<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<h1> THE EXPEDITION OF HUMPHRY CLINKER </h1>
<p><br/></p>
<h2> by Tobias Smollett </h2>
<p><br/></p>
<hr />
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Mr HENRY DAVIS, Bookseller, in London. </h2>
<h3> ABERGAVENNY, Aug. 4. </h3>
<p>RESPECTED SIR,</p>
<p>I have received your esteemed favour of the 13th ultimo, whereby it
appeareth, that you have perused those same Letters, the which were
delivered unto you by my friend, the reverend Mr Hugo Behn; and I am
pleased to find you think they may be printed with a good prospect of
success; in as much as the objections you mention, I humbly conceive, are
such as may be redargued, if not entirely removed—And, first, in the
first place, as touching what prosecutions may arise from printing the
private correspondence of persons still living, give me leave, with all
due submission, to observe, that the Letters in question were not written
and sent under the seal of secrecy; that they have no tendency to the mala
fama, or prejudice of any person whatsoever; but rather to the information
and edification of mankind: so that it becometh a sort of duty to
promulgate them in usum publicum. Besides, I have consulted Mr Davy
Higgins, an eminent attorney of this place, who, after due inspection and
consideration, declareth, That he doth not think the said Letters contain
any matter which will be held actionable in the eye of the law. Finally,
if you and I should come to a right understanding, I do declare in verbo
sacerdotis, that, in case of any such prosecution, I will take the whole
upon my own shoulders, even quoad fine and imprisonment, though, I must
confess, I should not care to undergo flagellation: Tam ad turpitudinem,
quam ad amaritudinem poenoe spectans—Secondly, concerning the
personal resentment of Mr Justice Lismahago, I may say, non flocci facio—I
would not willingly vilipend any Christian, if, peradventure, he deserveth
that epithet: albeit, I am much surprised that more care is not taken to
exclude from the commission all such vagrant foreigners as may be justly
suspected of disaffection to our happy constitution, in church and state—God
forbid that I should be so uncharitable, as to affirm, positively, that
the said Lismahago is no better than a Jesuit in disguise; but this I will
assert and maintain, totis viribus, that, from the day he qualified, he
has never been once seen intra templi parietes, that is to say, within the
parish church.</p>
<p>Thirdly, with respect to what passed at Mr Kendal's table, when the said
Lismahago was so brutal in his reprehensions, I must inform you, my good
Sir, that I was obliged to retire, not by fear arising from his minatory
reproaches, which, as I said above, I value not of a rush; but from the
sudden effect produced, by a barbel's row, which I had eaten at dinner,
not knowing, that the said row is at certain seasons violently cathartic,
as Galen observeth in his chapter Peri ichtos.</p>
<p>Fourthly, and lastly, with reference to the manner in which I got
possession of these Letters, it is a circumstance that concerns my own
conscience only; sufficeth it to say, I have fully satisfied the parties
in whose custody they were; and, by this time, I hope I have also
satisfied you in such ways, that the last hand may be put to our
agreement, and the work proceed with all convenient expedition; in which I
hope I rest,</p>
<p>Respected Sir, Your very humble servant,</p>
<p>JONATHAN DUSTWICH.</p>
<p>P.S. I propose, Deo volente, to have the pleasure of seeing you in the
great city, towards All-hallowtide, when I shall be glad to treat with you
concerning a parcel of MS. sermons, of a certain clergyman deceased; a
cake of the right leaven, for the present taste of the public. Verbum
sapienti, &c.</p>
<p>J.D. <SPAN name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To the Revd. Mr JONATHAN DUSTWICH, at— </h2>
<h3> SIR, </h3>
<p>I received yours in course of post, and shall be glad to treat with you
for the M.S. which I have delivered to your friend Mr Behn; but can by no
means comply with the terms proposed. Those things are so uncertain—Writing
is all a lottery—I have been a loser by the works of the greatest
men of the age—I could mention particulars, and name names; but
don't choose it—The taste of the town is so changeable. Then there
have been so many letters upon travels lately published—What between
Smollett's, Sharp's, Derrick's, Thicknesse's, Baltimore's, and Baretti's,
together with Shandy's Sentimental Travels, the public seems to be cloyed
with that kind of entertainment—Nevertheless, I will, if you please,
run the risque of printing and publishing, and you shall have half the
profits of the impression—You need not take the trouble to bring up
your sermons on my account—No body reads sermons but Methodists and
Dissenters—Besides, for my own part, I am quite a stranger to that
sort of reading; and the two persons, whose judgment I depended upon in
those matters, are out of the way; one is gone abroad, carpenter of a man
of war; and the other, has been silly enough to abscond, in order to avoid
a prosecution for blasphemy—I'm a great loser by his going off—He
has left a manual of devotion half finished on my hands, after having
received money for the whole copy—He was the soundest divine, and
had the most orthodox pen of all my people; and I never knew his judgment
fail, but in flying from his bread and butter on this occasion.</p>
<p>By owning you was not put in bodily fear by Lismahago, you preclude
yourself from the benefit of a good plea, over and above the advantage of
binding him over. In the late war, I inserted in my evening paper, a
paragraph that came by the post, reflecting upon the behaviour of a
certain regiment in battle. An officer of said regiment came to my shop,
and, in the presence of my wife and journeyman, threatened to cut off my
ears—As I exhibited marks of bodily fear more ways than one, to the
conviction of the byestanders, I bound him over; my action lay, and I
recovered. As for flagellation, you have nothing to fear, and nothing to
hope, on that head—There has been but one printer flogged at the
cart's tail these thirty years; that was Charles Watson; and he assured me
it was no more than a flea-bite. C— S— has been threatened
several times by the House of L—; but it came to nothing. If an
information should be moved for, and granted against you, as the editor of
those Letters, I hope you will have honesty and wit enough to appear and
take your trial—If you should be sentenced to the pillory, your
fortune is made—As times go, that's a sure step to honour and
preferment. I shall think myself happy if I can lend you a lift; and am,
very sincerely,</p>
<p>Yours,</p>
<p>HENRY DAVIS. LONDON, Aug. 10th.</p>
<p>Please my kind service to your neighbour, my cousin Madoc—I have
sent an Almanack and Court-kalendar, directed for him at Mr Sutton's,
bookseller, in Gloucester, carriage paid, which he will please to accept
as a small token of my regard. My wife, who is very fond of toasted
cheese, presents her compliments to him, and begs to know if there's any
of that kind, which he was so good as to send us last Christmas, to be
sold in London.</p>
<p>H. D. <SPAN name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"></SPAN></p>
<h2> THE EXPEDITION OF HUMPHRY CLINKER </h2>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Dr LEWIS. </h2>
<h3> DOCTOR, </h3>
<p>The pills are good for nothing—I might as well swallow snowballs to
cool my reins—I have told you over and over how hard I am to move;
and at this time of day, I ought to know something of my own constitution.
Why will you be so positive? Prithee send me another prescription—I
am as lame and as much tortured in all my limbs as if I was broke upon the
wheel: indeed, I am equally distressed in mind and body—As if I had
not plagues enough of my own, those children of my sister are left me for
a perpetual source of vexation—what business have people to get
children to plague their neighbours? A ridiculous incident that happened
yesterday to my niece Liddy, has disordered me in such a manner, that I
expect to be laid up with another fit of the gout—perhaps, I may
explain myself in my next. I shall set out tomorrow morning for the Hot
Well at Bristol, where I am afraid I shall stay longer than I could wish.
On the receipt of this send Williams thither with my saddle-horse and the
demi pique. Tell Barns to thresh out the two old ricks, and send the corn
to market, and sell it off to the poor at a shilling a bushel under market
price.—I have received a snivelling letter from Griffin, offering to
make a public submission and pay costs. I want none of his submissions,
neither will I pocket any of his money. The fellow is a bad neighbour, and
I desire, to have nothing to do with him: but as he is purse-proud, he
shall pay for his insolence: let him give five pounds to the poor of the
parish, and I will withdraw my action; and in the mean time you may tell
Prig to stop proceedings.—Let Morgan's widow have the Alderney cow,
and forty shillings to clothe her children: but don't say a syllable of
the matter to any living soul—I'll make her pay when she is able. I
desire you will lock up all my drawers, and keep the keys till meeting;
and be sure you take the iron chest with my papers into your own custody—Forgive
all, this trouble from,</p>
<p>Dear Lewis, Your affectionate M. BRAMBLE GLOUCESTER, April 2.</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Mrs GWYLLIM, house-keeper at Brambleton-hall. </h2>
<h3> MRS GWILLIM, </h3>
<p>When this cums to hand, be sure to pack up in the trunk male that stands
in my closet; to be sent me in the Bristol waggon without loss of time,
the following articles, viz. my rose collard neglejay with green robins,
my yellow damask, and my black velvets with the short hoop; my bloo
quilted petticot, my green mantel, my laced apron, my French commode,
Macklin head and lappets and the litel box with my jowls. Williams may
bring over my bum-daffee, and the viol with the easings of Dr Hill's
dockwater and Chowder's lacksitif. The poor creature has been terribly
stuprated ever since we left huom. Pray take particular care of the house
while the family is absent. Let there be a fire constantly kept in my
brother's chamber and mine. The maids, having nothing to do, may be sat a
spinning. I desire you'll clap a pad-luck on the wind-seller, and let none
of the men have excess to the strong bear—don't forget to have the
gate shit every evening be dark—The gardnir and the hind may lie
below in the landry, to partake the house, with the blunderbuss and the
great dog; and hope you'll have a watchful eye over the maids. I know that
hussy Mary Jones, loves to be rumping with the men. Let me know Alderney's
calf be sould yet, and what he fought—if the ould goose be sitting;
and if the cobler has cut Dicky, and how pore anemil bore the operation.
