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<h2> To Mrs GWYLLIM, house-keeper at Brambleton-hall. </h2>
<p>I am astonished that Dr Lewis should take upon him to give away Alderney,
without my privity and concurrants—What signifies my brother's
order? My brother is little better than Noncompush. He would give away the
shirt off his back, and the teeth out of his head; nay, as for that
matter; he would have ruinated the family with his ridiculous charities,
if it had not been for my four quarters—What between his
willfullness and his waste, his trumps, and his frenzy, I lead the life of
an indented slave. Alderney gave four gallons a-day, ever since the calf
was sent to market. There is so much milk out of my dairy, and the press
must stand still: but I won't loose a cheese pairing; and the milk shall
be made good, if the sarvents should go without butter. If they must needs
have butter, let them make it of sheep's milk; but then my wool will
suffer for want of grace; so that I must be a loser on all sides. Well,
patience is like a stout Welsh poney; it bears a great deal, and trots a
great way; but it will tire at the long run. Before its long, perhaps I
may shew Matt, that I was not born to be the household drudge to my dying
day—Gwyn rites from Crickhowel, that the price of flannel is fallen
three-farthings an ell; and that's another good penny out of my pocket.
When I go to market to sell, my commodity stinks; but when I want to buy
the commonest thing, the owner pricks it up under my nose; and it can't be
had for love nor money—I think everything runs cross at
Brambleton-hall—You say the gander has broke the eggs; which is a
phinumenon I don't understand: for when the fox carried off the old goose
last year, he took her place, and hatched the eggs, and partected the
goslings like a tender parent—Then you tell me the thunder has
soured two barrels of beer in the seller. But how the thunder should get
there, when the seller was double-locked, I can't comprehend. Howsomever,
I won't have the beer thrown out, till I see it with my own eyes. Perhaps,
it will recover—At least it will serve for vinegar to the servants.—You
may leave off the fires in my brother's chamber and mine, as it is
unsartain when we return.—I hope, Gwyllim, you'll take care there is
no waste; and have an eye to the maids, and keep them to their spinning. I
think they may go very well without beer in hot weather—it serves
only to inflame the blood, and set them a-gog after the men. Water will
make them fair and keep them cool and tamperit. Don't forget to put up in
the portmantel, that cums with Williams, along with my riding-habit, hat,
and feather, the viol of purl water, and the tincktur for my stomach;
being as how I am much troubled with flutterencies. This is all at
present, from</p>
<p>Yours, TABITHA BRAMBLE BATH, April 26.</p>
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