"I'll give you leave to water me, says the willow, but it must be at my root; and besides, you must only make use of clear water. Wine will do better, replies Clarimond; it is a secret that all gardeners know not; nay, I will cast it above, and it shall moisten you so much the more: know you not, that the rain falls straight down on the tops of the trees.

"Clarimond having said so, would improve the occasion, believing he had already prevailed with Lysis to drink: he got upon a stool, and put into his mouth a tunnel he had sent for; which done, Champagne pours into it at least three pints of wine. The willow was very well content to swallow it; and said to Clarimond, I must needs confess, dear friend, that thou knowest well how to order plants. My pith is all moistened by this liquor thou hast given me; and my sap, which is the radical moisture of trees, is made much more vigorous thereby. I told you so, answers Clarimond; I will now give you a taste of another beverage that is more nutritive. Having said so, he softly spoke to Champagne to go and see if there were not some good broth at his house ready. The lacquey returns presently with some pompion-pottage, that had been made for the ploughmen. They gave him that also through the tunnel; and whenever the bread that had been crummed in it, would not pass through, they forced it down with a little stick, as if they had been charging a piece of ordnance. The willow received all very quietly; for though he believed that trees should not eat, yet his belly told him the contrary; and as it was not much accessary to his follies, so was it well pleased it had gotten somewhat to feed on : when all was done, and that the tunnel was taken from his mouth, he breathed three or four times, as not being able to have contained any longer, the passage of respiration having been so long stopped. At length, says he to Clarimond, this second watering is not so liquid as the first, and yet I must confess it is not the worse for it. Now you are furnished till tomorrow, says Clarimond; but I beg it of the gods, that you may shortly live after another manner among men."

In the course of the night, finding that both Naiads and Hamadryads are wandering in the groves, he consents to join them, and spent some hours very agreeably with a party, each of whom relates his adventures, and, by good example, they at length prevail on him to eat; but as day approaches, he retires again to his hollow tree, and indulges "the most delightful fantasies," in the belief of this enchantment.

The following night the same scene is repeated, with the addition of his servant Carmelin, the Sancho of the tale, who is thrown into the water, and afterwards flogged to make him company for the immortals. In the mean time the willow is cut down, and the Shepherd, after seeking in vain for his own body, at length meets again the enchanted Hircan, who transforms him into a man. He returns to a Shepherd's life, sees Charité, endures her disdain, receives physic from her apothecary, seeing that, in all things, he will conform himself to her,

"if she spit I spit too," "if she walk before, I put my feet into the places where she tread," &c. He afterwards sends for a

chirurgeon, and commands him to bleed him, and to swathe his cheek; which is done, because his mistress's face is swollen, exclaiming, "what! shall I enjoy two eyes when Charité hath but one? I will have no more than she," such being at that time the indisposition of the beloved fair one.

Several new Arcadian shepherds arrive at this time, professing to hold Lysis as their head-he is greatly surprized to see how much their features resemble those of the Hamadryads and River Gods, with whom he conversed during the period of his metamorphosis, but he willingly entertains them, and performs plays with them in the open country, where he is one day alarmed by seeing his uncle Adrian, who threatens to seize him as he returns from the journey he is upon. These shepherds severally relate their adventures, which are got up with a due regard for the marvellous-their stories are followed by that of Carmelin, his servant, which is the best, having much of the Spanish raciness, in the smart delineations of the characters of his masters, but its general style by no means accords with modern ideas of delicacy. The shepherd's happiness "in this true realization of Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia," is such as to inspire him with the idea of shining in arms also, and, in order to his becoming a warrior, he prevails on the magician Hircan to render both himself and his follower Carmelin invulnerable; a favour which the latter earnestly intreats may be extended to his breeches, which are especially subject to fractures, but this, the enchanter with due dignity, rejects as unworthy of his art.

After due bathing, fumigation, &c. the knight is duly equipped; traversing the country in an enchanted conveyance, he is met in a close building by two giants, three hideous dwarfs, and a flying dragon; all of which he vanquishes, and proceeds to release a distressed damsel, who is crying in a stable hard by. They return together in the coach of the everready Hircan, and the company in his castle are exceedingly amused with the lying legend of the shepherd, whom they crown with laurel. The author of many French romances opportunely coming thither, Lysis gladly seizes the opportunity of giving his own adventures to the world, and thus instructs him.