No more at present, but rests,</p>
<p>Yours, TABITHA BRAMBLE GLOSTAR, April 2.</p>
<p>TO Mrs MARY JONES, at Brambleton-hall.</p>
<p>DEAR MOLLY,</p>
<p>Heaving this importunity, I send, my love to you and Saul, being in good
health, and hoping to hear the same from you; and that you and Saul will
take my poor kitten to bed with you this cold weather. We have been all
in, a sad taking here at Glostar—Miss Liddy had like to have run
away with a player-man, and young master and he would adone themselves a
mischief; but the squire applied to the mare, and they were, bound over.—Mistress
bid me not speak a word of the matter to any Christian soul—no more
I shall; for, we servints should see all and say nothing— But what
was worse than all this, Chowder has had the misfortune to be worried by a
butcher's dog, and came home in a terrible pickle—Mistress was taken
with the asterisks, but they soon went off. The doctor was sent for to
Chowder, and he subscribed a repository which did him great service—thank
God he's now in a fair way to do well—pray take care of my box and
the pillyber and put them under your own bed; for, I do suppose madam,
Gwyllim will be a prying into my secrets, now my back is turned. John
Thomas is in good health, but sulky. The squire gave away an ould coat to
a poor man; and John says as, how 'tis robbing him of his perquisites.—I
told him, by his agreement he was to receive no vails; but he says as how
there's a difference betwixt vails and perquisites; and so there is for
sartain. We are all going to the Hot Well, where I shall drink your health
in a glass of water, being,</p>
<p>Dear Molly, Your humble servant to command, W. JENKINS GLOSTAR, April 2nd.</p>
<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>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Mrs JERMYN at her house in Gloucester. </h2>
<h3> DEAR MADAM, </h3>
<p>Having no mother of my own, I hope you will give me leave to disburden my
poor heart to you, who have always acted the part of a kind parent to me,
ever since I was put under your care. Indeed, and indeed, my worthy
governess may believe me, when I assure her, that I never harboured a
thought that was otherwise than virtuous; and, if God will give me grace,
I shall never behave so as to cast a reflection on the care you have taken
in my education. I confess I have given just cause of offence by my want
of prudence and experience. I ought not to have listened to what the young
man said; and it was my duty to have told you all that passed, but I was
ashamed to mention it; and then he behaved so modest and respectful, and
seemed to be so melancholy and timorous, that I could not find in my heart
to do any thing that should make him miserable and desperate. As for
familiarities, I do declare, I never once allowed him the favour of a:
salute; and as to the few letters that passed between us, they are all in
my uncle's hands, and I hope they contain nothing contrary to innocence
and honour.—I am still persuaded that he is not what he appears to
be: but time will discover—mean while I will endeavour to forget a
connexion, which is so displeasing to my family. I have cried without
ceasing, and have not tasted any thing but tea, since I was hurried away
from you; nor did I once close my eyes for three nights running.—My
aunt continues to chide me severely when we are by ourselves; but I hope
to soften her in time, by humility and submission.—My uncle, who was
so dreadfully passionate in the beginning, has been moved by my tears and
distress; and is now all tenderness and compassion; and my brother is
reconciled to me on my promise to break off all correspondence with that
unfortunate youth; but, notwithstanding all their indulgence, I shall have
no peace of mind till I know my dear and ever honoured governess has
forgiven her poor, disconsolate, forlorn,</p>
<p>Affectionate humble servant, till death, LYDIA MELFORD CLIFTON, April 6.</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Miss LAETITIA WILLIS, at Gloucester. </h2>
<h3> MY DEAREST LETTY, </h3>
<p>I am in such a fright, lest this should not come safe to hand by the
conveyance of Jarvis the carrier, that I beg you will write me, on the
receipt of it, directing to me, under cover, to Mrs Winifred Jenkins, my
aunt's maid, who is a good girl, and has been so kind to me in my
affliction, that I have made her my confidant; as for Jarvis, he was very
shy of taking charge of my letter and the little parcel, because his
sister Sally had like to have lost her place on my account: indeed I
cannot blame the man for his caution; but I have made it worth his while.—My
dear companion and bed-fellow, it is a grievous addition to my other
misfortunes, that I am deprived of your agreeable company and
conversation, at a time when I need so much the comfort of your good
humour and good sense; but, I hope, the friendship we contracted at
boarding-school, will last for life—I doubt not but on my side it
will daily increase and improve, as I gain experience, and learn to know
the value of a true friend. O, my dear Letty! what shall I say about poor
Mr Wilson? I have promised to break off all correspondence, and, if
possible, to forget him: but, alas! I begin to perceive that will not be
in my power. As it is by no means proper that the picture should remain in
my hands, lest it should be the occasion of more mischief, I have sent it
to you by this opportunity, begging you will either keep it safe till
better times, or return it to Mr Wilson himself, who, I suppose, will make
it his business to see you at the usual place. If he should be
low-spirited at my sending back his picture, you may tell him I have no
occasion for a picture, while the original continues engraved on my—But
no; I would not have you tell him that neither; because there must be an
end of our correspondence—I wish he may forget me, for the sake of
his own peace; and yet if he should, he must be a barbarous—But it
is impossible—poor Wilson cannot be false and inconstant: I beseech
him not to write to me, nor attempt to see me for some time; for,
considering the resentment and passionate temper of my brother Jery, such
an attempt might be attended with consequences which would make us all
miserable for life—let us trust to time and the chapter of
accidents; or rather to that Providence which will not fail, sooner or
later, to reward those that walk in the paths of honour and virtue. I
would offer my love to the young ladies; but it is not fit that any of
them should know you have received this letter.—If we go to Bath, I
shall send you my simple remarks upon that famous center of polite
amusement, and every other place we may chance to visit; and I flatter
myself that my dear Miss Willis will be punctual in answering the letters
of her affectionate,</p>
<p>LYDIA MELFORD CLIFTON, April 6.</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Dr LEWIS. </h2>
<h3> DEAR LEWIS, </h3>
<p>I have followed your directions with some success, and might have been
upon my legs by this time, had the weather permitted me to use my
saddle-horse. I rode out upon the Downs last Tuesday, in the forenoon,
when the sky, as far as the visible horizon, was without a cloud; but
before I had gone a full mile, I was overtaken instantaneously by a storm
of rain that wet me to the skin in three minutes—whence it came the
devil knows; but it has laid me up (I suppose) for one fortnight. It makes
me sick to hear people talk of the fine air upon Clifton-downs: How can
the air be either agreeable or salutary, where the demon of vapours
descends in a perpetual drizzle? My confinement is the more intolerable,
as I am surrounded with domestic vexations. My niece has had a dangerous
fit of illness, occasioned by that cursed incident at Gloucester, which I
mentioned in my last.—She is a poor good-natured simpleton, as soft
as butter, and as easily melted—not that she's a fool—the
girl's parts are not despicable, and her education has not been neglected;
that is to say, she can write and spell, and speak French, and play upon
the harpsichord; then she dances finely, has a good figure, and is very
well inclined; but, she's deficient in spirit, and so susceptible—and
so tender forsooth!—truly, she has got a languishing eye, and reads
romances.—Then there's her brother, 'squire Jery, a pert jackanapes,
full of college-petulance and self-conceit; proud as a German count, and
as hot and hasty as a Welch mountaineer. As for that fantastical animal,
my sister Tabby, you are no stranger to her qualifications—I vow to
God, she is sometimes so intolerable, that I almost think she's the devil
incarnate come to torment me for my sins; and yet I am conscious of no
sins that ought to entail such family-plagues upon me—why the devil
should not I shake off these torments at once? I an't married to Tabby,
thank Heaven! nor did I beget the other two: let them choose another
guardian: for my part I an't in a condition to take care of myself; much
less to superintend the conduct of giddy-headed boys and girls. You
earnestly desire to know the particulars of our adventure at Gloucester,
which are briefly these, and I hope they will go no further:—Liddy
had been so long copped up in a boarding-school, which, next to a nunnery,
is the worst kind of seminary that ever was contrived for young women,
that she became as inflammable as touch-wood; and going to a play in
holiday-time,—'sdeath, I'm ashamed to tell you! she fell in love
with one of the actors—a handsome young fellow that goes by the name
of Wilson. The rascal soon perceived the impression he had made, and
managed matters so as to see her at a house where she went to drink tea
with her governess.—This was the beginning of a correspondence,
which they kept up by means of a jade of a milliner, who made and dressed
caps for the girls at the boarding-school. When we arrived at Gloucester,
Liddy came to stay at lodgings with her aunt, and Wilson bribed the maid
to deliver a letter into her own hands; but it seems Jery had already
acquired so much credit with the maid (by what means he best knows) that
she carried the letter to him, and so the whole plot was discovered. The
rash boy, without saying a word of the matter to me, went immediately in
search of Wilson; and, I suppose, treated him with insolence enough. The
theatrical hero was too far gone in romance to brook such usage: he
replied in blank verse, and a formal challenge ensued. They agreed to meet
early next morning and decide the dispute with sword and pistol. I heard
nothing at all of the affair, till Mr Morley came to my bed-side in the
morning, and told me he was afraid my nephew was going to fight, as he had
been overheard talking very loud and vehement with Wilson at the young
man's lodgings the night before, and afterwards went and bought powder and
ball at a shop in the neighbourhood. I got up immediately, and upon
inquiry found he was just going out. I begged Morley to knock up the
mayor, that he might interpose as a magistrate, and in the mean time I
hobbled after the squire, whom I saw at a distance walking at a great pace
towards the city gate—in spite of all my efforts, I could not come
up till our two combatants had taken their ground, and were priming their
pistols. An old house luckily screened me from their view; so that I
rushed upon them at once, before I was perceived. They were both
confounded, and attempted to make their escape different ways; but Morley
coming up with constables, at that instant, took Wilson into custody, and
Jery followed him quietly to the mayor's house. All this time I was
ignorant of what had passed the preceding day; and neither of the parties
would discover a tittle of the matter. The mayor observed that it was
great presumption in Wilson, who was a stroller, to proceed to such
extremities with a gentleman of family and fortune; and threatened to
commit him on the vagrant act.—The young fellow bustled up with
great spirit, declaring he was a gentleman, and would be treated as such;
but he refused to explain himself further. The master of the company being
sent for, and examined, touching the said Wilson, said the young man had
engaged with him at Birmingham about six months ago; but never would take
his salary; that he had behaved so well in his private character, as to
acquire the respect and good-will of all his acquaintance, and that the
public owned his merit as an actor was altogether extraordinary.—After
all, I fancy, he will turn out to be a run-away prentice from London.—The
manager offered to bail him for any sum, provided he would give his word
and honour that he would keep the peace; but the young gentleman was on
his high ropes, and would by no means lay himself under any restrictions:
on the other hand, Hopeful was equally obstinate; till at length the mayor
declared, that if they both refused to be bound over, he would immediately
commit Wilson as a vagrant to hard labour. I own I was much pleased with
Jery's behaviour on this occasion: he said, that rather than Mr Wilson
should be treated in such an ignominious manner, he would give his word
and honour to prosecute the affair no further while they remained at
Gloucester—Wilson thanked him for his generous manner of proceeding,
and was discharged. On our return to our lodgings, my nephew explained the
whole mystery; and I own I was exceedingly incensed—Liddy being
questioned on the subject, and very severely reproached by that wildcat my
sister Tabby, first swooned away, then dissolving in a flood of tears,
confessed all the particulars of the correspondence, at the same time
giving up three letters, which was all she had received from her admirer.
