me with the utmost Abhorrence,
insomuch that she went out of Church last Sunday in the midst of
Divine Service, upon my coming into the same Pew. Pray, Sir, what must
I do in this Business?
Your Servant,
Euphues.

Let her alone Ten Days.

York, Jan. 20, 1711-12.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

We have in this Town a sort of People who pretend to Wit and write
Lampoons: I have lately been the Subject of one of them. The Scribler
had not Genius enough in Verse to turn my Age, as indeed I am an old
Maid, into Raillery, for affecting a youthier Turn than is consistent
with my Time of Day; and therefore he makes the Title to his Madrigal,
The Character of Mrs. Judith Lovebane, born in the Year [1680. [1]]
What I desire of you is, That you disallow that a Coxcomb who pretends
to write Verse, should put the most malicious Thing he can say in
Prose. This I humbly conceive will disable our Country Wits, who
indeed take a great deal of Pains to say any thing in Rhyme, tho they
say it very ill.
I am, SIR,
Your Humble Servant,
Susanna Lovebane.

Mr. SPECTATOR,
We are several of us, Gentlemen and Ladies, who Board in the same
House, and after Dinner one of our Company (an agreeable Man enough
otherwise) stands up and reads your Paper to us all. We are the
civillest People in the World to one another, and therefore I am
forced to this way of desiring our Reader, when he is doing this
Office, not to stand afore the Fire. This will be a general Good to
our Family this cold Weather. He will, I know, take it to be our
common Request when he comes to these Words, Pray, Sir, sit down;
which I desire you to insert, and you will particularly oblige
Your Daily Reader,
Charity Frost.

SIR,

I am a great Lover of Dancing, but cannot perform so well as some
others; however, by my Out-of-the-Way Capers, and some original
Grimaces, I don't fail to divert the Company, particularly the Ladies,
who laugh immoderately all the Time. Some, who pretend to be my
Friends, tell me they do it in Derision, and would advise me to leave
it off, withal that I make my self ridiculous. I don't know what to do
in this Affair, but I am resolved not to give over upon any
Account, till I have the Opinion of the SPECTATOR.
Your humble Servant,
John Trott.

If Mr. Trott is not awkward out of Time, he has a Right to Dance let who
will Laugh: But if he has no Ear he will i