These, Mr. Fitz-Adam, are disagreeable things; but then I have the self-satisfaction of knowing that I am in the right. But I trespass on your patience, and besides, have made my letter longer than I intended: I shall therefore conclude abruptly with that excellent wish of Agar's, "Give me neither poverty nor riches."

I am, &c.

By way of supplement to the above, and to illustrate by example the absurdity of running into extremes, I shall present my readers with another letter, which I received some time ago from a female correspondent.

Mr. Fitz-Adam,

I am an humble cousin to two sisters, who though they are good-humoured, good sort of people, and (all things considered) behave to me tolerably well, yet their manners and dispositions are so extremely opposite, that the task of pleasing them is rendered very difficult and troublesome. The eldest of my cousins is a very jolly free-hearted girl, and so great an enemy to all kinds of form, that you seldom see her with so much as a pin in her gown; while the youngest, who thinks in her heart that her sister is no better than a slattern, runs into the contrary extreme, and is, in every thing she does, an absolute fidfad. She takes up almost as much time to put on a gown, as her sister does to dirty one. The eldest is too thoughtless to remember what she is to do, and the youngest is so tedious in doing it, that the time is always elapsed in which it was necessary for it to be done. If you lend any thing to the eldest, you are

sure to have it lost; or if you would borrow any thing of the youngest, it is odds but she refuses it, from an opinion that you will be less careful of it than herself. Whatever work is done by her sister, is too slight to hang together for an hour's wear; and whatever is undertaken by the other, is generally too nice and cu rious to be finished.

As they are constantly bedfellows, the first sleep of the eldest is sure to be broke by the youngest, whose usual time for undressing and folding up her cloaths, is at least an hour and a half, allowing a third part of that time for hindrances, occasioned by her elder sister's things, which lie scattered every where in her way.

If they had lovers, Mr. Fitz-Adam, I know exactly how it would be: the eldest would lose her's by saying Yes too soon, and the youngest by saying No too often. If they were wives, the one would be too hasty to do any thing right, and the other too tedious to do any thing pleasing: or were they mothers, the daughters of the eldest would be playing at taw with the boys, and the sons of the youngest dressing dolls with the misses.

I wish, Mr. Fitz-Adam, that you would be so kind to these cousins of mine as to favour them with your advice. I have told you already, that they are both good-humoured; and if you could prevail upon the eldest to borrow from the youngest a little thought and neatness; and the youngest to add to her exactness a little of the careless freedom of the eldest, you would make them very amiable women, and me the happiest of all humble cousins.

I am, sir,

Your constant reader,

And most humble servant,

M. A.

No. XCVI. THURSDAY, OCTOBER 31.

I WAS not a little surprised the other day at receiving a letter by the penny-post, acquainting me that notwithstanding all I had said in a former paper concerning the general reformation that had taken place by means of these essays, there were people amongst us who were taking pains to undo all I had done; and that unless I exerted myself notably on a new occasion, my labours for the good of mankind would fall short of their intention. The writer of this letter proceeds to inform me, that he has lately obtained a sight of a dramatic manuscript (taken, as he supposes, from a history in Machiavel) called Belphegor, or the Married Devil, which manuscript, he is credibly assured, is intended to be offered at one of the theatres this very season. My correspondent inveighs greatly against the evil tendency of this piece, of which he has sent me a short transcript, entreating my publication of it, as a warning to the managers against consenting to its exhibition. The transcript, which consists only of one short scene, together with the introduction, is exactly as follows:

"Belphegor, a heathen devil, in the disguise of christian flesh and blood, makes his entrance upon the stage; where, after a clap of thunder, and several flashes of lightning, another devil of a smaller size, dressed like a lacquey, in a flame coloured livery, trimmed with black, and stuck round with fireworks, rises from a trap-door, delivers a letter to Belphegor, and, making a very low bow, descends in thunder and lightning as he rose. Belphegor then comes forward, and reads the letter, which contains these words:"

"Forasmuch as our true and trusty devil and cousin, Belphegor, hath, in obedience to our commands, submitted himself to the torments of the married state for one whole year upon earth, thereby to instruct us in the nature of wives, and to get remission of punishment for all husbands in this our realms; and we, well knowing the many miseries he hath endured in this his state of flesh, and being graciously pleased to release him from his bondage, have ordered that the earth do open at six in the evening of this present day, to re-admit him to our dominions. "Given at our palace, &c.

"PLUTO."

"Belphegor expresses great joy at reading the letter; and while he is thanking Pluto for his clemency, and congratulating himself that his deliverance is near at hand, Harlequin enters at the back of the stage, looking very disconsolately, and bowing to Belphegor, who, after surveying him with wonder, exclaims as follows.

Bel. Hey-day! Who, in the name of Proserpine, have we here? Some other devil upon a frolic too, I suppose! He looks plaguy discontented. If thou art a devil, speak to me. (Harlequin shakes his head) A Frenchman, I presume; but then he would have found his tongue sooner. Are you married, friend? Har. A very miserable fellow, sir.

Bel. Why aye; that sounds a little like matrimony. But who are you? For by the knave's look, and the fool's coat, you should be some extraordinary personage.

Har. I could eat a little, sir.

Bel. Very likely, friend. But who are you, I say? Har. A poor Harlequin, sir, married yesterday, and now running away from my wife.

Bel. A Harlequin! What's that?

Har. Were you never at the play-house, sir? A Harlequin is a man of wit without words; his business is to convey moral sentiments with a nod of the head, or a shake of the nether parts....I'll shew you after dinner, if you please, sir.

(Belphegor waves his hand, and a table rises with provision and wine.)

Har. Sir, your most humble servant. If it was not for hunger, now, I should beg leave to ask, sir, if you are not the devil. (Sits down and eats.)

Bel. A devil that will do you no harm, friend.
Har. But are you really the devil, sir?

Bel. Have you any objections, Mr. Harlequin? Har. None in the least, sir; it is not my way to object to trifles. Sir, my humble duty to you. (Drinks.) Yes, yes, sir, you must be the devil, or some such great person. And pray, sir, if one may make bold to ask, how go matters below, sir? I suppose you have a world of fine company there. But I am afraid, sir, the place is a little too smoaky for the ladies.

Bel. To those who had not been used to town indeed.......

Har. To be sure, sir, the town is a very natural preparation. You live pretty much as we do, I suppose? Bel. Pretty much, so, as to the pleasures of the place; rather less scandal among us.

Har. And more sinning, perhaps?

Bel. Very little difference as to that: hypocrisy we have none of: people of fashion, you know, are above hypocrisy; and we are chiefly people of fashion.

Har. No doubt, sir. A good many new-comers I reckon from England?

Bel. A good many, friend; we are particularly fond of the English.

Har. You have them of all professions, I presume? Bel. Lawyers we do not admit. They are good sort of people in general, and take great pains to