I am the more particular in my Account of WILL’S last Night’s Lecture on these natural Mirrors, as it seems to bear some Relation to the following Letter, which I received the Day before.

  SIR,

I have read your last Saturdays Observations on the Fourth Book of Milton with great Satisfaction, and am particularly pleased with the hidden Moral, which you have taken notice of in several Parts of the Poem.  The Design of this Letter is to desire your Thoughts, whether there may not also be some Moral couched under that Place in the same Book where the Poet lets us know, that the first Woman immediately after her Creation ran to a Looking-Glass, and became so enamoured of her own Face, that she had never removed to view any of the other Works of Nature, had not she been led off to a Man.  If you think fit to set down the whole Passage from Milton, your Readers will be able to judge for themselves, and the Quotation will not a little contribute to the filling up of your Paper.  Your humble Servant, R. T.

The last Consideration urged by my Querist is so strong, that I cannot forbear closing with it.  The Passage he alludes to, is part of Eves Speech to Adam, and one of the most beautiful Passages in the whole Poem.

  That Day I oft remember, when from sleep
  I first awaked, and found my self repos d
  Under a shade of flowrs, much wondering where
  And what I was, whence thither brought, and how. 
  Not distant far from thence a murmuring Sound
  Of Waters issu’d from a Cave, and spread
  Into a liquid Plain, then stood unmoved
  Pure as th’ Expanse of Heavn:  I thither went
  With unexperienced Thought, and laid me down
  On the green Bank, to look into the clear
  Smooth Lake, that to me seemed another Sky. 
  As I bent down to look, just opposite,
  A Shape within the watry Gleam appeared
  Bending to look on me; I started back,
  It started back; but pleas’d I soon returned,
  Pleas’d it return’d as soon with answering Looks
  Of Sympathy and Love; there I had fix d
  Mine Eyes till now, and pined with vain Desire,
  Had not a Voice thus warn’d me, What thou seest,
  What there thou seest, fair Creature, is thy self,
  With thee it came and goes:  but follow me,
  And I will bring thee where no Shadow stays
  Thy coming, and thy soft Embraces, he
  Whose Image thou art, him thou shalt enjoy
  Inseparably thine, to him shalt bear
  Multitudes like thy self, and thence be call’d
  Mother of Human Race.  What could I do,
  But follow streight, invisibly thus led? 
  Till I espy’d thee, fair indeed and tall,
  Under a Platan, yet methought less fair,
  Less winning soft, less amiably mild,
  Than that smooth watry Image:  back I turn’d,
  Thou following crydst aloud, Return fair Eve,
  Whom flyst thou? whom thou flyst, of him thou art,
  His Flesh, his Bone; to give thee Being,