way not to pass for her, I delivered the Bundle designed to be carried off to her Lover’s Man, who came with the Signal to receive them.  Thus I followed after to the Coach, where when I saw his Master take them in, I cryed out, Thieves!  Thieves! and the Constable with his Attendants seized my expecting Lover.  I kept my self unobserved till I saw the Crowd sufficiently encreased, and then appeared to declare the Goods to be mine; and had the Satisfaction to see my Man of Mode put into the Round-House, with the stolen Wares by him, to be produced in Evidence against him the next Morning.  This Matter is notoriously known to be Fact; and I have been contented to save my Prentice, and take a Year’s Rent of this mortified Lover, not to appear further in the Matter.  This was some Penance; but, Sir, is this enough for a Villany of much more pernicious Consequence than the Trifles for which he was to have been indicted?  Should not you, and all Men of any Parts or Honour, put things upon so right a Foot, as that such a Rascal should not laugh at the Imputation of what he was really guilty, and dread being accused of that for which he was arrested?

In a word, Sir, it is in the Power of you, and such as I hope you are, to make it as infamous to rob a poor Creature of her Honour as her Cloaths.  I leave this to your Consideration, only take Leave (which I cannot do without sighing) to remark to you, that if this had been the Sense of Mankind thirty Years ago, I should have avoided a Life spent in Poverty and Shame.

  I am, Sir, Your most humble Servant, Alice Threadneedle.

  Round-House, Sept. 9.

  Mr. SPECTATOR,

’I am a Man of Pleasure about Town, but by the Stupidity of a dull Rogue of a Justice of Peace, and an insolent Constable, upon the Oath of an old Harridan, am imprisoned here for Theft, when I designed only Fornication.  The Midnight Magistrate, as he conveyed me along, had you in his Mouth, and said, this would make a pure Story for the SPECTATOR.  I hope, Sir, you won’t pretend to Wit, and take the Part of dull Rogues of Business.  The World is so altered of late Years, that there was not a Man who would knock down a Watchman in my Behalf, but I was carried off with as much Triumph as if I had been a Pick-pocket.  At this rate, there is an end of all the Wit and Humour in the World.  The Time was when all the honest Whore-masters in the Neighbourhood would have rose against the Cuckolds to my Rescue.  If Fornication is to be scandalous, half the fine things that have been writ by most of the Wits of the last Age may be burnt by the common Hangman.  Harkee, [Mr.] SPEC, do not be queer; after having done some things pretty well, don’t begin to write at that rate that no Gentleman can read thee.  Be true to Love, and burn your Seneca.  You do not expect me to write my Name from hence, but I am Your unknown humble, &c.’

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