"Jocasta was an angel visiting the waters; but at which of the
Bethesdas? She was puzzled more and more; and, as her way always is,
looked the more innocent and simple, the more artful her intentions
were.

"'We were discoursing,' says she, 'about spelling of names and words
when you came. Why should we say goold and write gold, and call china
chayney, and Cavendish Candish, and Cholmondeley Chumley? If we call
Pulteney Poltney, why shouldn't we call poultry pultry--and--'

"'Such an enchantress as your ladyship,' says he, 'is mistress of all
sorts of spells.' But this was Dr. Swift's pun, and we all knew it.

"'And--and how do you spell your name?' says she, coming to the point at
length; for this sprightly conversation had lasted much longer than is
here set down, and been carried on through at least three dishes of tea.

"'Oh, madam,' says he, 'I SPELL MY NAME WITH THE Y.' And laying down his
dish, my gentleman made another elegant bow, and was gone in a moment.

"Jocasta hath had no sleep since this mortification, and the stranger's
disappearance. If balked in anything, she is sure to lose her health and
temper; and we, her servants, suffer, as usual, during the angry fits of
our Queen. Can you help us, Mr. Spectator, who know everything, to read
this riddle for her, and set at rest all our minds? We find in her list,
Mr. Berty, Mr. Smith, Mr. Pike, Mr. Tyler--who may be Mr. Bertie, Mr.
Smyth, Mr. Pyke, Mr. Tiler, for what we know. She hath turned away
the clerk of her visiting-book, a poor fellow with a great family of
children. Read me this riddle, good Mr. Shortface, and oblige your
admirer--OEDIPUS."

"THE TRUMPET COFFEE-HOUSE, WHITEHALL.

"MR. SPECTATOR,--I am a gentleman but little acquainted with the town,
though I have had a university education, and passed some years
serving my country abroad, where my name is better known than in the
coffee-house and St. James's.

"Two years since my uncle died, leaving me a pretty estate in the county
of Kent; and being at Tunbridge Wells last summer, after my mourning was
over, and on the look-out, if truth must be told, for some young lady
who would share with me the solitude of my great Kentish house, and be
kind to my tenantry (for whom a woman can do a great deal more good than
the best-intentioned man can), I was greatly fascinated by a young lady
of London, who was the toast of all the company at the Wells. Every one
knows Saccharissa's beauty; and I thi