it unluckily fell out that none of the Authors I employ understood
Latin (though I have them often in pay to translate out of that
language). I was therefore compelled to have recourse to the Curate
of our Parish, who Englished it thus, Let it be given to the
worthiest; and his comment was that the Author meant his work should
be dedicated to the sublimest genius of the age for wit, learning,
judgment, eloquence, and wisdom. I called at a poet's chamber (who
works for my shop) in an alley hard by, showed him the translation,
and desired his opinion who it was that the Author could mean. He
told me, after some consideration, that vanity was a thing he
abhorred, but by the description he thought himself to be the person
aimed at; and at the same time he very kindly offered his own
assistance gratis towards penning a dedication to himself. I
desired him, however, to give a second guess. Why then, said he, it
must be I, or my Lord Somers. From thence I went to several other
wits of my acquaintance, with no small hazard and weariness to my
person, from a prodigious number of dark winding stairs; but found
them all in the same story, both of your Lordship and themselves.
Now your Lordship is to understand that this proceeding was not of
my own invention; for I have somewhere heard it is a maxim that
those to whom everybody allows the second place have an undoubted
title to the first.

This infallibly convinced me that your Lordship was the person
intended by the Author. But being very unacquainted in the style
and form of dedications, I employed those wits aforesaid to furnish
me with hints and materials towards a panegyric upon your Lordship's
virtues.

In two days they brought me ten sheets of paper filled up on every