of crows so heartily at breakfast upon a piece of horse-flesh, that she had an invincible desire to partake with them, and (to my infinite surprise) begged the coachiman to cut her off a slice as if it were for himself, which the fellow did; and as soon as she

came home, she fell to it with such an appetite, that she seemed rather to devour than eat it. What her next sally will be I cannot guess: but in the meantime my request to you is, that if there be any way to come at these wild unaccountable rovings of imagination by reason and argument, you'd speedily afford us your assistance. This exceeds the grievance of pin-money, and I think in every settlement there ought to be a clause inserted, that the father should be answerable for the longings of his daughter. But I shall impatiently expect your thoughts in this matter; and am,

-Major rerum miḥi nascitur ordo.

VIRG. Æn. vii. ver. 44.
A larger scene of action is display'd.
DRYDEN.

WE were told in the foregoing book, how the evil spirit practised upon Eve as she lay asleep, in order to inspire her with thoughts of vanity, pride, and ambition. The author, who shows a wonderful art throughout his whole poem, in preparing the reader for the several occurrences that arise in it, founds, upon the above-mentioned circumstance, the first part of the fifth book. Adam upon his awaking finds Eve still asleep, with an unusual discomposure in her looks. The posture in which he regards her, is described with a wonderful tenderness, as the whisper with which he awakens her is the softest that ever was conveyed to a lover's ear.

His wonder was, to find unwaken'd Eve
With tresses discompos'd, and glowing cheek,
As through unquiet rest: he on his side
Leaning half-rais'd, with looks of cordial love
Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld
Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep,
Shot forth peculiar graces: then, with voice
Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,
Her hand soft touching, whisper'd thus: "Awake,
My fairest, my espous'd, my latest found,
Heav'n's last best gift, my ever new delight!
Awake: the morning shines, and the fresh field
Calls ns; we lose the prime, to mark how spring
Our tender plants, how blows the citron grove,
What drops the myrrh, and what the baliny reed,
How nature paints her colours, how the bee
Sits on the bloom, extracting liquid sweet.'

Such whispering wak'd her, but with startled eye
On Adam, whom embracing, thus she spake :

Osole, in whom my thoughts find all repose,
My glory, my perfection! glad I see
Thy face, and morn return'd:

I cannot but take notice, that Milton, in the conferences between Adam and Eve, had his eye very frequently upon the book of Canticles, in which there is a noble spirit of eastern poetry, and very often not unlike what we meet with in Homer, who is generally placed near the age of Solomon. I think there is no question but the poet in the preceding speech remembered those two passages, which are spoken on the like occasion, and filled with the same pleasing images of nature *.

My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away; for to the

* See N° 388.

Where the sapient king

Held dalliance with his fair Egyptian spouse,'

shows that the poet had this delightful scene in his mind.

Eve's dream is full of those high conceits engen. dering pride, which, we are told, the devil endesvoured to instil into her. Of this kind is that part of it where she fancies herself awakened by Adam, in the following beautiful lines:

"Why sleep'st thou, Eve? Now is the pleasant time,
The cool, the silent, save where silence yields
To the night-warbling bird, that now awake
Tunes sweetest his love-labour'd song; now reigna
Full orb'd the moon, and with more pleasing light
Shadowy sets off the face of things. In vain,
If none regard. Heav'n wakes with all his eyes,
Whom to behold but thee, nature's desire,
In whose sight all things joy, with ravishment,
Attracted by thy beauty sull to gaze !'

An injudicious poet would have made Adam talk through the whole work in such sentiments a these; but flattery and falsehood are not the courtship of Milton's Adam, and could not be heard by Eve in her state of innocence, excepting only is a dream produced on purpose to taint her imagina tion. Other vain sentiments of the same kind, is this relation of her dream, will be obvious to every reader. Though the catastrophe of the poem finely presaged on this occasion, the particulars of it are so artfully shadowed, that they do not anticipate the story which follows in the ninth book. I shall only add, that though the vision itself is founded upon truth, the circumstances of it are full of that wildness and inconsistency which are natural to a dream. Adam, conformable to his se perior character for wisdom, instructs and comfora Eve upon this occasion:

So cheer'd he his fair spouse, and she was cheer'd,
But silently a gentle tear let fall
From either eye, and wip'd them with her hair,
Two other precious drops, that ready stood
Each in their crystal sluice, he ere they fell
Kiss'd, as the gracious signs of sweet remorse
And pious awe, that fear'd to have offended.'

The morning hymn is written in initation of one of those psalms, where, in the overflowings of gra titude and praise, the psalmist calls not only upon the angels, but upon the most conspicuous parts of the inanimate creation, to join with him in extolog their common Maker, Invocations of this nature bil the mind with glorious ideas of God's works, and awaken that divine enthusiasm which is so natural to devotion. But if this calling upon the dead parts of nature is at all times a proper kind of worship, it was in a particular manner suitable to our first parents, who had the creation fresh epos their minds, and had not seen the various dispensations of Providence, nor consequently could be acquainted with those many topics of praise wach might afford matter to the devotions of their p terity, I need not remark the beautiful put o

1