The last, which Jery intercepted, I send you inclosed, and when you have
read it, I dare say you won't wonder at the progress the writer had made
in the heart of a simple girl, utterly unacquainted with the characters of
mankind. Thinking it was high time to remove her from such a dangerous
connexion, I carried her off the very next day to Bristol; but the poor
creature was so frightened and fluttered, by our threats and
expostulations, that she fell sick the fourth day after our arrival at
Clifton, and continued so ill for a whole week, that her life was
despaired of. It was not till yesterday that Dr Rigge declared her out of
danger. You cannot imagine what I have suffered, partly from the
indiscretion of this poor child, but much more from the fear of losing her
entirely. This air is intolerably cold, and the place quite solitary—I
never go down to the Well without returning low-spirited; for there I meet
with half a dozen poor emaciated creatures, with ghostly looks, in the
last stage of a consumption, who have made shift to linger through the
winter like so many exotic plants languishing in a hot-house; but in all
appearance, will drop into their graves before the sun has warmth enough
to mitigate the rigour of this ungenial spring.—If you think the
Bath-water will be of any service to me, I will go thither so soon as my
niece can bear the motion of the coach. Tell Barns I am obliged to him for
his advice; but don't choose to follow it. If Davis voluntarily offers to
give up the farm, the other shall have it; but I will not begin at this
time of day to distress my tenants, because they are unfortunate, and
cannot make regular payments: I wonder that Barns should think me capable
of such oppression—As for Higgins, the fellow is a notorious
poacher, to be sure; and an impudent rascal to set his snares in my own
paddock; but, I suppose, he thought he had some right (especially in my
absence) to partake of what nature seems to have intended for common use—you
may threaten him in my name, as much as you please, and if he repeats the
offence, let me know it before you have recourse to justice.—I know
you are a great sportsman, and oblige many of your friends: I need not
tell you to make use of my grounds; but it may be necessary to hint, that
I am more afraid of my fowling-piece than of my game. When you can spare
two or three brace of partridges, send them over by the stagecoach, and
tell Gwyllim that she forgot to pack up my flannel and wide shoes in the
trunk-mail—I shall trouble you as usual, from time to time, till at
last I suppose you will be tired of corresponding with</p>
<p>Your assured friend, M. BRAMBLE CLIFTON, April 17.</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Miss LYDIA MELFORD. </h2>
<p>Miss Willis has pronounced my doom—you are going away, dear Miss
Melford!—you are going to be removed, I know not whither! what shall
I do? which way shall I turn for consolation? I know not what I say—all
night long have I been tossed in a sea of doubts and fears, uncertainty
and distraction, without being able to connect my thoughts, much less to
form any consistent plan of conduct—I was even tempted to wish that
I had never seen you; or that you had been less amiable, or less
compassionate to your poor Wilson; and yet it would be detestable
ingratitude in me to form such a wish, considering how much I am indebted
to your goodness, and the ineffable pleasure I have derived from your
indulgence and approbation—Good God! I never heard your name
mentioned without emotion! the most distant prospect of being admitted to
your company, filled my whole soul with a kind of pleasing alarm! as the
time approached, my heart beat with redoubled force, and every nerve
thrilled with a transport of expectation; but, when I found myself
actually in your presence;—when I heard you speak;—when I saw
you smile; when I beheld your charming eyes turned favourably upon me; my
breast was filled with such tumults of delight, as wholly deprived me of
the power of utterance, and wrapt me in a delirium of joy!—encouraged
by your sweetness of temper and affability, I ventured to describe the
feelings of my heart—even then you did not check my presumption—you
pitied my sufferings and gave me leave to hope you put a favourable—perhaps
too favourable a construction, on my appearance—certain it is, I am
no player in love—I speak the language of my own heart; and have no
prompter but nature. Yet there is something in this heart, which I have
not yet disclosed.—I flattered myself—But, I will not—I
must not proceed. Dear Miss Liddy! for Heaven's sake, contrive, if
possible, some means of letting me speak to you before you leave
Gloucester; otherwise, I know not what will—But I begin to rave
again.—I will endeavour to bear this trial with fortitude—while
I am capable of reflecting upon your tenderness and truth, I surely have
no cause to despair—a cloud hangs over me, and there is a dreadful
weight upon my spirits! While you stay in this place, I shall continually
hover about your lodgings, as the parted soul is said to linger about the
grave where its mortal comfort lies.—I know, if it is in your power,
you will task your humanity—your compassion—shall I add, your
affection?—in order to assuage the almost intolerable disquiet that
torments the heart of your afflicted,</p>
<p>WILSON GLOUCESTER, March 31.</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Sir WATKIN PHILLIPS, of Jesus college, Oxon. </h2>
<h3> HOT WELL, April 18. </h3>
<p>DEAR PHILLIPS,</p>
<p>I give Mansel credit for his invention, in propagating the report that I
had a quarrel with a mountebank's merry Andrew at Gloucester: but I have
too much respect for every appendage of wit, to quarrel even with the
lowest buffoonery; and therefore I hope Mansel and I shall always be good
friends. I cannot, however, approve of his drowning my poor dog Ponto, on
purpose to convert Ovid's pleonasm into a punning epitaph,—deerant
quoque Littora Ponto: for, that he threw him into the Isis, when it was so
high and impetuous, with no other view than to kill the fleas, is an
excuse that will not hold water—But I leave poor Ponto to his fate,
and hope Providence will take care to accommodate Mansel with a drier
death.</p>
<p>As there is nothing that can be called company at the Well, I am here in a
state of absolute rustication: This, however, gives me leisure to observe
the singularities in my uncle's character, which seems to have interested
your curiosity. The truth is, his disposition and mine, which, like oil
and vinegar, repelled one another at first, have now begun to mix by dint
of being beat up together. I was once apt to believe him a complete Cynic;
and that nothing but the necessity of his occasions could compel him to
get within the pale of society—I am now of another opinion. I think
his peevishness arises partly from bodily pain, and partly from a natural
excess of mental sensibility; for, I suppose, the mind as well as the
body, is in some cases endued with a morbid excess of sensation.</p>
<p>I was t'other day much diverted with a conversation that passed in the
Pump-room, betwixt him and the famous Dr L—n, who is come to ply at
the Well for patients. My uncle was complaining of the stink, occasioned
by the vast quantity of mud and slime which the river leaves at low ebb
under the windows of the Pumproom. He observed, that the exhalations
arising from such a nuisance, could not but be prejudicial to the weak
lungs of many consumptive patients, who came to drink the water. The
Doctor overhearing this remark, made up to him, and assured him he was
mistaken. He said, people in general were so misled by vulgar prejudices
that philosophy was hardly sufficient to undeceive them. Then humming
thrice, he assumed a most ridiculous solemnity of aspect, and entered into
a learned investigation of the nature of stink. He observed, that stink,
or stench, meant no more than a strong impression on the olfactory nerves;
and might be applied to substances of the most opposite qualities; that in
the Dutch language, stinken signifies the most agreeable perfume, as well
as the most fetid odour, as appears in Van Vloudel's translation of
Horace, in that beautiful ode, Quis multa gracilis, &c.—The
words fiquidis perfusus odoribus, he translates van civet & moschata
gestinken: that individuals differed toto coelo in their opinion of
smells, which, indeed, was altogether as arbitrary as the opinion of
beauty; that the French were pleased with the putrid effluvia of animal
food; and so were the Hottentots in Africa, and the Savages in Greenland;
and that the Negroes on the coast of Senegal would not touch fish till it
was rotten; strong presumptions in favour of what is generally called
stink, as those nations are in a state of nature, undebauched by luxury,
unseduced by whim and caprice: that he had reason to believe the
stercoraceous flavour, condemned by prejudice as a stink, was, in fact,
most agreeable to the organs of smelling; for, that every person who
pretended to nauseate the smell of another's excretions, snuffed up his
own with particular complacency; for the truth of which he appealed to all
the ladies and gentlemen then present: he said, the inhabitants of Madrid
and Edinburgh found particular satisfaction in breathing their own
atmosphere, which was always impregnated with stercoraceous effluvia: that
the learned Dr B—, in his treatise on the Four Digestions, explains
in what manner the volatile effluvia from the intestines stimulate and
promote the operations of the animal economy: he affirmed, the last Grand
Duke of Tuscany, of the Medicis family, who refined upon sensuality with
the spirit of a philosopher, was so delighted with that odour, that he
caused the essence of ordure to be extracted, and used it as the most
delicious perfume: that he himself (the doctor) when he happened to be
low-spirited, or fatigued with business, found immediate relief and
uncommon satisfaction from hanging over the stale contents of a
close-stool, while his servant stirred it about under his nose; nor was
this effect to be wondered at, when we consider that this substance
abounds with the self-same volatile salts that are so greedily smelled to
by the most delicate invalids, after they have been extracted and sublimed
by the chemists.—By this time the company began to hold their noses;
but the doctor, without taking the least notice of this signal, proceeded
to shew, that many fetid substances were not only agreeable but salutary;
such as assa foetida, and other medicinal gums, resins, roots, and
vegetables, over and above burnt feathers, tan-pits, candle-snuffs, &c.
