Upon reading your Tuesdays Paper, I find by several Symptoms in my Constitution that I am a Bee.  My Shop, or, if you please to call it so, my Cell, is in that great Hive of Females which goes by the Name of The New Exchange; where I am daily employed in gathering together a little Stock of Gain from the finest Flowers about the Town, I mean the Ladies and the Beaus.  I have a numerous Swarm of Children, to whom I give the best Education I am able:  But, Sir, it is my Misfortune to be married to a Drone, who lives upon what I get, without bringing any thing into the common Stock.  Now, Sir, as on the one hand I take care not to behave myself towards him like a Wasp, so likewise I would not have him look upon me as an Humble-Bee; for which Reason I do all I can to put him upon laying up Provisions for a bad Day, and frequently represent to him the fatal Effects [his [4]] Sloth and Negligence may bring upon us in our old Age.  I must beg that you will join with me in your good Advice upon this Occasion, and you will for ever oblige

  Your humble Servant,

  MELISSA.

  Picadilly, October 31, 1711.

  SIR,

I am joined in Wedlock for my Sins to one of those Fillies who are described in the old Poet with that hard Name you gave us the other Day.  She has a flowing Mane, and a Skin as soft as Silk:  But, Sir, she passes half her Life at her Glass, and almost ruins me in Ribbons.  For my own part, I am a plain handicraft Man, and in Danger of breaking by her Laziness and Expensiveness.  Pray, Master, tell me in your next Paper, whether I may not expect of her so much Drudgery as to take care of her Family, and curry her Hide in case of Refusal.

  Your loving Friend,

  Barnaby Brittle.

  Cheapside, October 30.

  Mr.  SPECTATOR,

  I am mightily pleased with the Humour of the Cat, be so kind as to
  enlarge upon that Subject.

  Yours till Death,

  Josiah Henpeck.

  P.S.  You must know I am married to a Grimalkin.

  Wapping, October 31, 1711.

  SIR,

Ever since your Spectator of Tuesday last came into our Family, my Husband is pleased to call me his Oceana, because the foolish old Poet that you have translated says, That the Souls of some Women are made of Sea-Water.  This, it seems, has encouraged my Sauce-Box to be witty upon me.  When I am angry, he cries Prythee my Dear be calm; when I chide one of my Servants, Prythee Child do not bluster.  He had the Impudence about an Hour ago to tell me, That he was a Sea-faring Man, and must expect to divide his Life between Storm and Sunshine.  When I bestir myself with any Spirit in my Family, it is high Sea in his House; and when I sit still without doing any thing, his Affairs forsooth