gest to the reader what it is that gives a beauty to many passages of the finest writers both in prose and verse. As an undertaking of this nature is entirely new, I question not but it will be received with candour. -Dum foris sunt, nihil videtur mundius, Quàm inhonesta solæ sint domi, atque avidæ cibi, TER. Eun. Act v. Sc. 4. When they are abroad, nothing is so clean, and nicely dressed; and when at supper with a gallant, they do but piddle, and pick the choicest bits: but, to see their nastiness and poverty at home, their gluttony, and how they devour black crusts dipped in yesterday's broth, is a perfect antidote against wenching. WILL HONEYCOMB, who disguises his present decay by visiting the wenches of the town only by way of humour, told us, that the last rainy night he, with Sir Roger de Coverley, was driven into the Temple cloister, whither had escaped also a lady most exactly dressed from head to foot. Will made no scruple to acquaint us, that she saluted him very familiarly by his name, and, turning immediately to the knight, she said, she supposed that was his good friend Sir Roger de Coverley: upon which nothing less could follow than Sir Roger's approach to salutation, with Madam, the same, at your service.' She was dressed in a black tabby mantua and petticoat, without ribbons; her linen striped muslin, and in the whole an agreeable second mourning; decent dresses being often affected by the creatures of the town, at once consulting cheapness and the pretensions to modesty. She went on with a familiar easy air, Your friend,' Mr. Honeycomb, 'is a little surprised to see a woman here alone and unattended; but I dismissed my coach at the gate, and tripped it down to my counsel's chambers; for lawyers fees take up too much of a small disputed jointure to admit any other expences but mere necessaries.' Mr. Honeycomb begged they might have the honour of setting her down, for Sir Roger's servant was gone to call a coach. In the interim the footman returned, with no coach to be had; and there appeared nothing to be done but trusting herself with Mr. Honeycomb and his friend, to wait at the tavern at the gate for a coach, or to be subjected to all the impertinence she must meet with in that public place. Mr. Honeycomb being a man of honour determined the choice of the first, and Sir Roger, as the better man, took the lady by the hand, leading her through all the shower, covering her with his hat, and gallanting a familiar acquaintance through rows of young fellows, who winked at Sukey in the state she marched off, Will Honeycomb bringing up the rear. Much importunity prevailed upon the fair one to admit of a collation, where, after declaring she had no stomach, and having eaten a couple of chickens, devoured a truss of salad, and drunk a full bottle to her share, she sung the Old Man's Wish' to Sir Roger. The knight left the room for some time after supper, and writ the following billet, which he conveyed to Sukey, and Sukey to her friend Will Honeycomb. Will has given it to Sir Andrew Freeport, who read it last night to the club. 'MADAM, I AM not so mere a country gentleman, but I can guess at the law-business you had at the Temple. If you would go down to the country, and leave off all your vanities but your singing, let me know at my lodgings in Bow-street, Covent-garden, and you shall be encouraged by Your humble servant, " ROGER DE COVERLEY.' My good friend could not well stand the raillery which was rising upon him; but, to put a stop to it, I delivered Will Honeycomb the following letter, and desired him to read it to the board. · MR. SPECTATOR, HAVING seen a translation of one of the chapters in the Canticles into English verse inserted among your late papers 2; I have ventured to send you the viith chapter of the Proverbs in a poetical dress. If you think it worthy appearing among your speculations, it will be a sufficient reward for the trouble of • Your constant reader, 'A. B.' 'See Songs and other Poems, by Alexander Brome," 8vo. 1664. Song xxvii.-It may be imagined, by what followed, that the Song was not of the most chaste description. * N° 388. "My son, th' instruction that my words impart, Grave on the living tablet of thy heart; And all the wholesome precepts that I give, "Let all thy homage be to Wisdom paid, "Once from my window as I cast mine eye "Just as the sun withdrew his cooler light, And evening soft led on the shades of night, He stole in covert twilight to his fate, And pass'd the corner near the harlot's gate! Loose her attire, and such her glaring dress, By which the wanton conquer heedless hearts: Here all her store of richest odours meets, I have collected there-I want but thee. "Upon her tongue did such smooth mischief dwell, And from her lips such welcome flatt'ry fell, Th' unguarded youth, in silken fetters ty'd, Resign'd his reason, and with ease comply'd. Thus does the ox to his own slaughter go, And thus is senseless of th' impending blow. Thus flies the simple bird into the snare, That skilful fowlers for his life prepare. But let my sons attend. Attend may they Whom youthful vigour may to sin betray; Let them false charmers fly, and guard their hearts Against the wily wanton's pleasing arts; With care direct their steps, nor turn astray To tread the paths of her deceitful way; Lest they too late of her fell power complain, And fall, where many mightier have been slain." STEELE. T. |