We all recognized
your portrait in the 49th number, and I have been dying to know you
ever since I read it. 'Aspasia must be allowed to be the first of
the beauteous order of love.' Doth not the passage run so? 'In this
accomplished lady love is the constant effect, though it is never the
design; yet though her mien carries much more invitation than command,
to behold her is an immediate check to loose behavior, and to love her
is a liberal education.'"

"Oh, indeed!" says Mrs. Steele, who did not seem to understand a word of
what the gentleman was saying.

"Who could fail to be accomplished under such a mistress?" says Mr. St.
John, still gallant and bowing.

"Mistress! upon my word, sir!" cries the lady. "If you mean me, sir, I
would have you know that I am the Captain's wife."

"Sure we all know it," answers Mr. St. John, keeping his countenance
very gravely; and Steele broke in saying, "'Twas not about Mrs. Steele I
writ that paper--though I am sure she is worthy of any compliment I can
pay her--but of the Lady Elizabeth Hastings."

"I hear Mr. Addison is equally famous as a wit and a poet," says Mr.
St. John. "Is it true that his hand is to be found in your 'Tatler,' Mr.
Steele?"

"Whether 'tis the sublime or the humorous, no man can come near him,"
cries Steele.

"A fig, Dick, for your Mr. Addison!" cries out his lady: "a gentleman
who gives himself such airs and holds his head so high now. I hope your
ladyship thinks as I do: I can't bear those very fair men with white
eyelashes--a black man for me." (All the black men at table applauded,
and made Mrs. Steele a bow for this compliment.) "As for this Mr.
Addison," she went on, "he comes to dine with the Captain sometimes,
never says a word to me, and then they walk up stairs both tipsy, to a
dish of tea. I remember your Mr. Addison when he had but one coat to his
back, and that with a patch at the elbow."

"Indeed--a patch at the elbow! You interest me," says Mr. St. John.
"'Tis charming to hear of one man of letters from the charming wife of
another."

"La, I could tell you ever so much about 'em," continues the voluble
lady. "What do you think the Captain has got now?--a little hunchback
fellow--a little hop-o'-my-thumb creature that he calls a poet--a little
Popish brat!"

"Hush, there are two in the room," whispers her companion.

"Well, I call him Popish because his name is Pope," says the lady.
"'Tis only my joking way. And this little dwarf o