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is necessary, on the lady's part, to make wedlock happy." I deny not that you may have observed, that a man, by setting out right or wrong, by insolent bravery, and a high opinion of himself, may make fear necessary: nevertheless, it is a necessity of his own creating, and not from the nature of

woman.

What would have become of me, had I married a man who would have endeavoured to lay me under that necessity? Endeavoured, I say; for the bravest, and the most insolent of your insolent sex, could never have brought me to it. I am such a vixen, that if I loved my husband, I could not fear him. A governor, a parent, a master, I could love, fear, and honour, at the same time; but to my husband, myself, I must be all love, no mixture of fear; certain hatred would attend it.

How can it be said, what would be the way with most women? Where there are variety of tempers, there ought to be, and you have the power to use, variety of methods. But prerogative is the word, and insolence the motive; whilst we have no choice; submission, submission for ever, or we are vixens, perverse opposers, rebels to our sovereigns, to our tyrants-too often synonymous terms. And yet, I will so far allow your observation, that some of us do seem to submit with pleasure to these sovereigns: but then, in my way of thinking, it must be a submission of love, to be called happy in the least degree; not a dispirited fear, like a What is

the meaning of that Greek word? I have a notion it is something like servitude: O, ay: "Love, serve, honour, and obey." No fear, though, is mentioned; thank God for that; since, if there had,

I should certainly have broke my marriage vow, one way or the other. There is something of "chaste conversation coupled with fear," but it is no command.

Surely, no woman of common sense could be convinced the sooner, for a "man's obstinacy" in using her ill; or think him" more a man" for be ing a tyrant. A fool, a brute, may be a tyrant; and if a woman is not of the same silly stamp, she must despise him, however he may have brought her to a seeming easiness. We have nothing else for it, when a man is resolved. But then you can. not call it making wedlock happy; hell, indeed, sir; this world's hell, I call it. There are, who expect their wives to love, serve, honour, and obey, only because they have vowed so to do; but what men are they? And what woman could value such from her heart, or be happy with such a man? When love is reciprocal, sweet is the bondage, and easy the yoke; where that is, nothing is wanting: for ever banished be fear, the bane of happiness in every shape; at least with one of my temper. We may be fond of power, and it is often our own fault that we have not enough of it: a woman that can seem to despise it, may have it to satiety. And what does this argue? You perverse souls, what does it argue?

I do believe, sir, you have as good a wife as any man "need to wish for;" and yet-What would you say? Nay, you have said. I will tell, I am resolved. Mrs. Rn, he says you are a mistress of contradiction. In close argument, you give him to understand that you think your judgment superior; that when you have brought him

to declare his wishes, you at once resolve to act directly opposite. Are these things so? Positively they are not. I cannot believe it, indeed, sir. I am very sure you would not utter a falsehood, black or white; nevertheless, I cannot believe it. There is some misconstruction; some words, or tone of voice, wrong understood; mistakes on one side or the other: but, in short, she appears to me grossly abused. And yet that cannot be, by the inan in whom is no abuse. I know not how to behave between you: if I take her part, she will quarrel with me, I am sure; and if I take yours, so will you too. The third person in matrimonial disputes, always comes off the worst. So God bless you both! and I advise you to go on in the same way, lest you should change for the worse.

Have you but now found out the way to make me an advocate for my sex? You forget, sir, the same thing has happened before. I believe we have both owned that we love a little contradic

tion, as a spur to each other. So I am not only like " my wife," but like my wife's husband. In short, and seriously, we are all like one another, in some degree :-if faults we have, we had them from you. I know a gentleman, who, when he was speaking of any one who had the misfortune to be born of wicked parents, always said, "I have no opinion of him; he is made of bad stuff." And this puts me in mind of our original, the rib, the rib! And there's a bone for you to pick! Pardon the pun, and pertness.

No, sir, I cannot hope that what I have said will amount to a proof of women's superiority, in goodness, to men; any more than I hope for an

acknowledgment of it without a proof. Nevertheless, as you have more power, and do very often abuse that power, we, without doubt, have more to bear from you, than you from us. Without doubt, I say; because you cannot make me believe otherwise.

And have I, do you think, "been severe upon my own sex, yet seem to persuade myself that I was defending them?"

What a blundering brain have I! for ever producing dirt to be thrown in my own face! Though, please to hold your hand a little, for I am not yet sensible of what you accuse me. If any being but man could speak, I would allow that being to talk of women's consciences.

I once had some small acquaintance with lord Orrery, at the time when he was in disgrace with his father, his doating father, as you gently term him-for he had not so just an excuse as dotage, for his behaviour to his son. Yours, &c.

LETTER XLVIII.

MR. SHENSTONE TO A FRIEND.

From Mr. Wintle's, Perfumer, near Tem. ple-Bar, &c. 6th Feb. 1740.

DEAR SIR, I AM now, with regard to the town, pretty much in the same state in which I expect to be always with regard to the world; sometimes exclaiming and railing against it; sometimes giving it a good word, and even admiring it. A sunshiny-day, a

tavern-supper after a play well-acted, and now and then an invigorating breath of air in the Mall, never fail of producing a cheerful effect. I do not know whether I gave you any account of Quin's acting Falstaff in my former letter; I really imagined that I saw you tittering on one side me, shaking your sides, and sometimes scarce containing yourself. You will pardon the attitude in which I placed you, since it was what seemed natural at that circumstance of time-Comus I have once been at, for the sake of the songs, though I detest it in any light; but as a dramatic piece, the taking of it seems a prodigy; yet indeed such a one, as was pretty tolerably accounted for by a gentleman who sat by me in the boxes. This learned sage, being asked how he liked the play, made answer, "He could not tell-pretty well, he thought-or indeed as well as any other playhe always took it, that people only came there to see and be seen-for as for what was said, he owned, he never understood any thing of the matter." I told him, I thought a great many of its admirers were in his case, if they would but own it.

On the other hand, it is amazing to consider to what an universality of learning people make pretensions here. There is not a drawer, a chair, or hackney coachman, but is politician, poet, and judge of polite literature. Chimney-sweepers damn the convention, and black-shoe boys cry up the genius of Shakspeare. "The Danger of writing Verse" is a very good thing; if you have not read it, I would recommend it to you as poetical. But now I talk of learning, I must not omit an interview which I accidentally had the other night

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