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<h2> To Sir WATKIN PHILLIPS, of Jesus college, Oxon. </h2>
<h3> DEAR PHILLIPS, </h3>
<p>A few days ago we were terribly alarmed by my uncle's fainting at the ball—He
has been ever since cursing his own folly, for going thither at the
request of an impertinent woman. He declares, he will sooner visit a house
infected with the plague, than trust himself in such a nauseous spital for
the future, for he swears the accident was occasioned by the stench of the
crowd; and that he would never desire a stronger proof of our being made
of very gross materials, than our having withstood the annoyance, by which
he was so much discomposed. For my part, I am very thankful for the
coarseness of my organs, being in no danger of ever falling a sacrifice to
the delicacy of my nose. Mr Bramble is extravagantly delicate in all his
sensations, both of soul and body. I was informed by Dr Lewis, that he
once fought a duel with an officer of the horseguards, for turning aside
to the Park-wall, on a necessary occasion, when he was passing with a lady
under his protection. His blood rises at every instance of insolence and
cruelty, even where he himself is no way concerned; and ingratitude makes
his teeth chatter. On the other hand, the recital of a generous, humane,
or grateful action, never fails to draw from him tears of approbation,
which he is often greatly distressed to conceal.</p>
<p>Yesterday, one Paunceford gave tea, on particular invitation—This
man, after having been long buffetted by adversity, went abroad; and
Fortune, resolved to make him amends for her former coyness, set him all
at once up to the very ears in affluence. He has now emerged from
obscurity, and blazes out in all the tinsel of the times. I don't find
that he is charged with any practices that the law deems dishonest, or
that his wealth has made him arrogant and inaccessible; on the contrary,
he takes great pains to appear affable and gracious. But, they say, he is
remarkable for shrinking from his former friendships, which were generally
too plain and home-spun to appear amidst his present brilliant connexions;
and that he seems uneasy at sight of some old benefactors, whom a man of
honour would take pleasure to acknowledge—Be that as it may, he had
so effectually engaged the company at Bath, that when I went with my uncle
to the coffeehouse in the evening, there was not a soul in the room but
one person, seemingly in years, who sat by the fire, reading one of the
papers. Mr Bramble, taking his station close by him, 'There is such a
crowd and confusion of chairs in the passage to Simpson's (said he) that
we could hardly get along—I wish those minions of fortune would fall
upon more laudable ways of spending their money.—I suppose, Sir, you
like this kind of entertainment as little as I do?' 'I cannot say I have
any great relish for such entertainments,' answered the other, without
taking his eyes off the paper—'Mr Serle (resumed my uncle) I beg
pardon for interrupting you; but I can't resist the curiosity I have to
know if you received a card on this occasion?'</p>
<p>The man seemed surprised at this address, and made some pause, as doubtful
what answer he should make. 'I know my curiosity is impertinent (added my
uncle) but I have a particular reason for asking the favour.' 'If that be
the case (replied Mr Serle) I shall gratify you without hesitation, by
owning that I have had no card. But, give me leave, Sir, to ask in my
turn, what reason you think I have to expect such an invitation from the
gentleman who gives tea?' 'I have my own reasons (cried Mr Bramble, with
some emotion) and am convinced, more than ever, that this Paunceford is a
contemptible fellow.' 'Sir (said the other, laying down the paper) I have
not the honour to know you; but your discourse is a little mysterious, and
seems to require some explanation. The person you are pleased to treat so
cavalierly, is a gentleman of some consequence in the community; and, for
aught you know, I may also have my particular reasons for defending his
character'—'If I was not convinced of the contrary (observed the
other) I should not have gone so far'—'Let me tell you, Sir (said
the stranger, raising his voice) you have gone too far, in hazarding such
reflections'.</p>
<p>Here he was interrupted by my uncle; who asked peevishly if he was Don
Quixote enough, at this time of day, to throw down his gauntlet as
champion for a man who had treated him with such ungrateful neglect. 'For
my part (added he) I shall never quarrel with you again upon this subject;
and what I have said now, has been suggested as much by my regard for you,
