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determine; but am apt to fancy, that the writer of it whoever she is, has formed a kind of nocturnal orgie out of her own fancy : whether this be fo or not, her letter may · conduce to the amendment of that kind of persons who are represented in it, and whose characters are frequent e. nough in the world.

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MR SPECTATOR,
N

the public a very diverting account of several clubs * and nocturnal assemblies; but I am a member of a fociety + which has wholly escaped your notice, I mean a club of

she-romps. We take each a backuey-coach, and meet once a week in a large upper chamber, which we hire by the year for that purpose; our landlord and his family, who are quiet people, constantly contriving to be abroad on our club-night. We are no sooner coine together, than we throw off all that modesty and reservedness with which

our sex are obliged to difguise themselves in public places. “ I am not able to express the pleasure we enjoy from ten

at night till four in the morning, in being as rude as you men can be for your lives. As our play runs high, the room is immediately filled with broken fans, torn petticoats, lappets or head-dresses, flounces, furbelows, garters, and working aprons. I had forgot to tell you at first, that besides the coaches we came in ourselves, there is one which stands always empty to carry off our dead

nen, for so we call all those fragments and tatters with " which the room is strew'd, and which we pack up to- gether in bundles and put into the aforesaid coach; it is

no finall diversion for us to ineet the next night at’some '' meinber's chamber, where every one is to pick out what. • belonged to her from this confused bundle in silks, stuffs, laces, and ribbonds.

I have hitherto given you an account of our diversion op ordivary club-nights; but must acquaint you further, that once a month we demolish a prude, that is, we get some queer formal creature in among us, and unrig her in an instant. Our last month's prude wasso armed and fortified in whalebone and buck

ram that we had much ado to come at her ; but you is would have died with laughing to have seen how the fo-6 ber-aukward thing looked when she was forced out of

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ler intrerchments. In Nort, Sir, it is imposible to give ' you a truc motion of our fjort, unlefs

would como

you one night among us; and tho'it be directly against the

rules of our society to admit a male visitant, we repose + so much confidence in your filence and taciturnity, that • it was agreed by the whole clul, it our last meeting, to give you entrance for one night as a spectator. 1 (1112_your humble ferocit

Kitty Termagant, P. S. It'e fall demolish a prude next Thuiflay.

Tao’I thank Kilts for her kind offer, I do not at present find in myself any inclination to venture my person with her and her romping companions.

I should regard myfelt as a fecond Ciodinis intruding on the mysterious rites of the b 15 dia, and should apprehend being demolished as much as the pride.

The follos ing letter co nes from a gentleman, whole taste I find is much too delicate to endure the least advance towards roinping. I way perhaps hereafter iinprove upon the hint liels given me, and make it the subject of a wholetjie.lator; in the mean time takcit as follows in his own words. Tvir SPECTATOR, Tis my ini fortune to be in love with a young crea

ture who is daily committing faults, which, though they give ine the utmost uneasines, I know not how to reprove her for, or even acquaint her with. She is pretty, dresses well, is rich, and good-hunour; but cither wholly negiets, or has no notion of that which polite people have agiecd to distinguish by the name of

Delicacy. After our return froin a walk the other day < she threw herself into an elbow-chair, and professed be

fore a large company, that she was all over in a sweato She told me this afternoon that lier fiomach aked; and • was complaining yesterday at dinner of fomething that * fiuck in her teeth I treated her with a basket of fruit ' last summer, which she eat so very greedily, as almost s made me refolve never to see her more. In short, Sir, I begin to tremble whenever I see her about to speak or

As she does not want fenfe, if she takes these

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hints I am happy; if not, I am more than afraid, that • these things which shock me even in the behaviour of a mistress, will appear insupportable in that of a wife.

I am, Sir, yours, &c.

My next letter comes from a correspondent whom I cannot but

very much value, upon the account which she gives of herself.

