“ to you, not without some confusion, that I have

thought on nothing else for these two long years, " but the happy life we should lead together, and the

means I should use to make myself still more « dearer to him. My fortune was indeed much be« yond his ; and as I was always in the company of

my relations, he was forced to discover his inclina. “ tions, and declare himself to me by stories of other

persons, kind looks and many ways which he knew “ too well that I understood. Oh! Mr. Bickerstaff, it “ is impossible to tell you, how industrious I have been " to make him appear lovely in my thoughts. I made 6 it a point of conscience to think well of him and of

no man else : but he has since had an estate fallen " to him, and makes love to another of a greater for

tune than mine. I could not believe the report of " this at first ; but about a fortnight ago I was convin

; “ced of the truth of it by his own behaviour. He “ came to give our family a formal visit, when, as " there were several in company, and things talked “ of, the discourse fell upon some unhappy woman “ who was in my own circumstances. It was said s by one in the room, that they could not believe the

story could be true, because they did not believe any s man could be so false. Upon which I stole a look

upon him with an anguish not to be expressed. He " saw my eyes full of tears, yet had the cruelty to say " that he could see no falsehood in alterations of this 66 nature, where there had been no contracts or vows “ interchanged. Pray do not make a jest of misery, “ but tell me seriously your opinion of his behaviour; " and if you can have any pity for my condition, pub“ lish this in your next paper, that being the only way " I have of complaining of his unkindness, and shews ing him the injustice he has done me. I am,

66 Your humble servant,
66 The unfortunate,


The name my correspondent gives herself, puts me in mind of my old reading in romances, and brings into my thoughts a speech of the renowned Don Bellianis, who, upon a complaint made to him of a discourtcous knight, that had left his injured paramour in the same manner, dries up her tears with a promise of rerelief. “ Disconsolate damsel, quoth he, a foul disgrace “ it were to all right worthy professors of chivalry, if “ such a blot to knighthood should pass unchastised. « Give me to know the abode of this recreant lover, “ and I will give him as a feast to the fowls of the « air, or drag him bound before you at my horse's 66 tail.”

I am not ashamed to own myself a champion of distressed damsels, and would venture as far to relieve them as Don Bellianis; for which reason,

I do invite this lady to me let know the name of the traitor who has deceived her; and do promise, not only her, but the fair ones of Great Britain, who lie under the same calamity, to employ my right-hand for their redress, and serve them to my last drop of ink.


Ingenio manus est & cervix cæsa.


Froin my own Apartment, February 3. WHEN my paper for to-morrow was prepared for the press, there came in this morning a mail from Holland, which brought me several advices from foreign parts, and took my thoughts off domestic affairs. Among others, I have a letter from a burgher of Amsterdam, who makes me his compliments, and tells me he has sent me several draughts of humorous and


satirical pictures by the best hands of the Dutch nation. They are a trading people, and in their very minds mechanics. They express their wit in manufacture, as we do in manuscript. He informs me, that a very witty hand has lately represented the present posture of public affairs in a landscape, or rather sea-piece, wherein the potentates of the alliance are figured as their interest correspond with, or affect each other, under the appearance of commanders of ships. These vessels carry the colours of the respective nations concerned in the present war. The whole design seems to tend to one point, which is, that several squadrons of British and Dutch ships are batttering a French man of war, in order to make her deliver up a long-boat with Spanish colours. My correspondent informs me, that a man must understand the compass perfectly well, to be able to comprehend the beauty and invention of this piece, which is so skilfully drawn, that the particular views of every prince in Europe, are seen according as the ships lie to the main figure in the picture, and as that figure may help or retard their sailing. It seems this curiosity is now on board a ship bound for England, and, with other rarities, made a present to me. As soon as it arrives, I de. sign to expose it to public view at my secretary Mr. Lillie's, who shall have an explication of all the terms of art; and I doubt not but it will give as good content as the moving-picture in Fleet-street.

But above all the honours I have received from the learned world abroad, I am most delighted with the following epistle from Rome:

Pasquin of Rome to Isaac Bickerstaff of Great Britain,


6 SIR,

“ YOUR reputation has passed the Alps, and “ would have come to my ears by this time, if I had

any. In short, Sir, you are looked on here as a


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46 ears.

« northern droll, and the greatest virtuoso among the u Tramontanes. Some, indeed, say, that Mr. Bick“ erstaff and Pasquin are only names invented, to fa" ther compositions which the natural parent does « not care for owning. But however that is, all agree,

that there are several persons, who, if they “ durst attack you, would endeavour to leave you no

more limbs than I have. I need not tell you that

my adversaries have joined in a confederacy with i time to demolish me, and that, if I were not a ve

ry great wit, I should make the worst figure in “ Europe, being abridged of my legs, arms, nose, and

If you think fit to accept of the correspon“ dence of so facetious a cripple, I shall from time “ to time send you an account of what happens at “ Rome. You have only heard of it from Latin and “ Greek authors; nay, perhaps, have read no accounts " from hence, but of a triumph, ovation, or apotheoo sis, and will, doubtless, be surprise to see the de« scription of a procession, jubilee, or canonization. I 6 shall, however, send you what the place affords, in “ return to what I shall receive from you. If you will " acquaint me with your next promotion of general 66 officers, I will send you an account of our next ad“ vancement of saints. If you will let me know who “ is reckoned the bravest warrior in Great-Britain, I 66 will tell you who is the best fiddler in Rome. If

you will favour me with an inventory of the riches " that were brought into your nation by Admiral “ Wager, I will not fail giving you an account of a pot

of medals that has been lately dug up here, and 6 are now under the examination of our ministers of

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W state.

“ There is one thing, in which I desire you would “ be very particular. What I mean, is an exact list “ of all the religions in Great-Britain, as likewise the " habits, which are said here to be the great points of “ conscience in England, whether they are made of

« serge or broad-cloth, of silk or linen. I should be " glad to see a model of the most conscientious dress “ among you, and desire you would send me a hat of " each religion; as likewise, if it be not too much trou“ blé, a cravat. It would also be very acceptable here “ to receive an account of those two religious orders " which are lately sprung up amongst you, the whigs " and the tories, with the

points of doctrine, severities “ in discipline, penances, mortifications and good works, “ by which they differ one from another. It would be " no less kind, if you would explain to us a word, " which they do not understand even at our English “ monastery, toasts, and let us know whether the la. 56 dies so called are nuns or lay-sisters.

" In return, I will send you the secret history of u several cardinals, which I have by me in manu“ script, with gallantries, amours, politics, and in“ trigues, by which they made their way to the holy “ purple.

“ But when I propose a correspondence, I must not * tell you what I intend to advise you of hereafter, and u neglect to give you what I have at present. The s pope has been sick for this fortnight of a violent “ tooth-ach, which has very much raised the French 6 faction, and put the conclave into a great ferment. « Every one of the pretenders to the succession is

grown twenty years older than he was a fortnight ago; each candidate tries who shall cough and stoop

most; for these are at present the gifts, that recom“ mend to the apostolical seat, which he stands the « fairest for, who is likely to resign it the soonest. I “ have known the time, when it used to rain Louis “ d’Ors on such occasions; but whatever is the mat“ ter, there are very few of them to be seen at present 6 at Rome, insomuch that it is thought a man might “purchase infallibility at a very reasonable rate. It 6 is nevertheless hoped, that his holiness may reco"

ver, and bury these his imaginary successors.

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