In short, he used many learned arguments to persuade his audience out of
their senses; and from stench made a transition to filth, which he
affirmed was also a mistaken idea, in as much as objects so called, were
no other than certain modifications of matter, consisting of the same
principles that enter into the composition of all created essences,
whatever they may be: that in the filthiest production of nature, a
philosopher considered nothing but the earth, water, salt and air, of
which it was compounded; that, for his own part, he had no more objections
to drinking the dirtiest ditch-water, than he had to a glass of water from
the Hot Well, provided he was assured there was nothing poisonous in the
concrete. Then addressing himself to my uncle, 'Sir (said he) you seem to
be of a dropsical habit, and probably will soon have a confirmed ascites:
if I should be present when you are tapped, I will give you a convincing
proof of what I assert, by drinking without hesitation the water that
comes out of your abdomen.'—The ladies made wry faces at this
declaration, and my uncle, changing colour, told him he did not desire any
such proof of his philosophy: 'But I should be glad to know (said he) what
makes you think I am of a dropsical habit?' 'Sir, I beg pardon (replied
the Doctor) I perceive your ancles are swelled, and you seem to have the
facies leucophlegmatica. Perhaps, indeed, your disorder may be oedematous,
or gouty, or it may be the lues venerea: If you have any reason to flatter
yourself it is this last, sir, I will undertake to cure you with three
small pills, even if the disease should have attained its utmost
inveteracy. Sir, it is an arcanum, which I have discovered, and prepared
with infinite labour.—Sir, I have lately cured a woman in Bristol—a
common prostitute, sir, who had got all the worst symptoms of the
disorder; such as nodi, tophi, and gummata, verruca, cristoe Galli, and a
serpiginous eruption, or rather a pocky itch all over her body. By the
time she had taken the second pill, sir, by Heaven! she was as smooth as
my hand, and the third made her sound and as fresh as a new born infant.'
'Sir (cried my uncle peevishly) I have no reason to flatter myself that my
disorder comes within the efficacy of your nostrum. But this patient you
talk of may not be so sound at bottom as you imagine.' 'I can't possibly
be mistaken (rejoined the philosopher) for I have had communication with
her three times—I always ascertain my cures in that manner.' At this
remark, all the ladies retired to another corner of the room, and some of
them began to spit.—As to my uncle, though he was ruffled at first
by the doctor's saying he was dropsical, he could not help smiling at this
ridiculous confession and, I suppose, with a view to punish this original,
told him there was a wart upon his nose, that looked a little suspicious.
'I don't pretend to be a judge of those matters (said he) but I understand
that warts are often produced by the distemper; and that one upon your
nose seems to have taken possession of the very keystone of the bridge,
which I hope is in no danger of falling.' L—n seemed a little
confounded at this remark, and assured him it was nothing but a common
excrescence of the cuticula, but that the bones were all sound below; for
the truth of this assertion he appealed to the touch, desiring he would
feel the part. My uncle said it was a matter of such delicacy to meddle
with a gentleman's nose, that he declined the office—upon which, the
Doctor turning to me, intreated me to do him that favour. I complied with
his request, and handled it so roughly, that he sneezed, and the tears ran
down his cheeks, to the no small entertainment of the company, and
particularly of my uncle, who burst out a-laughing for the first time
since I have been with him; and took notice, that the part seemed to be
very tender. 'Sir (cried the Doctor) it is naturally a tender part; but to
remove all possibility of doubt, I will take off the wart this very
night.'</p>
<p>So saying, he bowed, with great solemnity all round, and retired to his
own lodgings, where he applied a caustic to the wart; but it spread in
such a manner as to produce a considerable inflammation, attended with an
enormous swelling; so that when he next appeared, his whole face was
overshadowed by this tremendous nozzle; and the rueful eagerness with
which he explained this unlucky accident, was ludicrous beyond all
description.—I was much pleased with meeting the original of a
character, which you and I have often laughed at in description; and what
surprises me very much, I find the features in the picture, which has been
drawn for him, rather softened than over-charged.</p>
<p>As I have something else to say; and this letter has run to an
unconscionable length, I shall now give you a little respite, and trouble
you again by the very first post. I wish you would take it in your head to
retaliate these double strokes upon</p>
<p>Yours always, J. MELFORD</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Sir WATKIN PHILLIPS, of Jesus college, Oxon. </h2>
<h3> HOT WELL, April 20. </h3>
<p>DEAR KNIGHT,</p>
<p>I now sit down to execute the threat in the tail of my last. The truth is,
I am big with the secret, and long to be delivered. It relates to my
guardian, who, you know, is at present our principal object in view.</p>
<p>T'other day, I thought I had detected him in such a state of frailty, as
would but ill become his years and character. There is a decent sort of
woman, not disagreeable in her person, that comes to the Well, with a poor
emaciated child, far gone in a consumption. I had caught my uncle's eyes
several times directed to this person, with a very suspicious expression
in them, and every time he saw himself observed, he hastily withdrew them,
with evident marks of confusion—I resolved to watch him more
narrowly, and saw him speaking to her privately in a corner of the walk.
At length, going down to the Well one day, I met her half way up the hill
to Clifton, and could not help suspecting she was going to our lodgings by
appointment, as it was about one o'clock, the hour when my sister and I
are generally at the Pump-room.—This notion exciting my curiosity, I
returned by a back-way, and got unperceived into my own chamber, which is
contiguous to my uncle's apartment. Sure enough, the woman was introduced
but not into his bedchamber; he gave her audience in a parlour; so that I
was obliged to shift my station to another room, where, however, there was
a small chink in the partition, through which I could perceive what
passed. My uncle, though a little lame, rose up when she came in, and
setting a chair for her, desired she would sit down: then he asked if she
would take a dish of chocolate, which she declined, with much
acknowledgment. After a short pause, he said, in a croaking tone of voice,
which confounded me not a little, 'Madam, I am truly concerned for your
misfortunes; and if this trifle can be of any service to you, I beg you
will accept it without ceremony.' So saying, he put a bit of paper into
her hand, which she opening with great trepidation, exclaimed in an
extacy, 'Twenty pounds! Oh, sir!' and sinking down upon a settee, fainted
away—Frightened at this fit, and, I suppose, afraid of calling for
assistance, lest her situation should give rise to unfavourable
conjectures, he ran about the room in distraction, making frightful
grimaces; and, at length, had recollection enough to throw a little water
in her face; by which application she was brought to herself: but, then
her feeling took another turn. She shed a flood of tears, and cried aloud,
'I know not who you are: but, sure—worthy sir—generous sir!—the
distress of me and my poor dying child—Oh! if the widow's prayers—if
the orphan's tears of gratitude can ought avail—gracious Providence—Blessings!—shower
down eternal blessings.'—Here she was interrupted by my uncle, who
muttered in a voice still more and more discordant, 'For Heaven's sake be
quiet, madam—consider—the people of the house—'sdeath!
can't you.'—All this time she was struggling to throw herself on her
knees, while he seizing her by the wrists, endeavoured to seat her upon
the settee, saying, 'Prithee—good now—hold your tongue'—At
that instant, who should burst into—the room but our aunt Tabby! of
all antiquated maidens the most diabolically capricious—Ever prying
into other people's affairs, she had seen the woman enter, and followed
her to the door, where she stood listening, but probably could hear
nothing distinctly, except my uncle's, last exclamation; at which she
bounded into the parlour in a violent rage, that dyed the tip of her nose
of a purple hue,—'Fy upon you, Matt! (cried she) what doings are
these, to disgrace your own character, and disparage your family?'—Then,
snatching the bank note out of the stranger's hand, she went on—'How
now, twenty pounds!—here is temptation with a witness!—Good-woman,
go about your business—Brother, brother, I know not which most to
admire; your concupissins, or your extravagance!'—'Good God
(exclaimed the poor woman) shall a worthy gentleman's character suffer for
an action that does honour to humanity?' By this time, uncle's indignation
was effectually roused. His face grew pale, his teeth chattered, and his
eyes flashed—'Sister (cried he, in a voice like thunder) I vow to
God, your impertinence is exceedingly provoking.' With these words, he
took her by the hand, and, opening the door of communication, thrust her
into the chamber where I stood, so affected by the scene, that the tears
ran down my cheeks. Observing these marks of emotion, 'I don't wonder
(said she) to see you concerned at the back-slidings of so near a
relation; a man of his years and infirmities: These are fine doings, truly—This
is a rare example, set by a guardian, for the benefit of his pupils—Monstrous!
