It is my Misfortune to be in Love with a young Creature who is daily committing Faults, which though they give me the utmost Uneasiness, I know not how to reprove her for, or even acquaint her with. She is pretty, dresses well, is rich, and good-humour’d; but either wholly neglects, or has no Notion of that which Polite People have agreed to distinguish by the Name of Delicacy. After our Return from a Walk the other Day she threw her self into an Elbow-Chair, and professed before a large Company, that she was all over in a Sweat. She told me this Afternoon that her Stomach aked; and was complaining Yesterday at Dinner of something that stuck in her Teeth. I treated her with a Basket of Fruit last Summer, which she eat so very greedily, as almost made me resolve never to see her more. In short, Sir, I begin to tremble whenever I see her about to speak or move. As she does not want Sense, if she takes these 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 her self.
I am happily arrived at a State of Tranquillity, which few People envy, I mean that of an old Maid; therefore being wholly unconcerned in all that Medley of Follies which our Sex is apt to contract from their silly Fondness of yours, I read your Railleries on us without Provocation. I can say with Hamlet,
—Man delights not me,
Nor Woman neither—
Therefore, dear Sir, as you never spare
your own Sex, do not be afraid
of reproving what is ridiculous in ours, and you will oblige at least
one Woman, who is
Your humble Servant, Susannah Frost.
I am Wife to a Clergyman, and cannot help
thinking that in your Tenth
or Tithe-Character of Womankind  you meant my self, therefore I
have no Quarrel against you for the other Nine Characters.
Your humble Servant, A.B.
[Footnote 1: See No. 209.]
* * * * *
No. 218. Friday, November 9, 1711. Steele.
Quid de quoque viro et cui dicas saepe caveto.