surprised at, nymphs hunting in the forests. But the most curious thing of all he saw was a valley in which was to be found every thing that was lost on the earth: crowns, riches, the rewards of ambition, hopes without number, all the time that had been devoted to gaming, all the alms men had ordered to be distributed after their death, verses dedicated to monarchs, and the sighs of lovers. As to lovers' sighs, rejoined the Marchioness; I don't know what became of them in Ariosto's time, but at present I fancy there are none that go to the moon. We should find a great many, said I, were they only those that you have occasioned. In short, the moon is so careful in collecting all that is lost here that not a single thing is wanting of the number: Ariosto has even whispered that Constantine's donation is there: the popes have assumed the government of Rome and Italy by virtue of a donation from that emperor, but the truth is we can't tell what is become of it. There is but one sort of thing that has not escaped to the moon, and that is--folly: the people on earth have taken care not to part with that; but to make the moon amends, an incredible quantity of wit has taken its flight thither, which is there preserved in phials; it is a very subtile fluid, and easily evaporates unless carefully corked up: on each of these phials is written the name of the owner. I think Ariosto puts them together without any order, but I like better to imagine them placed neatly in long rows. Astolfo was astonished to find full phials belonging to many wise people of his acquaintance. I am sure, continued I, mine has been considerably augmented since I began to indulge myself with you in philosophic and poetic reveries: but I console myself by supposing that after listening to all my fancies _your_ wits must inevitably become so volatile that at least a little phial full will evaporate, and make its way to the moon.