incongruous! sophistical!'—I thought it was but an act of justice to
set her to rights; and therefore explained the mystery. But she would not
be undeceived, 'What (said she) would you go for to offer for to arguefy
me out of my senses? Did'n't I hear him whispering to her to hold her
tongue? Did'n't I see her in tears? Did'n't I see him struggling to throw
her upon the couch? 0 filthy! hideous! abominable! Child, child, talk not
to me of charity.—Who gives twenty pounds in charity?—But you
are a stripling—You know nothing of the world. Besides, charity
begins at home—Twenty pounds would buy me a complete suit of
flowered silk, trimmings and all—' In short, I quitted the room, my
contempt for her, and my respect for her brother, being increased in the
same proportion. I have since been informed, that the person, whom my
uncle so generously relieved, is the widow of an ensign, who has nothing
to depend upon but the pension of fifteen pounds a year. The people of the
Well-house give her an excellent character. She lodges in a garret, and
works very hard at plain work, to support her daughter, who is dying of a
consumption. I must own, to my shame, I feel a strong inclination to
follow my uncle's example, in relieving this poor widow; but, betwixt
friends, I am afraid of being detected in a weakness, that might entail
the ridicule of the company, upon,</p>
<p>Dear Phillips, Yours always, J. MELFORD</p>
<p>Direct your next to me at Bath; and remember me to all our fellow-jesuits.</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Dr LEWIS. </h2>
<h3> HOT WELL, April 20. </h3>
<p>I understand your hint. There are mysteries in physic, as well as in
religion; which we of the profane have no right to investigate—A man
must not presume to use his reason, unless he has studied the categories,
and can chop logic by mode and figure—Between friends, I think every
man of tolerable parts ought, at my time of day, to be both physician and
lawyer, as far as his own constitution and property are concerned. For my
own part, I have had an hospital these fourteen years within myself, and
studied my own case with the most painful attention; consequently may be
supposed to know something of the matter, although I have not taken
regular courses of physiology et cetera et cetera.— In short, I have
for some time been of opinion (no offence, dear Doctor) that the sum of
all your medical discoveries amounts to this, that the more you study the
less you know.—I have read all that has been written on the Hot
Wells, and what I can collect from the whole, is, that the water contains
nothing but a little salt, and calcarious earth, mixed in such
inconsiderable proportion, as can have very little, if any, effect on the
animal economy. This being the case, I think the man deserves to be fitted
with a cap and bells, who for such a paultry advantage as this spring
affords, sacrifices his precious time, which might be employed in taking
more effectual remedies, and exposes himself to the dirt, the stench, the
chilling blasts, and perpetual rains, that render this place to me
intolerable. If these waters, from a small degree of astringency, are of
some service in the diabetes, diarrhoea, and night sweats, when the
secretions are too much increased, must not they do harm in the same
proportion, where the humours are obstructed, as in the asthma, scurvy,
gout and dropsy?—Now we talk of the dropsy, here is a strange
fantastical oddity, one of your brethren, who harangues every day in the
Pump-room, as if he was hired to give lectures on all subjects whatsoever—I
know not what to make of him—Sometimes he makes shrewd remarks; at
other times he talks like the greatest simpleton in nature—He has
read a great deal; but without method or judgment, and digested nothing.
He believes every thing he has read; especially if it has any thing of the
marvellous in it and his conversation is a surprizing hotch-potch of
erudition and extravagance. He told me t'other day, with great confidence,
that my case was dropsical; or, as he called it, leucophlegmatic: A sure
sign, that his want of experience is equal to his presumption—for,
you know, there is nothing analogous to the dropsy in my disorder—I
wish those impertinent fellows, with their ricketty understandings, would
keep their advice for those that ask it. Dropsy, indeed! Sure I have not
lived to the age of fifty-five, and had such experience of my own
disorder, and consulted you and other eminent physicians, so often, and so
long, to be undeceived by such a—But, without all doubt, the man is
mad; and, therefore, what he says is of no consequence. I had, yesterday,
a visit from Higgins, who came hither under the terror of your threats,
and brought me in a present a brace of hares, which he owned he took in my
ground; and I could not persuade the fellow that he did wrong, or that I
would ever prosecute him for poaching—I must desire you will wink
hard at the practices of this rascallion, otherwise I shall be plagued
with his presents, which cost me more than they are worth.—If I
could wonder at any thing Fitzowen does, I should be surprized at his
assurance in desiring you to solicit my vote for him at the next election
for the county: for him, who opposed me, on the like occasion, with the
most illiberal competition. You may tell him civilly, that I beg to be
excused. Direct your next for me at Bath, whither I propose to remove
to-morrow; not only on my own account, but for the sake of my niece,
Liddy, who is like to relapse. The poor creature fell into a fit
yesterday, while I was cheapening a pair of spectacles, with a Jew-pedlar.
I am afraid there is something still lurking in that little heart of hers,
which I hope a change of objects will remove. Let me know what you think
of this half-witted Doctor's impertinent, ridiculous, and absurd notion of
my disorder—So far from being dropsical, I am as lank in the belly
as a grey-hound; and, by measuring my ancle with a pack-thread, I find the
swelling subsides every day. From such doctors, good Lord deliver us!—I
have not yet taken any lodgings in Bath; because there we can be
accommodated at a minute's warning, and I shall choose for myself—I
need not say your directions for drinking and bathing will be agreeable
to,</p>
<p>Dear Lewis, Yours ever, MAT. BRAMBLE</p>
<p>P.S. I forgot to tell you, that my right ancle pits, a symptom, as I take
it, of its being oedematous, not leucophlegmatic.</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Miss LETTY WILLIS, at Gloucester </h2>
<h3> HOT WELL, April 21. </h3>
<p>MY DEAR LETTY,</p>
<p>I did not intend to trouble you again, till we should be settled at Bath;
but having the occasion of Jarvis, I could not let it slip, especially as
I have something extraordinary to communicate. O, my dear companion! What
shall I tell you? for several days past there was a Jew-looking man, that
plied at the Wells with a box of spectacles; and he always eyed me so
earnestly, that I began to be very uneasy. At last, he came to our
lodgings at Clifton, and lingered about the door, as if he wanted to speak
to somebody—I was seized with an odd kind of fluttering, and begged
Win to throw herself in his way: but the poor girl has weak nerves, and
was afraid of his beard. My uncle, having occasion for new glasses, called
him up stairs, and was trying a pair of spectacles, when the man,
advancing to me, said in a whisper—O gracious! what d'ye think he
said?—'I am Wilson!' His features struck me that very moment it was
Wilson, sure enough! but so disguised, that it would have been impossible
to know him, if my heart had not assisted in the discovery. I was so
surprised, and so frightened that I fainted away, but soon recovered; and
found myself supported by him on the chair, while my uncle was running
about the room, with the spectacles on his nose, calling for help. I had
no opportunity to speak to him; but looks were sufficiently expressive. He
was payed for his glasses, and went away. Then I told Win who he was, and
sent her after him to the Pump-room; where she spoke to him, and begged
him in my name to withdraw from the place, that he might not incur the
suspicion of my uncle or my brother, if he did not want to see me die of
terror and vexation. The poor youth declared, with tears in his eyes, that
he had something extraordinary to communicate; and asked, if she would
deliver a letter to me: but this she absolutely refused, by my order.—Finding
her obstinate in her refusal, he desired she would tell me that he was no
longer a player, but a gentleman; in which character he would very soon
avow his passion for me, without fear of censure or reproach—Nay, he
even discovered his name and family, which, to my great grief, the simple
girl forgot, in the confusion occasioned by her being seen talking to him
by my brother, who stopt her on the road, and asked what business she had
with that rascally Jew. She pretended she was cheapening a stay-hook, but
was thrown into such a quandary, that she forgot the most material part of
the information; and when she came home, went into an hysteric fit of
laughing. This transaction happened three days ago, during which he has
not appeared, so that I suppose he has gone. Dear Letty! you see how
Fortune takes pleasure in persecuting your poor friend. If you should see
him at Gloucester—or if you have seen him, and know his real name
and family, pray keep me no longer in suspence—And yet, if he is
under no obligation to keep himself longer concealed, and has a real
affection for me, I should hope he will, in a little time, declare himself
to my relations. Sure, if there is nothing unsuitable in the match, they
won't be so cruel as to thwart my inclinations—O what happiness
would then be my portion! I can't help indulging the thought, and pleasing
my fancy with such agreeable ideas; which after all, perhaps, will never
be realized—But, why should I despair? who knows what will happen?—We
set out for Bath to-morrow, and I am almost sorry for it; as I begin to be
in love with solitude, and this is a charming romantic place. The air is
so pure; the Downs are so agreeable; the furz in full blossom; the ground
enamelled with daisies, and primroses, and cowslips; all the trees
bursting into leaves, and the hedges already clothed with their vernal
livery; the mountains covered with flocks of sheep and tender bleating
wanton lambkins playing, frisking, and skipping from side to side; the
groves resound with the notes of blackbird, thrush, and linnet; and all
night long sweet Philomel pours forth her ravishingly delightful song.