as by my contempt of him'—Mr Serle, then pulling off his spectacles,
eyed uncle very earnestly, saying, in a mitigated tone, 'Surely I am much
obliged—Ah, Mr Bramble! I now recollect your features, though I have
not seen you these many years.' 'We might have been less strangers to one
another (answered the squire) if our correspondence had not been
interrupted, in consequence of a misunderstanding, occasioned by this very—,
but no matter—Mr Serle, I esteem your character; and my friendship,
such as it is, you may freely command.' 'The offer is too agreeable to be
declined (said he); I embrace it very cordially; and, as the first fruits
of it, request that you will change this subject, which, with me, is a
matter of peculiar delicacy.'</p>
<p>My uncle owned he was in the right, and the discourse took a more general
turn. Mr Serle passed the evening with us at our lodgings; and appeared to
be intelligent, and even entertaining; but his disposition was rather of a
melancholy hue. My uncle says he is a man of uncommon parts, and
unquestioned probity: that his fortune, which was originally small, has
been greatly hurt by a romantic spirit of generosity, which he has often
displayed, even at the expence of his discretion, in favour of worthless
individuals—That he had rescued Paunceford from the lowest distress,
when he was bankrupt, both in means and reputation—That he had
espoused his interests with a degree of enthusiasm, broke with several
friends, and even drawn his sword against my uncle, who had particular
reasons for questioning the moral character of the said Paunceford: that,
without Serle's countenance and assistance, the other never could have
embraced the opportunity, which has raised him to this pinnacle of wealth:
that Paunceford, in the first transports of his success, had written, from
abroad, letters to different correspondents, owning his obligations to Mr
Serle, in the warmest terms of acknowledgement, and declared he considered
himself only as a factor for the occasions of his best friend: that,
without doubt, he had made declarations of the same nature to his
benefactor himself, though this last was always silent and reserved on the
subject; but for some years, those tropes and figures of rhetoric had been
disused; that, upon his return to England, he had been lavish in his
caresses to Mr Serle, invited him to his house, and pressed him to make it
his own: that he had overwhelmed him with general professions, and
affected to express the warmest regard for him, in company of their common
acquaintance; so that every body believed his gratitude was liberal as his
fortune; and some went so far as to congratulate Mr Serle on both.</p>
<p>All this time Paunceford carefully and artfully avoided particular
discussions with his old patron, who had too much spirit to drop the most
distant hint of balancing the account of obligation: that, nevertheless, a
man of his feelings could not but resent this shocking return for all his
kindness: and, therefore, he withdrew himself from the connexion, without
coming to the least explanation or speaking a syllable on the subject to
any living soul; so that now their correspondence is reduced to a slight
salute with the hat, when they chance to meet in any public place; an
accident that rarely happens, for their walks lie different ways. Mr
Paunceford lives in a palace, feeds upon dainties, is arrayed in sumptuous
apparel, appears in all the pomp of equipage, and passes his time among
the nobles of the land. Serle lodges in Stall-street, up two pair of
stairs backwards, walks a-foot in a Bath-rug, eats for twelve shillings
a-week, and drinks water as preservative against the gout and gravel—Mark
the vicissitude. Paunceford once resided in a garret; where he subsisted
upon sheep's-trotters and cow-heel, from which commons he was translated
to the table of Serle, that ever abounded with good-chear; until want of
economy and retention reduced him to a slender annuity in his decline of
years, that scarce affords the bare necessaries of life.—Paunceford,
however, does him the honour to speak of him still, with uncommon regard;
and to declare what pleasure it would give him to contribute in any shape
to his convenience: 'But you know (he never fails to add) he's a shy kind
of a man—And then such a perfect philosopher, that he looks upon all
superfluities with the most sovereign contempt. Having given you this
sketch of squire Paunceford, I need not make any comment on his character,
but leave it at the mercy of your own reflection; from which I dare say,
it will meet with as little quarter as it has found with</p>
<p>Yours always, J. MELFORD BATH, May 10.</p>
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