Mr SPECTATOR,
I AM happily arrived at a state of tranquielity, which

few people envy, I mean that of an old inaid; there'fore being wholly unconcerned in all that medley of fol. • lies which our sex is apt to contract from their lilly fonds ness of yours, I read your ralleries on us without provocation. I can say with Hamlet,

Man delights not mie,

Nor women neither-
Therefore, dear Sir, as you never spare your own

sex, do not be afraid of reproving what is ridiculous in ours, and will oblige at least one woman, who is,

Your humble fervant, Sufanna Froft.

you

MR SPECTATOR,
I AM wife to a clergyman, and cannot help thinking

that in your tenth or tithe character of woman-kind you meant myself; therefore I have no quarrel against you

for the other nine characters.

Your humble servant,

X

A. B.

VOL. III.

No 218.

No 218.

Friday, November 9.

Quid de quoque viro, & cui dicas, fcepe caveto.

Hor. Ep. 18. 1. 1. V.68.

Have a care
Of wkom jou talk, to whom, and what, and where.

Pooly.

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Happened the other day, as my way is, to strole into a little coffee-house beyond Aldgate; and as I sat there

two or three very plain sensible men were talking of the SPECTATOR. One faid, he had that morning drawn the great benefit ticket; another wished lie had; but a third shaked his head, and said, it was pity that the writer of that paper was such a sort of man, that it was no great matter whether he had it or no He is, it seems, said the good man the most extravagant creature in the world: has run thro’ vast sums, and yet been in continual want; a man for all he talks so well of economy, unfit for any of the offices of life, by reason of his profuleness. It would be an unhappy thing to be his wife, his child, or his friend ; and yet he talks as well of those duties of life as any one. Much reflection has brought me to so easy a contempt for every thing which is false, that this heavy accusation gave me no manner of uneasiness; but at the same time it threw me into deep thought upon the subject of fame in general; and I could not but pity such as were so weak, as to value what the common people say, out of their own talkative temper, to the advantage or diminution of those whom they mention, without being moved either by malice or good-will It would be too long to expatiate upon the sense all mankind have of faine, and the inexpressible pleasure which there is in the approbation of worthy men, to all who are capable of worthy actions; but methinks one may divide the general word fame into three different fpecies, as it regards the different orders of mankind who have any thing to do with it. Fame therefore may be di vided into glory, which respects the hero; reputation, which is preserved by every gentleman; and credit, which

must

must be supported by every tradelman. These possesions in faine are dearer than life to those characters of men, or rather are the life of these characters. Glory, while the hero pursues great and noble enterprizes, is impregnable ; .and all the assailants of his renown do but shew their pain and impatience of its brightness, without throwing the lealt shade upon it. If the foundation of an high name be virtue and service, all that is offered against it is but rumour, which is too short-lived to stand up in competition with glory, which is everlasting.

REPUTATION, which is the portion of every man who would live with the elegant and knowing part of mankind, is as stable as glory, if it be as well founded : and the coinmon cause of human fociety is thought concerned when we hear a man of good behaviour calumniated: besides. which, according to a prevailing custom amongst us, every man has his defence in his own arm; and reproach is soon checked, put out of countenance, and overtaken by disgrace.

The most unhappy of all men, and the most exposed to the malignity or waatonness of the common voice, is the trader. Credit is undone in whispers. The traderman's wound is received from one who is more private and more cruel than the ruffian with the lanthorn and dagger. The manner of repeating a man's name, as Mr Gash, Oh! do you leave your money at his Mop.? Why, do you know Mr Searoom? He is indeed a general merchant. I say, I have seen, from the iteration of a man's name, hiding one thought of him, and explaining what you hide, by saying something to his advantage when you speak, a merchant hurt in his credit; and him who, every day he lived, literally added to the value of his native country, undone by one who was only a burden and a blemish to: it. Since every body who knows the world is sensible of this great evil, how careful ought a inan to be in hislanguage of a merchant? It may possibly be in the power of a very shallow creature to lay the ruin of the best family in the most opulent city: and the inore so, the more highly he deserves of his country; that is to say, the farther he places his wealth out of his own hands, to draw home that of another climate.

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