Then, for variety, we go down to the nymph of Bristol spring, where the
company is assembled before dinner; so good natured, so free, so easy; and
there we drink the water so clear, so pure, so mild, so charmingly
maukish. There the fun is so chearful and reviving; the weather so soft;
the walk so agreeable; the prospect so amusing; and the ships and boats
going up and down the river, close under the windows of the Pump-room,
afford such an enchanting variety of Moving Pictures, as require a much
abler pen than mine to describe. To make this place a perfect paradise to
me, nothing is wanting but an agreeable companion and sincere friend; such
as my dear miss Willis hath been, and I hope still will be, to her ever
faithful.</p>
<p>LYDIA MELFORD</p>
<p>Direct for me, still under cover, to Win; and Jarvis will take care to
convey it safe. Adieu.</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Sir WATKIN PHILLIPS, of Jesus college, Oxon. </h2>
<h3> BATH, April 24. </h3>
<p>DEAR PHILLIPS,</p>
<p>You have, indeed, reason to be surprised, that I should have concealed my
correspondence with miss Blackerby from you, to whom I disclosed all my
other connexions of that nature; but the truth is, I never dreamed of any
such commerce, till your last informed me, that it had produced something
which could not be much longer concealed. It is a lucky circumstance,
however, that her reputation will not suffer any detriment, but rather
derive advantage from the discovery; which will prove, at least, that it
is not quite so rotten as most people imagined—For my own part, I
declare to you, in all the sincerity of friendship, that, far from having
any amorous intercourse with the object in question, I never had the least
acquaintance with her person; but, if she is really in the condition you
describe, I suspect Mansel to be at the bottom of the whole. His visits to
that shrine were no secret; and this attachment, added to some good
offices, which you know he has done me, since I left Alma-mater, give me a
right to believe him capable of saddling me with this scandal, when my
back was turned—Nevertheless, if my name can be of any service to
him, he is welcome to make use of it; and if the woman should be abandoned
enough to swear his banding to me, I must beg the favour of you to
compound with the parish: I shall pay the penalty without repining; and
you will be so good as to draw upon me immediately for the sum required—On
this occasion, I act by the advice of my uncle; who says I shall have
good-luck if I pass through life without being obliged to make many more
compositions of the same kind. The old gentleman told me last night, with
great good-humour, that betwixt the age of twenty and forty, he had been
obliged to provide for nine bastards, sworn to him by women whom he never
saw—Mr Bramble's character, which seems to interest you greatly,
opens and improves upon me every day. His singularities afford a rich mine
of entertainment; his understanding, so far as I can judge, is well
cultivated; his observations on life are equally just, pertinent, and
uncommon. He affects misanthropy, in order to conceal the sensibility of a
heart, which is tender, even to a degree of weakness. This delicacy of
feeling, or soreness of the mind, makes him timorous and fearful; but then
he is afraid of nothing so much as of dishonour; and although he is
exceedingly cautious of giving offence, he will fire at the least hint of
insolence or ill-breeding.—Respectable as he is, upon the whole, I
can't help being sometimes diverted by his little distresses; which
provoke him to let fly the shafts of his satire, keen and penetrating as
the arrows of Teucer—Our aunt, Tabitha, acts upon him as a perpetual
grind-stone—She is, in all respects, a striking contrast to her
brother—But I reserve her portrait for another occasion.</p>
<p>Three days ago we came hither from the Hot Well, and took possession of
the first floor of a lodging-house, on the South Parade; a situation which
my uncle chose, for its being near the Bath, and remote from the noise of
carriages. He was scarce warm in the lodgings when he called for his
night-cap, his wide shoes, and flannel; and declared himself invested with
the gout in his right foot; though, I believe it had as yet reached no
farther than his imagination. It was not long before he had reason to
repent his premature declaration; for our aunt Tabitha found means to make
such a clamour and confusion, before the flannels could be produced from
the trunk, that one would have imagined the house was on fire. All this
time, uncle sat boiling with impatience, biting his fingers, throwing up
his eyes, and muttering ejaculations; at length he burst into a kind of
convulsive laugh, after which he hummed a song; and when the hurricane was
over, exclaimed 'Blessed be God for all things!' This, however, was but
the beginning of his troubles. Mrs Tabitha's favourite dog Chowder, having
paid his compliments to a female turnspit of his own species, in the
kitchen, involved himself in a quarrel with no fewer than five rivals, who
set upon him at once, and drove him up stairs to the dining room door,
with hideous noise: there our aunt and her woman, taking arms in his
defence, joined the concert; which became truly diabolical. This fray
being with difficulty suppressed, by the intervention of our own footman
and the cook-maid of the house, the squire had just opened his mouth, to
expostulate with Tabby, when the town-waits, in the passage below, struck
up their music (if music it may be called) with such a sudden burst of
sound, as made him start and stare, with marks of indignation and
disquiet. He had recollection enough to send his servant with some money
to silence those noisy intruders; and they were immediately dismissed,
though not without some opposition on the part of Tabitha, who thought it
but reasonable that he should have more music for his money. Scarce had he
settled this knotty point, when a strange kind of thumping and bouncing
was heard right over-head, in the second story, so loud and violent, as to
shake the whole building. I own I was exceedingly provoked at this new
alarm; and before my uncle had time to express himself on the subject, I
ran up stairs, to see what was the matter. Finding the room-door open, I
entered without ceremony, and perceived an object, which I can not now
recollect without laughing to excess—It was a dancing master, with
his scholar, in the act of teaching. The master was blind of one eye, and
lame of one foot, and led about the room his pupil; who seemed to be about
the age of threescore, stooped mortally, was tall, raw-boned,
hard-favoured, with a woollen night-cap on his head; and he had stript off
his coat, that he might be more nimble in his motions—Finding
himself intruded upon, by a person he did not know, he forthwith girded
himself with a long iron sword, and advancing to me, with a peremptory
air, pronounced, in a true Hibernian accent, 'Mister What d'ye callum, by
my saoul and conscience, I am very glad to sea you, if you are after
coming in the way of friendship; and indeed, and indeed now, I believe you
are my friend sure enough, gra; though I never had the honour to sea your
face before, my dear; for becaase you come like a friend, without any
ceremony at all, at all'—I told him the nature of my visit would not
admit of ceremony; that I was come to desire he would make less noise, as
there was a sick gentleman below, whom he had no right to disturb with
such preposterous doings. 'Why, look-ye now, young gentleman (replied this
original) perhaps, upon another occasion, I might shivilly request you to
explain the maining of that hard word, prepasterous: but there's a time
for all things, honey'—So saying, he passed me with great agility,
and, running down stairs, found our foot-man at the dining-room door, of
whom he demanded admittance, to pay his respects to the stranger. As the
fellow did not think proper to refuse the request of such a formidable
figure, he was immediately introduced, and addressed himself to my uncle
in these words: 'Your humble servant, good sir,—I'm not so
prepasterous, as your son calls it, but I know the rules of shivility—I'm
a poor knight of Ireland, my name is sir Ulic Mackilligut, of the county
of Galway; being your fellow-lodger, I'm come to pay my respects, and to
welcome you to the South Parade, and to offer my best services to you, and
your good lady, and your pretty daughter; and even to the young gentleman
your son, though he thinks me a prepasterous fellow—You must know I
am to have the honour to open a ball next door to-morrow with lady Mac
Manus; and being rusted in my dancing, I was refreshing my memory with a
little exercise; but if I had known there was a sick person below, by
Christ! I would have sooner danced a hornpipe upon my own head, than walk
the softest minuet over yours.'—My uncle, who was not a little
startled at his first appearance, received his compliment with great
complacency, insisted upon his being seated, thanked him for the honour of
his visit, and reprimanded me for my abrupt expostulation with a gentleman
of his rank and character. Thus tutored, I asked pardon of the knight,
who, forthwith starting up, embraced me so close, that I could hardly
breathe; and assured me, he loved me as his own soul. At length,
recollecting his night-cap, he pulled it off in some confusion; and, with
his bald-pate uncovered, made a thousand apologies to the ladies, as he
retired—At that instant, the Abbey bells, began to ring so loud,
that we could not hear one another speak; and this peal, as we afterwards
learned, was for the honour of Mr Bullock, an eminent cowkeeper of
Tottenham, who had just arrived at Bath, to drink the waters for
indigestion. Mr Bramble had not time to make his remarks upon the
agreeable nature of this serenade, before his ears were saluted with
another concert that interested him more nearly. Two negroes, belonging to
a Creole gentleman, who lodged in the same house, taking their station at
a window in the stair-case, about ten feet from our dining-room door,
began to practise upon the French-horn; and being in the very first
rudiments of execution, produced such discordant sounds, as might have
discomposed the organs of an ass. You may guess what effect they had upon
the irritable nerves of uncle; who, with the most admirable expression of
splenetic surprize in his countenance, sent his man to silence these
dreadful blasts, and desire the musicians to practise in some other place,
as they had no right to stand there and disturb all the lodgers in the
house. Those sable performers, far from taking the hint, and withdrawing,
treated the messenger with great insolence; bidding him carry his
compliments to their master, colonel Rigworm, who would give him a proper
answer, and a good drubbing into the bargain; in the mean time they
continued their noise, and even endeavoured to make it more disagreeable;
laughing between whiles, at the thoughts of being able to torment their
betters with impunity. Our 'squire, incensed at the additional insult,
immediately dispatched the servant, with his compliments to colonel
Rigworm, requesting that he would order his blacks to be quiet, as the
noise they made was altogether intolerable—To this message, the
Creole colonel replied, that his horns had a right to sound on a common
staircase; that there they should play for his diversion; and that those
who did not like the noise, might look for lodgings elsewhere. Mr Bramble
no sooner received this reply, than his eyes began to glisten, his face
grew pale, and his teeth chattered. After a moment's pause, he slipt on
his shoes, without speaking a word, or seeming to feel any further
disturbance from the gout in his toes. Then snatching his cane, he opened
the door and proceeded to the place where the black trumpeters were
posted. There, without further hesitation, he began to belabour them both;
and exerted himself with such astonishing vigour and agility, that both
their heads and horns were broken in a twinkling, and they ran howling
down stairs to their master's parlour-door. The squire, following them
half way, called aloud, that the colonel might hear him, 'Go, rascals, and
tell your master what I have done; if he thinks himself injured, he knows
where to come for satisfaction. As for you, this is but an earnest of what
you shall receive, if ever you presume to blow a horn again here, while I
stay in the house.' So saying, he retired to his apartment, in expectation
of hearing from the West Indian; but the colonel prudently declined any
farther prosecution of the dispute. My sister Liddy was frighted into a
fit, from which she was no sooner recovered, than Mrs Tabitha began a
lecture upon patience; which her brother interrupted with a most
significant grin, 'True, sister, God increase my patience and your
discretion. I wonder (added he) what sort of sonata we are to expect from
this overture, in which the devil, that presides over horrid sounds, hath
given us such variations of discord—The trampling of porters, the
creaking and crashing of trunks, the snarling of curs, the scolding of
women, the squeaking and squalling of fiddles and hautboys out of tune,
the bouncing of the Irish baronet over-head, and the bursting, belching,
and brattling of the French-horns in the passage (not to mention the
harmonious peal that still thunders from the Abbey steeple) succeeding one
another without interruption, like the different parts of the same
concert, have given me such an idea of what a poor invalid has to expect
in this temple, dedicated to Silence and Repose, that I shall certainly
shift my quarters to-morrow, and endeavour to effectuate my retreat before
Sir Ulic opens the ball with my lady Mac Manus; a conjunction that bodes
me no good.' This intimation was by no means agreeable to Mrs Tabitha,
whose ears were not quite so delicate as those of her brother—She
said it would be great folly to move from such agreeable lodgings, the
moment they were comfortably settled. She wondered he should be such an
enemy to music and mirth. She heard no noise but of his own making: it was
impossible to manage a family in dumb-shew. He might harp as long as he
pleased upon her scolding; but she never scolded, except for his
advantage; but he would never be satisfied, even tho'f she should sweat
blood and water in his service—I have a great notion that our aunt,
who is now declining into the most desperate state of celibacy, had formed
some design upon the heart of Sir Ulic Mackilligut, which she feared might
be frustrated by our abrupt departure from these lodgings. Her brother,
eyeing her askance, 'Pardon me, sister (said he) I should be a savage,
indeed, were I insensible of my own felicity, in having such a mild,
complaisant, good-humoured, and considerate companion and housekeeper; but
as I have got a weak head, and my sense of hearing is painfully acute,
before I have recourse to plugs of wool and cotton, I'll try whether I
can't find another lodging, where I shall have more quiet and less music.'
