fell’d them. Her Breath is her owne, which sents all the Yeere long
of _June_, like a new made Hay-cocke. Shee makes her Hand hard with
Labour, and her Heart soft with Pitty: And when Winter Evenings fall
early (sitting at her merry Wheele) she sings a Defiance to the giddy
Wheele of Fortune. Shee doth all things with so sweet a Grace it
seemes _Ignorance_ will not suffer her to do Ill, being her Minde is
to do Well. Shee bestowes her Yeeres Wages at next Faire; and in
chusing her Garments, counts no Bravery i’th’ World, like Decency. The
Garden and Bee-hive are all her Physicke and Chyrurgerie, and shee
lives the longer for’t. Shee dares goe alone, and unfold Sheepe i’th’
Night, and feares no manner of Ill, because shee meanes none: Yet to
say Truth, shee is never alone, for shee is still accompanied with old
Songs, honest Thoughts, and Prayers, but short ones; yet they have
their Efficacy, in that they are not pauled with insuing idle
Cogitations. Lastly, her Dreames are so chaste, that shee dare tell
them; onely a Fridaies Dreame is all her Superstition; _that_ she
conceales for feare of Anger. Thus lives shee, and all her Care is
shee may die in the Spring-Time, to have Store of Flowers stucke upon
her winding Sheet.

What makes me wonder that no _English_ Writer has ever attempted a
profess’d Performance in the _Characteristic-Way_ is, that we are,
certainly, more able to undertake a Work of this Nature than any other
Nation; because our Countrymen afford a greater Variety of Subject
Matter than any other People.--Human Nature, as I observ’d before, in
its various Forms and Affections, is the Subject of _Characteristic-
Writings_: And from this Diversity of Manners arises that, which is
properly call’d _Humour_, and which, upon a double Account, seems to
be peculiar to our Nation; not only because there is no Word in any
other Language so expressive, but also because there is no Nation, in