Your very Humble Servant,

  Betty Saunter.

  Pray, Sir, direct thus, To the kind Querist, and leave it at
  Mr. Lillie’s, for I don’t care to be known in the thing at all.  I
  am, Sir, again Your Humble Servant.’

  Mr.  SPECTATOR,

’I must needs tell you there are several of your Papers I do not much like.  You are often so Nice there is no enduring you, and so Learned there is no understanding you.  What have you to do with our Petticoats?’

  Your Humble Servant,

  Parthenope.

  Mr.  SPECTATOR,

’Last Night as I was walking in the Park, I met a couple of Friends; Prithee Jack, says one of them, let us go drink a Glass of Wine, for I am fit for nothing else.  This put me upon reflecting on the many Miscarriages which happen in Conversations over Wine, when Men go to the Bottle to remove such Humours as it only stirs up and awakens.  This I could not attribute more to any thing than to the Humour of putting Company upon others which Men do not like themselves.  Pray, Sir, declare in your Papers, that he who is a troublesome Companion to himself, will not be an agreeable one to others.  Let People reason themselves into good-Humour, before they impose themselves upon their Friends.  Pray, Sir, be as Eloquent as you can upon this Subject, and do Human Life so much Good, as to argue powerfully, that it is not every one that can swallow who is fit to drink a Glass of Wine.’

  Your most Humble Servant.

  SIR,

’I this Morning cast my Eye upon your Paper concerning the Expence of Time.  You are very obliging to the Women, especially those who are not Young and past Gallantry, by touching so gently upon Gaming:  Therefore I hope you do not think it wrong to employ a little leisure Time in that Diversion; but I should be glad to hear you say something upon the Behaviour of some of the Female Gamesters.

I have observed Ladies, who in all other respects are Gentle, Good-humoured, and the very Pinks of good Breeding; who as soon as the Ombre Table is called for, and set down to their Business, are immediately Transmigrated into the veriest Wasps in Nature.

You must know I keep my Temper, and win their Mony; but am out of Countenance to take it, it makes them so very uneasie.  Be pleased, dear Sir, to instruct them to lose with a better Grace, and you will oblige’

  Yours,

  Rachel Basto.

  Mr.  SPECTATOR, [1]