erstaff for his kind and instructive
letter," and "Any ladies, who have any particular stories of their
acquaintance, which they are willing privately to make public, may send
them to Isaac Bickerstaff."

This application seems to have met with some response, for although we
have only before us the perpetual Isaac Bickerstaff, he soon tells us
that "he shall have little to do but to publish what is sent him," and
finally that some of the best pieces were not written by himself. Two or
three were from the hand of Swift, who does not seem to have much
appreciated the gentle periodical--says that as far as he is concerned,
the editor may "fair-sex it to the world's end," and asserts with equal
ill-nature and falsity that the publication was finally given up for
want of materials. Probably it was to the solicitude of Addison, who was
at that time employed in Ireland, that we are indebted for the few
productions of Swift's bold genius which adorn this work. One of these
is upon the peculiar weakness then prevalent among ladies for studding
their faces with little bits of black plaster.

"Madam.--Let me beg of you to take off the patches at the lower end
of your left cheek, and I will allow two more under your left eye,
which will contribute more to the symmetry of your face; except you
would please to remove the ten black atoms from your ladyship's
chin, and wear one large patch instead of them. If so, you may
properly enough retain the three patches above mentioned.

"I am, &c."

The next describes a downfall of rain in the city.

"Careful observers may foretell the hour,
(By sure prognostics) when to dread a shower;
While rain depends, the pensive cat gives o'er
Her frolics, and pursues her tail no more;
Returning home at night you'll find the sink
Strike your offended nose with double stink;
If you be wise, then go not far to dine,
You'll spend in coach-hire more than save in wine,
A coming shower your shooting corns presage,
Old aches will throb, your hollow tooth will rage;
Sauntering in coffee-house is Dulman seen,
He damns the climate and complains of spleen....
Now in contiguous drops the flood comes down,
Threatening with deluge this devoted town,
To shops in crowds the draggled females fly,
Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy,
The Templar spruce, while ev'ry spout's abroach,
Stays till 'tis fair, yet seems to call a coach,
The