He accordingly dispatched his man upon this service; and next day he found
a small house in Milsham-street, which he hires by the week. Here, at
least, we enjoy convenience and quiet within doors, as much as Tabby's
temper will allow; but the squire still complains of flying pains in the
stomach and head, for which he bathes and drinks the waters. He is not so
bad, however, but that he goes in person to the pump, the rooms, and the
coffeehouses; where he picks up continual food for ridicule and satire. If
I can glean any thing for your amusement, either from his observation or
my own, you shall have it freely, though I am afraid it will poorly
compensate the trouble of reading these tedious insipid letters of,</p>
<p>Dear Phillips, Yours always, J. MELFORD</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Dr LEWIS. BATH, April 23. DEAR DOCTOR, </h2>
<p>If I did not know that the exercise of your profession has habituated you
to the hearing of complaints, I should make a conscience of troubling you
with my correspondence, which may be truly called the lamentations of
Matthew Bramble. Yet I cannot help thinking I have some right to discharge
the overflowings of my spleen upon you, whose province it is to remove
those disorders that occasioned it; and let me tell you, it is no small
alleviation of my grievances, that I have a sensible friend, to whom I can
communicate my crusty humours, which, by retention, would grow intolerably
acrimonious.</p>
<p>You must know, I find nothing but disappointment at Bath; which is so
altered, that I can scarce believe it is the same place that I frequented
about thirty years ago. Methinks I hear you say, 'Altered it is, without
all doubt: but then it is altered for the better; a truth which, perhaps,
you would own without hesitation, if you yourself was not altered for the
worse.' The reflection may, for aught I know, be just. The inconveniences
which I overlooked in the high-day of health, will naturally strike with
exaggerated impression on the irritable nerves of an invalid, surprised by
premature old age, and shattered with long-suffering—But, I believe,
you will not deny, that this place, which Nature and Providence seem to
have intended as a resource from distemper and disquiet, is become the
very centre of racket and dissipation. Instead of that peace,
tranquillity, and case, so necessary to those who labour under bad health,
weak nerves, and irregular spirits; here we have nothing but noise,
tumult, and hurry; with the fatigue and slavery of maintaining a
ceremonial, more stiff, formal, and oppressive, than the etiquette of a
German elector. A national hospital it may be, but one would imagine that
none but lunatics are admitted; and truly, I will give you leave to call
me so, if I stay much longer at Bath.—But I shall take another
opportunity to explain my sentiments at greater length on this subject—I
was impatient to see the boasted improvements in architecture, for which
the upper parts of the town have been so much celebrated and t'other day I
made a circuit of all the new buildings. The Square, though irregular, is,
on the whole, pretty well laid out, spacious, open, and airy; and, in my
opinion, by far the most wholesome and agreeable situation in Bath,
especially the upper side of it; but the avenues to it are mean, dirty,
dangerous, and indirect. Its communication with the Baths, is through the
yard of an inn, where the poor trembling valetudinarian is carried in a
chair, betwixt the heels of a double row of horses, wincing under the
curry-combs of grooms and postilions, over and above the hazard of being
obstructed, or overturned by the carriages which are continually making
their exit or their entrance—I suppose after some chairmen shall
have been maimed, and a few lives lost by those accidents, the corporation
will think, in earnest, about providing a more safe and commodious
passage. The Circus is a pretty bauble, contrived for shew, and looks like
Vespasian's amphitheatre turned outside in. If we consider it in point of
magnificence, the great number of small doors belonging to the separate
houses, the inconsiderable height of the different orders, the affected
ornaments of the architrave, which are both childish and misplaced, and
the areas projecting into the street, surrounded with iron rails, destroy
a good part of its effect upon the eye; and, perhaps, we shall find it
still more defective, if we view it in the light of convenience. The
figure of each separate dwelling-house, being the segment of a circle,
must spoil the symmetry of the rooms, by contracting them towards the
street windows, and leaving a larger sweep in the space behind. If,
instead of the areas and iron rails, which seem to be of very little use,
there had been a corridore with arcades all round, as in Covent-garden,
the appearance of the whole would have been more magnificent and striking;
those arcades would have afforded an agreeable covered walk, and sheltered
the poor chairmen and their carriages from the rain, which is here almost
perpetual. At present, the chairs stand soaking in the open street, from
morning to night, till they become so many boxes of wet leather, for the
benefit of the gouty and rheumatic, who are transported in them from place
to place. Indeed this is a shocking inconvenience that extends over the
whole city; and, I am persuaded, it produces infinite mischief to the
delicate and infirm; even the close chairs, contrived for the sick, by
standing in the open air, have their frize linings impregnated like so
many spunges, with the moisture of the atmosphere, and those cases of cold
vapour must give a charming check to the perspiration of a patient, piping
hot from the Bath, with all his pores wide open.</p>
<p>But, to return to the Circus; it is inconvenient from its situation, at so
great a distance from all the markets, baths, and places of public
entertainment. The only entrance to it, through Gay-street, is so
difficult, steep, and slippery, that in wet weather, it must be
exceedingly dangerous, both for those that ride in carriages, and those
that walk a-foot; and when the street is covered with snow, as it was for
fifteen days successively this very winter, I don't see how any individual
could go either up or down, without the most imminent hazard of broken
bones. In blowing weather, I am told, most of the houses in this hill are
smothered with smoke, forced down the chimneys, by the gusts of wind
reverberated from the hill behind, which (I apprehend likewise) must
render the atmosphere here more humid and unwholesome than it is in the
square below; for the clouds, formed by the constant evaporation from the
baths and rivers in the bottom, will, in their ascent this way, be first
attracted and detained by the hill that rises close behind the Circus, and
load the air with a perpetual succession of vapours: this point, however,
may be easily ascertained by means of an hygrometer, or a paper of salt of
tartar exposed to the action of the atmosphere. The same artist who
planned the Circus, has likewise projected a Crescent; when that is
finished, we shall probably have a Star; and those who are living thirty
years hence, may, perhaps, see all the signs of the Zodiac exhibited in
architecture at Bath. These, however fantastical, are still designs that
denote some ingenuity and knowledge in the architect; but the rage of
building has laid hold on such a number of adventurers, that one sees new
houses starting up in every out-let and every corner of Bath; contrived
without judgment, executed without solidity, and stuck together with so
little regard to plan and propriety, that the different lines of the new
rows and buildings interfere with, and intersect one another in every
different angle of conjunction. They look like the wreck of streets and
squares disjointed by an earthquake, which hath broken the ground into a
variety of holes and hillocks; or as if some Gothic devil had stuffed them
altogether in a bag, and left them to stand higgledy piggledy, just as
chance directed. What sort of a monster Bath will become in a few years,
with those growing excrescences, may be easily conceived: but the want of
beauty and proportion is not the worst effect of these new mansions; they
are built so slight, with the soft crumbling stone found in this
neighbourhood, that I shall never sleep quietly in one of them, when it
blowed (as the sailors say) a cap-full of wind; and, I am persuaded, that
my hind, Roger Williams, or any man of equal strength, would be able to
push his foot through the strongest part of their walls, without any great
exertion of his muscles. All these absurdities arise from the general tide
of luxury, which hath overspread the nation, and swept away all, even the
very dregs of the people. Every upstart of fortune, harnessed in the
trappings of the mode, presents himself at Bath, as in the very focus of
observation—Clerks and factors from the East Indies, loaded with the
spoil of plundered provinces; planters, negro-drivers, and hucksters from
our American plantations, enriched they know not how; agents,
commissaries, and contractors, who have fattened, in two successive wars,
on the blood of the nation; usurers, brokers, and jobbers of every kind;
men of low birth, and no breeding, have found themselves suddenly
translated into a state of affluence, unknown to former ages; and no
wonder that their brains should be intoxicated with pride, vanity, and
presumption. Knowing no other criterion of greatness, but the ostentation
of wealth, they discharge their affluence without taste or conduct,
through every channel of the most absurd extravagance; and all of them
hurry to Bath, because here, without any further qualification, they can
mingle with the princes and nobles of the land. Even the wives and
daughters of low tradesmen, who, like shovel-nosed sharks, prey upon the
blubber of those uncouth whales of fortune, are infected with the same
rage of displaying their importance; and the slightest indisposition
serves them for a pretext to insist upon being conveyed to Bath, where
they may hobble country-dances and cotillons among lordlings, squires,
counsellors, and clergy. These delicate creatures from Bedfordbury,
Butcher-row, Crutched-friers, and Botolph-lane, cannot breathe in the
gross air of the Lower Town, or conform to the vulgar rules of a common
lodging-house; the husband, therefore, must provide an entire house, or
elegant apartments in the new buildings. Such is the composition of what
is called the fashionable company at Bath; where a very inconsiderable
proportion of genteel people are lost in a mob of impudent plebeians, who
have neither understanding nor judgment, nor the least idea of propriety
and decorum; and seem to enjoy nothing so much as an opportunity of
insulting their betters.</p>
<p>Thus the number of people, and the number of houses continue to increase;
and this will ever be the case, till the streams that swell this
irresistible torrent of folly and extravagance, shall either be exhausted,
or turned into other channels, by incidents and events which I do not
pretend to foresee. This, I own, is a subject on which I cannot write with
any degree of patience; for the mob is a monster I never could abide,
either in its head, tail, midriff, or members; I detest the whole of it,
as a mass of ignorance, presumption, malice and brutality; and, in this
term of reprobation, I include, without respect of rank, station, or
quality, all those of both sexes, who affect its manners, and court its
society.</p>
<p>But I have written till my fingers are crampt, and my nausea begins to
return—By your advice, I sent to London a few days ago for half a
pound of Gengzeng; though I doubt much, whether that which comes from
America is equally efficacious with what is brought from the East Indies.
