written upon a lady, who shewed me some verses of her own making, and is, perhaps, the best poet of our age. But you shall hear it.'

Upon which he began to read as follows:

" TO MIRA, ON HER INCOMPARABLE POEMS.
"When dress'd in laurel wreaths you shine,
And tune your soft melodious notes,
You seem a sister of the Nine,

Or Phoebus' self in petticoats.

I fancy, when your song you sing,
(Your song you sing with so much art)
Your pen was pluck'd from Cupid's wing,
For, ah! it wounds me like his dart.'

Why,' says I, 'this is a little nosegay of conceits, a very lump of salt: every verse has something in it that piques; and then the dart in the last line is certainly as pretty a sting in the tail of an epigram, for so I think you critics call it, as ever entered into the thought of a poet.'- Dear Mr. Bickerstaff,' says he, shaking me by the hand, 'every body knows you to be a judge of these things; and, to tell you truly, I read over Roscommon's translation of Horace's Art of Poetry, three several times, before I sat down to write the sonnet which I have shewn you. But you shall hear it again, and pray observe every line of it; for not one of them shall pass without your approbation.

"When dress'd in laurel wreaths you shine,

That is,' says he, when you have your garland on; when you are writing verses.' To which I replied, 'I know your meaning: a metaphor?'-'The same,' said he, and went on;

And tune your soft melodious notes.

'Pray observe the gliding of that verse; there is scarce a consonant in it: I took care to make it run upon liquids. Give me your opinion of it.'-Truly,' said I, 'I think it as good as the former.'I am very glad to hear you say so,' says he; but mind the next:

'You seem a sister of the Nine,

That is,' says he, 'you seem a sister of the Muses; for, if you look into ancient authors, you will find it was their opinion, that there were nine of them.'- - I remember it very well,' said I; ' but pray proceed.'

'Or Phoebus' self in petticoats.

Phoebus,' says he, 'was the god of poetry. These little instances, Mr. Bickerstaff, shew a gentleman's reading. Then, to take off from the air of learning, which Phœbus and the Muses had given to this first stanza, you may observe, how it falls all of a sudden into the familiar-in petticoats!

'Or Phœbus' self in petticoats.'

Let us now,' says I, enter upon the second stanza; I find the first line is still a continuation of the metaphor:

I fancy, when your song you sing.'

It is very right,' says he; but pray observe the turn of words in those two lines. I was a whole hour in adjusting of them, and have still a doubt upon me whether in the second line it should be "Your song you sing;" or, "You sing your song?" You shall hear them both :

• I fancy, when your song you sing,

(Your song you sing with so much art)

OR,

'I fancy, when your song you sing,

(You sing your song with so much art)

Truly,' said I, 'the turn is so natural either way, that you have made me almost giddy with it.'-' Dear Sir,' said he, grasping me by the hand, you have a great deal of patience; but pray what do you think of the next verse?

"Your pen was pluck'd from Cupid's wing.'

Think!' says I; 'I think you have made Cupid look like a little goose.'-'That was my meaning,' says he: I think the ridicule is well enough hit off. But we come now to the last, which sums up the whole

matter:

6

For, ah! it wounds me like his dart.

Pray how do you like that Ah! doth it not make a pretty figure in that place? Ah!- -it looks as if I felt the dart, and cried out as being pricked with it:

For, ah! it wounds me like his dart.

My friend Dick Easy', continued he, 'assured me, he would rather have written that ah! than to have been the author of the Eneid. He indeed objected, that I made Mira's pen like a quill in one of

the lines, and like a dart in the other.

But as to that

Oh! as to that,' says I, it is but supposing Cupid to be like a porcupine, and his quills and

Perhaps Henry Cromwell, Esq.

darts will be the same thing.' He was going to embrace me for the hint; but half a dozen critics coming into the room, whose faces he did not like, he conveyed the sonnet into his pocket, and whispered me in the ear, he would shew it me again as soon as his man had written it over fair.

ADDISON.

N° 164. THURSDAY, APRIL 27, 1710.

-Qui promittit cives, urbem, sibi curæ,
Imperium fore, et Italiam, et delubra deorum;
Quo patre sit natus, num ignotâ matre inhonestus,
Omnes mortales curare et quærere cogit.

HOR. 1. Sat. vi. 34.

Whoever promises to guard the state,
The gods, the temples, and imperial seat,
Makes ev'ry mortal ask his father's name,
Or if his mother was a slave-born dame ?
FRANCIS.

From my own Apartment, April 26.

I HAVE lately been looking over the many packets of letters which I have received from all quarters of Great Britain, as well as from foreign countries, since my entering upon the office of Censor; and indeed am very much surprised to see so great a number of them, and pleased to think that I have so far increased the revenue of the post-office. As this collection will grow daily, I have digested it into several bundles, and made proper indorsements on each particular letter; it being my design, when I lay down the

work that I am now engaged in, to erect a paper-office and give it to the public'.

I could not but make several observations upon reading over the letters of my correspondents. As, first of all, on the different tastes that reign in the different parts of this city. I find, by the approbations which are given me, that I am seldom famous on the same days on both sides of Temple-bar; and that, when I am in the greatest repute within the liberties, I dwindle at the court-end of the town. Sometimes I sink in both these places at the same time; but, for my comfort, my name hath then been up in the districts of Wapping and Rotherhithe 2. Some of my correspondents desire me to be always serious, and others to be always merry. Some of them intreat me to go to bed and fall into a dream, and like me better when I am asleep than when I am awake: others advise me to sit all night upon the stars, and be more frequent in my astrological observations; for that a vision is not properly a Lucubration. Some of my readers thank me for filling my paper with the flowers of antiquity, others desire news from Flanders. Some approve my criticisms on the dead, and others my censures on the living. For this reason, I once resolved, in the new edition of my works, to range my several papers under distinct heads, according as their principal design was to benefit and instruct the different capacities of my readers; and to follow the example of some very great authors, by writing at the

' What seems meant here by a paper-office, was afterwards, by the permission of Steele, under proper restrictions, carried into effect by Charles Lillie, who printed, for his own benefit, two volumes in 8vo. of letters not made use of in the Tatler, Spectator, &c.

See N° 105. The story of Will Rosin the fiddler.