my reader's memory too much, I shall reserve this subject for the speculation of another day.

L

No. CCLXXVI. WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 16.

Errori nomen virtus posuisset honestum.

HOR.

Misconduct screen'd behind a specious name.

MR. SPECTATOR,

I HOPE you have philosophy enough to be " capable of bearing the mention of your faults. Your papers which regard the fallen part of the fair-sex, are I think, written with an indelicacy ' which makes them unworthy to be inserted in the writings of a moralist, who knows the world. I 'cannot allow that you are at liberty to observe up6 on the actions of mankind with the freedom which you seem to resolve upon; at least if you do so, " you should take along with you the distinction of manners of the world, according to the quality and < Iway of life of the persons concerned. A man of 'breeding speaks of even misfortune among ladies, without giving it the most terrible aspect it can bear: and this tenderness towards them, is much more to be preserved when you speak of vices. All 'mankind are so far related, that care is to be ta'ken, in things to which all are liable, you do not

' mention what concerns one in terms which shall 'disgust another. Thus to tell a rich man of the 'indigence of a kinsman of his, or abruptly inform

a virtuous woman of the lapse of one who until 'then was in the same degree of esteem with herself, ' is in a kind involving each of them in some par

ticipation of those disadvantages. It is therefore ' expected from every writer, to treat his argument ' in such a manner, as is most proper to entertain 'the sort of readers to whom his discourse is directed. It is not necessary when you write to the tea-table, that you should draw vices which carry all the hor'ror of shame and contempt: if you paint an im'pertinent self-love, an artful glance, an assumed 'complexion, you say all which you ought to sup'pose they can be possibly guilty of. When you talk with this limitation, you behave yourself so as 'that you may expect others in conversation may 'second your raillery; but when you do it in a style 'which every body else forbears in respect to their ' quality, they have an easy remedy in forbearing to 'read you, and hearing no more of their faults. A 'man that is now and then guilty of an intemperance is not to be called a drunkard; but the rule of polite raillery, is to speak of a man's faults as if you loved him. Of this nature is what was said by Cæsar: when one was railing with an uncourtly ' vehemence, and broke out, What must we call him 'who was taken in an intrigue with another man's wife? Cæsar answered very gravely, "a careless fel'low." This was at once a reprimand for speaking ' of a crime which in those days had not the abhor'rence attending it as it ought, as well as an intima'tion that all intemperate behaviour before superiors 'loses its aim, by accusing in a method unfit for the ' audience. A word to the wise. All I mean here 'to say to you is, that the most free person of quali 'ty can go no farther than being a kind woman; ' and you should never say of a man of figure worse, than that he knows the world.

I am Sir,

Your most humble servant,
FRANCIS COURTLY.'

'MR. SPECTATOR,

I AM a woman of an unspotted reputation, * and know nothing I have ever done which should encourage such insolence; but here was one the ' other day, and he was dressed like a gentleman too, who took the liberty to name the words, lusty fel'low, in my presence. I doubt not but you will "resent it in behalf of,

Sir, your humble servant,

' CELIA,'

MR. SPECTATOR,

YOU lately put out a dreadful paper, wherein " you promise a full account of the state of criminal love; and call all the fair who have transgressed in 'that kind by one very rude name which I do not care 'to repeat; but I desire to know of you whether I 6 am or I am not one of those? My case is as follows. 'I am kept by an old bachelor, who took me so young, ' that I knew not how he came by me: he is a bencher of one of the inns of court, a very gay healthy 'old man; which is a very lucky thing for him, who 'has been, he tells me, a scowerer, a scamperer, a "breaker of windows, and invader of constables, in 'the days of yore, when all dominion ended with the ' day, and males and females met helter skelter, and 'the scowerers drove before them all who pretended 'to keep up order or rule to the interruption of love ' and honour. This is his way of talk, for he is very " gay when he visits me; but as his former knowledge of the town has alarmed him into an invincible 'jealousy, he keeps me in a pair of slippers, neat 'bodice, warm petticoats, and my own hair woven in " ringlets, after a manner, he says, he remembers. I 6 am not mistress of one farthing of money, but have 'all necessaries provided for me, under the guard of one who procured for him while he had any desires to gratify. I know nothing of a wench's life, but

'the reputation of it: I have a natural voice, and a pretty untaught step in dancing. His manner is to bring an old fellow who has been his servant from 'his youth, and is grey-headed: this man makes on 'the violin a certain jiggish noise to which I dance, ' and when that is over I sing to him some loose air 'that has more wantonness than music in it. You

must have seen a strange windowed house near Hyde-Park, which is so built that no one can look ' out of any of the apartments; my rooms are after that manner, and I never see man, woman, or child, but in company with the two persons above mentioned. He sends me in all the books, pamphlets, 'plays, operas, and songs that come out; and his ut'most delight in me as a woman, is to talk over all 'his old amours in my presence, to play with my neck, say "the time was," give me a kiss, and bid 'me be sure to follow the directions of my guardian ' (the above-mentioned lady) and I shall never want. The truth of my case is, I suppose, that I was educated for a purpose he did not know he should be ' unfit for when I came to years. Now, Sir, what I ' ask of you, as a casuist, is to tell me how far in these circumstances I am innocent, though sub'missive; he guilty, though impotent?

'FRIEND,

'I am, SIR,

• Your constant reader,

'PUCELLA.'

To the Man called the Spectator.

• FORASMUCH as at the birth of thy labour, ⚫ thou didst promise upon thy word, that letting alone 'the vanities that do abound, thou wouldst only en'deavour to strengthen the crooked morals of this ' our Babylon, I gave credit to thy fair speeches, and ' admitted one of thy papers, every day save Sunday,

'into my house, for the edification of my daughter Tabitha, and to the end that Susannah the wife of my bosom might profit thereby. But alas! my

'friend, I find that thou art a liar, and that the truth ' is not in thee; else why didst thou in a paper which 'thou didst lately put forth, make mention of those ' vain coverings for the heads of our females, which ' thou lovest to liken unto tulips, and which are lately 6 sprung up among us? Nay, why didst thou make ' mention of them in such a seeming, as if thou didst 、 approve the invention, insomuch that my daughter 'Tabitha beginneth to wax wanton, and to lust after 'these foolish vanities? Surely thou dost see with 'the eyes of the flesh. Verily therefore, unless thou 'dost speedily amend and leave off following thine own imaginations, I will leave off thee.

6 Thy friend as hereafter thou dost demean thyself, HEZEKIAH BROADBRIM.'

T

No. CCLXXVII. THURSDAY, JANUARY 17.

........fas est & ab hoste doceri.

Receive instruction from an enemy.

OVID.

I PRESUME I need not inform the polite part of my readers, that before our correspondence with France was unhappily interrupted by the war, our ladies had all their fashions from thence; which the milliners took care to furnish them with by means of a jointed baby, that came regularly over once a month, habited after the manner of the most eminent toasts in Paris.