"In the first place thou shalt make me take the shepherd's habit at St. Cloud, for there was the beginning of my noble adventures: and then thou must describe with what affection I contemplated those inconsiderable things which I preserved in remembrance of Charité, that is to say, the piece of leather, the paper, and the rest. Now here thou must make use of amplification, saying, that I so loved my mistress, that I would not only preserve what came from her, but that I also made a vow carefully to keep whatever were about me when I

had the happiness to speak to her, or receive any favour from her. As for example, if I chanced to go to see her where she lived, and that she entertained me favourably, my design was ever after to preserve, as a precious relique, my good and beloved shoes which had brought me into so sacred a place. And this was in my thoughts ever since that time, though I never spoke of it. In the next place thou shalt bring in how I met Anselme, and gave him the story of my youth, and acquainted him with the original of my loves, which must be soon past over and then shalt thou mention that excellent metaphorical picture of my mistress, which he drew at his house. "Tis there that is required a triumph of eloquence: my advice is, that thou make use of divers rhetorical figures, especially if thou make my affections relate to the colours of the draught and all that concerns it, thou wilt make a spiritual thing of a corporeal. The copper-piece, shalt thou say, is a rough metal, polished by the severity of Lysis's sufferings; the gold that shines in it is his fidelity; the white is his purity and innocence: the flesh-colour that's in it, is his amorous inclination; the vermilion, his respectful shamefacedness; the black, his sadness and affliction; the blue, the divinity of his imaginations: the separation and division are banishments and opticks; but as for shadow there's very little, because jealousy, which is the causer of them, can find no place there. All these colours have been distempered with the oil of indulgence of a thousand attractions of love-looks, and beaten on the marble of constancy. This done, there may be used a handsome revocation, and thou mayest speak thus, the affection which Lysis bore Charité, made me believe a while that Lysis had himself furnished what was necessary for this picture; but I have understood since, that it was his desire it might be done with nobler things, at least as noble as could be found. There are those that say, there was no more left of the brazen-age than that copper-piece, and that Lysis had purposely taken away that, being to pass out of the iron age into that of gold. As for the gold that glisters in Charité's eyes, and her chained tresses, 'tis certain that it is some of that into which Midas's wine was turned when he was to drink, after he had the gift of changing whatever he touched into gold; and it may be said by parenthesis, that that gold might easily be made potable. The white is the milk which Venus had in her breasts, when she nursed Cupid; for her milk was far better than Juno's, who was too cholerick to be a nurse: as to the flesh-colour, we know not what to say to it, but at last we have imagined it made of Bacchus's sweat; for he being of a perfect red, as may be seen, his sweat is dyed by it, nay, his very tears are coloured thereby; and if there be no likelihood of this, it must be conceived that this flesh-colour is composed of some other.

"As for the vermilion, 'tis the blood of the goddess of autumn, which is one of the four seasons, who having a while since overheated herself, Esculapius was forced to let her blood; for in heaven he is both doctor and surgeon, and observes whatever is prescribed there. The black is Proserpina's paint: for as in these countries there's much pains bestowed to become white, so there she takes as much to make herself black, as being one of the most especial parts of beauty. The

blue without question comes from Neptune's hair, which he cut off some days since, which, by some rare secret, hath been made liquid. As for the partitions, I believe good fortune made them, because nothing departs from us sooner: and as for the shadows, I believe the great sun of the world, or those of Charité's eyes, are the causers of them; for though the sun be the giver of light, yet he cannot be without shades, but makes them as soon as ever any solid body opposes its beams. The oil wherewith all these colours have been distempered, is the very same wherewith Hercules anointed himself, when he was to wrestle at the Olimpick games. As for the marble whereon they were beaten, 'twas a piece of the first altar, which was erected to the gods after the deluge. We had erewhiles forgot the shells to put these different colours in; but it must be thought Venus's shell was made use of, with the eggshell of Loda, and for the pencils, they are made of Love's feathers, and his mother's hair; this must be rather said, than they made use of any feathers of the wind Boreas: lovers have not so much to do with him.

