success. My man found one last night; but it proved a hen's with fifteen eggs in it, covered with an old broody duck, which may satisfy your Lordship's curiosity a little, though I am afraid the eggs will be of little use to us. This morning I have news brought me of a nest that has abundance of little eggs, streaked with red and blue veins, that, by the description they give me, must make a very beautiful figure on a string. My neighbours are very much. divided in their opinions upon them: some say they are a sky-lark's; others will have them to be a canarybird's; but I am much mistaken in the colour and turn of the eggs, if they are not full of tom-tits. If your Lordship does not make haste, I am afraid they will be birds before you see them; for, if the account they gave me of them be true, they cannot have above two days more to reckon. Since I am so near your Lordship, methinks, after having passed the day among more severe studies, you may often take a trip hither, and relax yourself with these little curiosities of nature. I assure you, no less a man than Cicero commends the two great friends of his age, Scipio and Lælius, for entertaining themselves at their country-house, which stood on the sea-shore, with picking up cockle-shells, and looking after birds' nests. For which reason I shall conclude this learned letter with a saying of the same author in his treatise of Friendship: "Absint autem tristitia et in omni re severitas; habent illæ quidem gravitatem; sed amicitia debet esse lenior et remissior, et ad omnem suavitatem facilitatemque morum proclivior." If your Lordship understands the elegance and sweetness of these words, you may assure yourself you are no ordinary Latinist, but if they have force enough to bring you to Sandy-End, I shall be very well pleased. I am, my dear Lord, Your Lordship's most affectionate, And most obedient servant, J. ADDISON. SANDY-END, May 27, 1708. MY DEAREST LORD, I CANNOT forbear being troublesome to your Lordship whilst I am in your neighbourhood. The business of this is, to invite you to a concert of music, which I have found out in a neighbouring wood. It begins precisely at six in the evening, and consists of a blackbird, a thrush, a robin-redbreast, and a bullfinch. There is a lark that, by way of overture, sings and mounts till she is almost out of hearing, and afterwards, falling down leisurely, drops to the ground as soon as she has ended her song. The whole is concluded by a nightingale, that has a much better voice than Mrs. Tofts, and something of the Italian manner in her divisions. If your Lordship willhonour me with your company, I will promise to entertain you with much better music, and more agreeable scenes, than ever you met with at the opera; and will conclude with a charming description of a nightingale, out of our friend Virgil: Qualis populeâ morens Philomela sub umbrâ So, close in poplar shades, her children gone, Whose nest some prying churl had found, and thence Your Lordship's most obedient, J. ADDISON. DEAR SIR, SANDY-END, May 30, 1708. If you are at leisure I will desire you to inquire in any bookseller's shop for a Statius, and to look in the beginning of the Achilleid for a bird's nest, which, if I am not mistaken, is very finely described. It comes in I think by way of simile towards the beginning of the book, where the poet compares Achilles's mother looking after a proper seat to conceal her son in, to a bird searching after a fit place for a nest. If you find it send it me, or bring it yourself, and as you acquit yourself of this you may perhaps be troubled with more poetical commissions from, Sir, your most faithful, Humble servant, J. ADDISON. My hearty service to Dr. Swift. The next time you come bring a coach early that we may take the air in it. TO CHARLES MONTAGU, ESQ., CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER. OXFORD, 1697. You whose ears are bedinned by such a mob of vile poets, will hardly complain that anything unusual has happened to you, when you find my strains likewise maltreating a noble theme. How much the Britons excel in martial prowess is proved by the glory of our recent deeds, but that we do not shine in the more polished studies of peace, is evidenced by the verses which we have lately produced. Were it not that your friend Congreve has treated the subject with his usual poetic fire, we should have had little cause to rejoice in a peace so wretchedly sung by such worthless poets. But whilst I blame others, I seem to be forgetting myself; I who am perhaps causing you more annoyance by my Latin verses than they by their vernacular; excepting that the difference of the torture may afford some alleviation to your sufferings. Never indeed could I be induced to submit a poem written in my native language to the eyes of one like you, who deter all others from such attempts by your writing no less than you excite them by your favour. The devoted admirer of your accomplishments, JOSEPH ADDISON. TO CONGREVE. DEAR SIR, BLOIS, December, 1699. I WAS very sorry to hear in your last letter that you were so terribly afflicted with the gout, though for your comfort I believe you are the first English poet that has been complimented with the distemper: I was myself at that time sick of a fever, which I believe proceeded from the same cause; but at present I am so well recovered that I can scarce forbear beginning my letter with Tully's preface, “Si vales bene est, ego quidem valeo." You must excuse me for giving you a line of Latin now and then, since I find myself in some danger of losing the tongue, for I perceive a new language, like a new mistress, is apt to make a man forget all his old ones. I assure you I met with a very remarkable instance of this nature at Paris, in a poor Irishman that had lost the little English he had brought over with him, without being able to learn any French in its stead. I asked him what language he spoke : he very innocently answered me, "No language, Monsieur:" which, as I afterwards found, were all the words he was master of in both tongues. I am at present in a town where all the languages in Europe are spoken except English, which is not to be heard I believe within fifty miles of the place. My greatest diversion is to run over in my thoughts the variety of noble scenes I was entertained with before I came hither. I do not believe, as good a poet as you are, that you can make finer landscapes than those about the king's houses, or with all your descriptions build a more magnificent palace than Versailles. I am, however, so singular as to prefer Fontainebleau to all the rest. It is situated among rocks and woods that give you a fine variety of savage prospects. The king has humoured the genius of the place, and only made use of so much art as is necessary to help and regulate nature without reforming her too much. The cascades seem to break through the clefts and cracks of rocks, that are covered over with moss, and look as if they were piled upon one another by accident. There is an artificial wildness in the meadows, walks, and canals, |