uch a one I passed not long ago, which made me rejoice when the
Hour as come for the Sun to set, that I might enjoy the Freshness of
the Evening in my Garden, which then affords me the pleasantest Hours
I pass in the whole Four and twenty. I immediately rose from my Couch,
and went down into it. You descend at first by twelve Stone Steps into
a large Square divided into four Grass-plots, in each of which is a
Statue of white Marble. This is separated from a large Parterre by a
low Wall, and from thence, thro' a Pair of Iron Gates, you are led
into a long broad Walk of the finest Turf, set on each Side with tall
Yews, and on either Hand bordered by a Canal, which on the Right
divides the Walk from a Wilderness parted into Variety of Allies and
Arbours, and on the Left from a kind of Amphitheatre, which is the
Receptacle of a great Number of Oranges and Myrtles. The Moon shone
bright, and seemed then most agreeably to supply the Place of the Sun,
obliging me with as much Light as was necessary to discover a thousand
pleasing Objects, and at the same time divested of all Power of Heat.
The Reflection of it in the Water, the Fanning of the Wind rustling on
the Leaves, the Singing of the Thrush and Nightingale, and the
Coolness of the Walks, all conspired to make me lay aside all
displeasing Thoughts, and brought me into such a Tranquility of Mind,
as is I believe the next Happiness to that of hereafter. In this sweet
Retirement I naturally fell into the Repetition of some Lines out of a
Poem of _Milton's_, which he entitles _Il Penseroso_, the Ideas of
which were exquisitely suited to my present Wandrings of Thought.

'Sweet Bird! that shun'st the Noise of Folly,
Most musical! most melancholy!
Thee Chauntress, oft the Woods among,
I wooe to hear thy Evening Song:
And missing thee, I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-shaven Green,
To behold the wandring Moon,
Riding near her highest Noon,
Like one that hath been led astray,
Thro' the Heavn's wide pathless Way,
And oft, as if her Head she bow'd,
Stooping thro' a fleecy Cloud.

Then let some strange mysterious Dream
Wave with his Wings in airy Stream,
Of lively Portraiture displaid,
Softly on my Eyelids laid;
And as I wake, sweet Musick breathe
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by Spirits to Mortals Good,
Or th' unseen Genius of the Wood.'

I re