"When thou hast thus spoken of Charité's picture, dear Philiris, thou must bring in the letter that I writ to her, which I will dictate to thee word for word. But here I must have a conceit which all the world knows not yet. Most part of your Romancists, when they introduce a man telling a story, after they have made him say, I writ a letter to my fairest, to this purpose, put down afterwards in capital letters, Philiris's letter to Basilia, Polidor's letter to Rhodogina; and so of others, and then the whole letter at length. That's no way handsome, I like it not; as for example, if I should relate to you my history from one end to another, if I were to say I write a letter to Charité, which was to this purpose, must I pronounce aloud these words, Lysis's letter to Charité? that were ridiculous. As there's no necessity of reciting that title, so there's none to write it, unless it haply be in the margent, as an annotation or remark for the convenience of the readers; but I have an incomparable invention to this purpose, when the book comes to be printed; it shall be thus, "being highly desirous to discover my affection to that fair one, I writ her this:" here the line discontinues, and a little lower there shall be "Letter" in a great character, and then the letter follows. This shall serve for a title for the convenience of the reader, and this shall nothing interrupt the system of the narration. In like manner may be said, this gentleman, that prince, that lover or shepherd, willing to lighten his passion by the charms of poetry, on a sudden broke into these (and a little under)" Stanzas," and so the verses afterwards. That knight not being able to suffer such an affront from his rival, sent him this (under it)" Challenge," with the discourse following. And this is an ingenious way to acquire reputation; nor is it a small fault to say, "Polidor having obtained silence, began thus his history;" and then afterwards to make a great title of these words, The History of Polidor and Rhodogina, or some such thing; for Polidor being to tell his story, will not pronounce that title aloud: 'tis a folly to put it, and by that means to interrupt the discourse. 'Twere enough to put it in the margent, or make use of some invention like that beforementioned. Yet there are good authors fail in this point; but I,

who take from others but what is best, must freely reform what's amiss. When thou hast handsomely brought in my letter, thou must tell by what means it came to Charité's hands; how I got up and laid it on her window, and fastened garlands at the door; and then how I was carried away by pirates, who yet kept me not long a captive, because they were Anselm's friends.

"I forgot the meeting with the Satyr, and many other particulars, which I shall give thee another time in order. As for what hath been done in this country, I believe thou art in good part informed. Thou must put down the adventures I ran through when I was disguised like a maid, and then thou shalt affirm for certain, that I was metamorphosed into a tree, though divers hold the contrary. But as for those who shall be concerned in any of these accidents, my humble suit is they may be honourably treated, they must be considered according to the affection they bore me, that they may be worthily recompensed. Thou mayest add what loose pieces thou please to my history; as for example, the loves of those of my acquaintance, it will make the work the more recommendable. Now I acquaint thee, that when thou art to say, I am in this place or that, when I am in any solitary place, it will not be amiss to say, I was making of verses: for, indeed, when I am alone, I do nothing but ruminate on them. Yet I permit thee to make some thyself to adorn the narration, or to thrust in some old papers of thine, that so they may not be lost; for there are a many have composed romances, on purpose to dispose of their ancient poetry. I shall furnish thee with some of my own; and as for what shall come from thee, it must be purely an imitation of my style. I am in doubt whether we shall bring in more stanzas or elegies. I know not whether is the better; they say, that the making of elegies is like our ordinary walking; and the making of stanzas, in divers cadencies and measures, is as it were dancing: so that the one is much harder than the other, There are others, replied Philiris, that say, that the making of stanzas is like the shifting of little birds from bough to bough, as being yet not fully fledged; but that the making of elegies is the taking of a far flight, which is proper only for such birds as know their trade. These similitudes confound me, said Lysis; I know not whether I should believe, wherefore let there be of both as thou think'st fit. These digressions have kept us from speaking of the principal things that concern us. Thou art to take notice, that before thou set thyself on work about my loves, thou must for a long time go a hunting after fancies, that thou may'st be well provided on all occasions and subjects. As for thy style, it must be smooth and not rough, as that of some writers of these times, in whose works a man cannot read three pages, without hazarding the skin of his throat, so far as would require above two ounces of licorice to make it whole again. But to aim at perfection, I think it were not fit to bring in twice in the same page, the word some, nor divers others which I shall call to mind.

"I would not yet have thee follow in all things the rules of our new reformers of language; because, forsooth, they never read any thing, nor can cite any thing; they would have nothing at all quoted, neither in prose or verse, so that a man must shake hands with his