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• Mr. Spectator, • I DO not know that you have ever touched upon a certain species of women, whom we ordinarily call Jilts. You cannot possibly go upon a more useful
work, than the consideration of these dangerous ani• mals. The coquette is indeed one degree towards • the jilt; but the heart of the former is bent upon
admiring herself, and giving false hopes to herlovers; • but the latter is not contented to be extremely amia<ble, but she must add to that advantage a certain • delight in being a torment to others. Thus, when « her lover is in the full expectation of success, the
jilt shall meet him with a sudden indifference, and « admiration in her face at his being surprised that he • is received like a stranger, and a cast of her head 6 another way with a pleasant scorn of the fellow's in. • solence. It is very probable the lover goes home, ( utterly astonished and dejected, sits down to his scru
toir, sends her word in the most abject terms, that • he knows not what he has done ; that all which was • desirable in this life is so suddenly vanished from • him, that the charmer of his soul should withdraw «the vital heat from the heart which pants for her. • He continues a mournful absence for some time,
pining in secret, and out of humour with all things ( which he meets with. At length he takes a resolu« tion to try his fate, and explain with her resolutely
upon her unaccountable carriage. He walks up to « her apartment, with a thousand inquietudes and - doubts in what manner he shall meet the first cast of - her eye ; when upon his first appearance she flies
towards him, wonders where he has been, accuses • him of his absence, and treats him with a familiari.
ty as surprising as her former coldness. This good correspondence continues until the lady observes the
lover grows happy in it, and then she interrupts it (with some new inconsistency of behaviour. For (as • I just now said) the happiness of a jilt consists only
! in the power of making others uneasy. But such
is the folly of this sect of women, that they carry on this pretty skittish behaviour, until they have no + charms left to render it supportable. Corinna, that • used to torment all who conversed with her with false
glances, and little heedless unguarded motions, that | were to betray some inclination towards the man she
would ensnare, finds at present all she attempts that way unregarded ; and is obliged to indulge the jilt
in her constitution, by laying artificial plots, writing * perplexing letters from unknown hands, and making • all the young fellows in love with her, until they
find out who she is. Thus, ás before she gave tor• ment by disguising her inclination, she now is obliged « to do it by hiding her person.
• As for my own part, Mr. Spectator, it has been
my unhappy fate to be jiited from my youth up- ward ; and as my taste has been very much towards 'intrigue, and having intelligence with women of
wit, my whole life has passed away in a series of “ impositions. I shall, for the benefit of the present race
of young men, give some account of my loves. " I know not whether you have ever heard of the fa
mous girl about town called Kitty ; This creature • (for I must take shame upon myself) was my mis
tress in the days when keeping was in fashion. • Kitty, under the appearance of being will, thought« less, and irregular in all her words and actions, con
cealed the most accomplished jilt of her time. Her
negligence had to me a charm in it like that of -6 chastity, and want of desires seemed as great a ( merit as the conquest of them.
The air she gave • herself was that of a romping girl, and whenever I (talked to her with any turn of fondness, she would (immediately snatch off my periwig, try it upon her
self in the glass, clap her arms a-kimbuw, draw ( my sword, and make passes on the wall, take off
my cravat, and seize it to make some other use of
• the lace, or run into some other unaccountable • rompishness, till the time I had appointed to pass
away with her was over. I went from her full of • pleasure at the reflection that I had the keeping of
so much beauty in a woman, who, as she was too sheedless to please me, was also too unattentive to • form a design to wrong me. Long did I divert
every hour that hung heavy upon me in the company ' of this creature, whom I looked upon as neither
guilty nor innocent, but could laugh at myself for my unaccountable pleasure in an expence upon her, • until in the end it appeared my pretty insensible was with child by my footman.
“This accident roused me into disdain against all • libertine women, under what appearance soever they • hid their insincerity, and I resolved after that time
to converse with none but those who lived within " the rules of decency and honour. To this end I • formed myself into a more regular turn of behavis (our, and began to make visits, frequent assemblies, • and lead out ladies from the theatres, with all the
other insignificant duties which the professed ser
vants of the fair place themselves in constant rea• diness to perform. In a very little time, (having a < plentiful fortune) fathers and mothers began to re• gard me as a good match, and I found easy admit
tance into the best families in town to observe their • daughters; but I, who was born to follow the fair to
no purpose, have the force of my ill stars made. • my application to three jilts successively.
• Hyæna is one of those who form themselves
into a melancholy and indolent air, and endeavour o to gain admirers from their inattention to all around " them. Hyæna can loll in her coach, with some" thing so fixed in her countenance, that it is impos- .
sible to conceive her meditation is employed only « in her dress and her charms in that posture. If it
were not too coarse a simile, I should say, Hyæna,
in the figure she affects to appear in, is a spider in " the midst of a cobweb, that is sure to destroy every
fly that approaches it. The net Hyæna throws is so fine, that you are taken in it before you can observe any part of her work. I attempted her for a
long and weary season, but I found her passion I went no farther than to be admired ; and she is of that unreasonable temper, as not to value the inconstancy of her lovers, provided she can boast she once had their addresses.
• Biblis was the second I aimed at, and her vanity • lay in purchasing the adorers of others, and not in * rejoicing in their love itself. Biblis is no man's
mistress, but every woman's rival. As soon as I found this, I fell in love with Cloe, who is my present pleasure and torment. I have writ to her, danced " with her, and fought for her, and have been her
man in the sight and expectation of the whole town • these three years, and thought myself near the end
of my wishes ; when the other day she called me ( into her closet and told me, with a very grave face, " that she was a woman of honour, and scorned to • deceive any man who loved her with so much sin' cerity as she saw I did, and therefore she must in• form me she was by nature the most inconstant
creature breathing, and begged of me not to marry her; if I insisted upon it, I should ; but that she was lately fallen in love with another. What to do
I know not, but desire you to inform me, 6 and you will infinitely oblige,
• Your most humble servant,
ADVERTISEMENT. “ Mr. Sly, Haberdasher of hats, at the corner of « Devereux-Court, in the Strand, gives notice, that " he has prepared very neat hats, rubbers, and “ brushes for the use of young tradesmen in the last year of their apprenticeship, at reasonable rates."
It gives me pleasure to be praised by you, whom all
HE is a very unhappy man who sets his heart upon being admired by the multitude, or affects a general and undistinguished applause among men.
What pious men call the testimony of a good conscience, should be the measure of our ambition in this kind ; that is to say, a man of spirit should contemn the praise of the ignorant, and like being applauded for nothing but what he knows in his own heart he deserves. Besides which the character of the person who commends you is to be considered, before you' set a value upon his esteem. The praise of an ignorant man is only good-will, and you should receive his kindness as he is a good neighbour in society, and not as a good judge of your actions in point of fame and reputation. The satirist said very well of popular praise and acclamations, « Give the tinkers and coblers their presents again, and learn to live of yourself.” It is an argument of a loose and ungovern. ed mind to be affected with the promiscuous approbation of the generality of mankind ; and a man of virtue should be too delicate for so coarse an appetite of fame. Men of honour should endeavour only to