On the 25th _passato_, there happen’d a very considerable dispute in the _Delphick_ vale; the _literati_ had hard words, and it was fear’d by _Pluto_ himself, that the angry shades would come to somewhat worse. It may be you in those grosser regions, do not believe that we here below lose nothing of ourselves by death, but the terrene part: nay, the very soul itself retains some of those unhappy impressions it receiv’d from flesh and blood. Here _Cæsar_ bites his thumbs when _Alexander_ walks by; frowns upon _Brutus_, and blushes when he talks of king _William_: The great _Gustavus Adolphus_ only wishes himself upon earth again, to serve a captain under him: _Turenne_ wants to be in _Italy_, and _Wallesteen_ assures him that prince _Eugene_ of _Savoy_ would have had the same glorious success against him, as _Catinat_ and _Villeroy_. _Hannibal_ own’d that his march over, or rather thro’ the _Alpes_, was not so honourable an action as the prince’s; and tho’ arts and experience may make a general, yet nature can only inform an _Eugene_. Surly _Charon_ had been so plagu’d with the _French_ from those parts, that he has been forc’d to leave whole shoals of them behind. Once they crowded in so fast, as they almost overset the boat, and still as they press’d forward, cry’d _Vauban, Vauban_: But the old gentleman, unwilling to hazzard himself, push’d a multitude of them back with his sculls, and so put off---- However, this is not the business I design’d to mention; something more particular, and of more weighty consequence is the occasion of this letter. The real wits refus’d to take notice of prince _Arthur_, and king _Arthur_, who were walking hand in hand; some shallow-pated versificators would resent the indignity put upon ’em. This was very disgusting to the _literati_, and it is inconceivable what a horrid stench they made with uttering those verses. The more robust spirits were almost choak’d; you may then judge what condition the delicate and nice stomachs of the men of wit were in; but while every one was wishing for their cloaths of humanity again to be less sensible of this execrable smell, a worthy _literati_ came in from _London_, who being informed of the occasion of that terrible inconveniency, repeated a few commendatory verses, and immediately the air grew tolerable, and the brimstone burnt serene. _Job_ himself did confess, that had he been in the flesh again, he was terribly afraid he should have murder’d the doctor: When a merry spirit standing at his elbow, said, it was no such wonderful thing to have a sirreverence of a man be mine arse of a poet. But _Charon_ waits, I must conclude; and as conveniency serves, shall inform you of what passes in those gloomy regions. _A Letter from Mr._ ABRAHAM COWLEY, _to the_ Covent-Garden _Society. By Capt._ AYLOFF.