<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Sir WATKIN PHILLIPS, Bart. of Jesus college, Oxon. </h2>
<h3> DEAR PHILLIPS, </h3>
<p>As I have nothing more at heart than to convince you I am incapable of
forgetting, or neglecting the friendship I made at college, now begin that
correspondence by letters, which you and I agreed, at parting, to
cultivate. I begin it sooner than I intended, that you may have it in your
power to refute any idle reports which may be circulated to my prejudice
at Oxford, touching a foolish quarrel, in which I have been involved on
account of my sister, who had been some time settled here in a
boarding-school. When I came hither with my uncle and aunt (who are our
guardians) to fetch her away, I found her a fine tall girl, of seventeen,
with an agreeable person; but remarkably simple, and quite ignorant of the
world. This disposition, and want of experience, had exposed her to the
addresses of a person—I know not what to call him, who had seen her
at a play; and, with a confidence and dexterity peculiar to himself, found
means to be recommended to her acquaintance. It was by the greatest
accident I intercepted one of his letters; as it was my duty to stifle
this correspondence in its birth, I made it my business to find him out,
and tell him very freely my sentiments of the matter. The spark did not
like the stile I used, and behaved with abundance of mettle. Though his
rank in life (which, by the bye, I am ashamed to declare) did not entitle
him to much deference; yet as his behaviour was remarkably spirited, I
admitted him to the privilege of a gentleman, and something might have
happened, had not we been prevented.—In short, the business took
air, I know not how, and made abundance of noise—recourse was had to
justice—I was obliged to give my word and honour, &c. and
to-morrow morning we set out for Bristol Wells, where I expect to hear
from you by the return of the post.—I have got into a family of
originals, whom I may one day attempt to describe for your amusement. My
aunt, Mrs Tabitha Bramble, is a maiden of forty-five, exceedingly
starched, vain, and ridiculous.—My uncle is an odd kind of humorist,
always on the fret, and so unpleasant in his manner, that rather than be
obliged to keep him company, I'd resign all claim to the inheritance of
his estate. Indeed his being tortured by the gout may have soured his
temper, and, perhaps, I may like him better on further acquaintance;
certain it is, all his servants and neighbours in the country are fond of
him, even to a degree of enthusiasm, the reason of which I cannot as yet
comprehend. Remember me to Griffy Price, Gwyn, Mansel, Basset, and all the
rest of my old Cambrian companions.—Salute the bedmaker in my name—give
my service to the cook, and pray take care of poor Ponto, for the sake of
his old master, who is, and ever will be,</p>
<p>Dear Phillips, Your affectionate friend, and humble servant, JER. MELFORD
GLOUCESTER, April 2.</p>
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