Mr.  SPECTATOR,

You have given us a lively Picture of that kind of Husband who comes under the Denomination of the Hen-peck’d; but I do not remember that you have ever touched upon one that is of the quite different Character, and who, in several Places of England, goes by the Name of a Cot-Quean.  I have the Misfortune to be joined for Life with one of this Character, who in reality is more a Woman than [I am. [1]] He was bred up under the Tuition of a tender Mother, till she had made him as good a House-wife as her self.  He could preserve Apricots, and make Gellies, before he had been two Years out of the Nursery.  He was never suffered to go abroad, for fear of catching Cold:  when he should have been hunting down a Buck, he was by his Mother’s Side learning how to Season it, or put it in Crust; and was making Paper-Boats with his Sisters, at an Age when other young Gentlemen are crossing the Seas, or travelling into Foreign Countries.  He has the whitest Hand that you ever saw in your Life, and raises Paste better than any Woman in England.  These Qualifications make him a sad Husband:  He is perpetually in the Kitchin, and has a thousand Squabbles with the Cook-maid.  He is better acquainted with the Milk-Score, than his Steward’s Accounts.  I fret to Death when I hear him find fault with a Dish that is not dressed to his liking, and instructing his Friends that dine with him in the best Pickle for a Walnut, or Sauce for an Haunch of Venison.  With all this, he is a very good-natured Husband, and never fell out with me in his Life but once, upon the over-roasting of a Dish of Wild-Fowl:  At the same time I must own I would rather he was a Man of a rough Temper, that would treat me harshly sometimes, than of such an effeminate busy Nature in a Province that does not belong to him.  Since you have given us the Character of a Wife who wears the Breeches, pray say something of a Husband that wears the Petticoat.  Why should not a Female Character be as ridiculous in a Man, as a Male Character in one of our Sex?

  I am, &c.

O.

[Footnote 1:  [my self.]]

* * * * *

No. 483.  Saturday, September 13, 1712.  Addison.

  ’Nec Deus intersit nisi dignus vindice nodus
  Inciderit—­’

  Hor.

We cannot be guilty of a greater Act of Uncharitableness, than to interpret the Afflictions which befal our Neighbours, as Punishments and Judgments.  It aggravates the Evil to him who suffers, when he looks upon himself as the Mark of Divine Vengeance, and abates the Compassion of those towards him, who regard him in so dreadful a Light.  This Humour of turning every Misfortune into a Judgment, proceeds from wrong Notions of Religion, which, in its own nature, produces Goodwill towards Men, and puts the mildest Construction upon every Accident that befalls