Some years ago a friend of mine paid sixteen guineas for two ounces of it;
and, in six months after, it was sold in the same shop for five shillings
the pound. In short, we live in a vile world of fraud and sophistication;
so that I know nothing of equal value with the genuine friendship of a
sensible man; a rare jewel! which I cannot help thinking myself in
possession of, while I repeat the old declaration, that I am, as usual,</p>
<p>Dear Lewis, Your affectionate M. BRAMBLE,</p>
<p>After having been agitated in a short hurricane, on my first arrival, I
have taken a small house in Milsham-street, where I am tolerably well
lodged, for five guineas a week. I was yesterday at the Pump-room, and
drank about a pint of water, which seems to agree with my stomach; and
to-morrow morning I shall bathe, for the first time; so that in a few
posts you may expect farther trouble; mean while, I am glad to find that
the inoculation has succeeded so well with poor Joyce, and that her face
will be but little marked. If my friend Sir Thomas was a single man, I
would not trust such a handsome wench in his family; but as I have
recommended her, in a particular manner, to the protection of lady G—,
who is one of the best women in the world, she may go thither without
hesitation as soon as she is quite recovered and fit for service—Let
her mother have money to provide her with necessaries, and she may ride
behind her brother on Bucks; but you must lay strong injunctions on Jack,
to take particular care of the trusty old veteran, who has faithfully
earned his present ease by his past services.</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Miss WILLIS at Gloucester. BATH, April 26. MY DEAREST COMPANION, </h2>
<p>The pleasure I received from yours, which came to hand yesterday, is not
to be expressed. Love and friendship are, without doubt, charming
passions; which absence serves only to heighten and improve. Your kind
present of the garnet bracelets, I shall keep as carefully as I preserve
my own life; and I beg you will accept, in return, my heart-housewife,
with the tortoise-shell memorandum-book, as a trifling pledge of my
unalterable affection.</p>
<p>Bath is to me a new world—All is gayety, good-humour, and diversion.
The eye is continually entertained with the splendour of dress and
equipage; and the ear with the sound of coaches, chairs, and other
carriages. The merry bells ring round, from morn till night. Then we are
welcomed by the city-waits in our own lodgings; we have music in the
Pump-room every morning, cotillons every forenoon in the rooms, balls
twice a week, and concerts every other night, besides private assemblies
and parties without number—As soon as we were settled in lodgings,
we were visited by the Master of the Ceremonies; a pretty little
gentleman, so sweet, so fine, so civil, and polite, that in our country he
might pass for the prince of Wales; then he talks so charmingly, both in
verse and prose, that you would be delighted to hear him discourse; for
you must know he is a great writer, and has got five tragedies ready for
the stage. He did us the favour to dine with us, by my uncle's invitation;
and next day squired my aunt and me to every part of Bath; which, to be
sure, is an earthly paradise. The Square, the Circus, and the Parades, put
you in mind of the sumptuous palaces represented in prints and pictures;
and the new buildings, such as Princes-row, Harlequin's-row, Bladud's-row,
and twenty other rows, look like so many enchanted castles, raised on
hanging terraces.</p>
<p>At eight in the morning, we go in dishabille to the Pump-room which is
crowded like a Welsh fair; and there you see the highest quality, and the
lowest trades folks, jostling each other, without ceremony, hail-fellow
well-met. The noise of the music playing in the gallery, the heat and
flavour of such a crowd, and the hum and buz of their conversation, gave
me the head-ach and vertigo the first day; but, afterwards, all these
things became familiar, and even agreeable.—Right under the
Pump-room windows is the King's Bath; a huge cistern, where you see the
patients up to their necks in hot water. The ladies wear jackets and
petticoats of brown linen with chip hats, in which they fix their
handkerchiefs to wipe the sweat from their faces; but, truly, whether it
is owing to the steam that surrounds them, or the heat of the water, or
the nature of the dress, or to all these causes together, they look so
flushed, and so frightful, that I always turn my eyes another way—My
aunt, who says every person of fashion should make her appearance in the
bath, as well as in the abbey church, contrived a cap with cherry-coloured
ribbons to suit her complexion, and obliged Win to attend her yesterday
morning in the water. But, really, her eyes were so red, that they made
mine water as I viewed her from the Pump-room; and as for poor Win, who
wore a hat trimmed with blue, what betwixt her wan complexion and her
fear, she looked like the ghost of some pale maiden, who had drowned
herself for love. When she came out of the bath, she took assafoetida
drops, and was fluttered all day; so that we could hardly keep her from
going into hysterics: but her mistress says it will do her good; and poor
Win curtsies, with the tears in her eyes. For my part, I content myself
with drinking about half a pint of the water every morning.</p>
<p>The pumper, with his wife and servant, attend within a bar; and the
glasses, of different sizes, stand ranged in order before them, so you
have nothing to do but to point at that which you choose, and it is filled
immediately, hot and sparkling from the pump. It is the only hot water I
could ever drink, without being sick—Far from having that effect, it
is rather agreeable to the taste, grateful to the stomach, and reviving to
the spirits. You cannot imagine what wonderful cures it performs—My
uncle began with it the other day; but he made wry faces in drinking, and
I'm afraid he will leave it off—The first day we came to Bath, he
fell into a violent passion; beat two black-a-moors, and I was afraid he
would have fought with their master; but the stranger proved a peaceable
man. To be sure, the gout had got into his head, as my aunt observed; but,
I believe, his passion drove it away; for he has been remarkably well ever
since. It is a thousand pities he should ever be troubled with that ugly
distemper; for, when he is free from pain, he is the best tempered man
upon earth; so gentle, so generous, so charitable, that every body loves
him; and so good to me, in particular, that I shall never be able to shew
the deep sense I have of his tenderness and affection.</p>
<p>Hard by the Pump-room, is a coffee-house for the ladies; but my aunt says,
young girls are not admitted, insomuch as the conversation turns upon
politics, scandal, philosophy, and other subjects above our capacity; but
we are allowed to accompany them to the booksellers' shops, which are
charming places of resort; where we read novels, plays, pamphlets, and
newspapers, for so small a subscription as a crown a quarter; and in these
offices of intelligence (as my brother calls them) all the reports of the
day, and all the private transactions of the Bath, are first entered and
discussed. From the bookseller's shop, we make a tour through the
milliners and toymen; and commonly stop at Mr Gill's, the pastry-cook, to
take a jelly, a tart, or a small bason of vermicelli. There is, moreover,
another place of entertainment on the other side of the water, opposite to
the Grove, to which the company cross over in a boat—It is called
Spring-garden; a sweet retreat, laid out in walks and ponds, and parterres
of flowers; and there is a long-room for breakfasting and dancing. As the
situation is low and damp, and the season has been remarkably wet, my
uncle won't suffer me to go thither, lest I should catch cold: but my aunt
says it is all a vulgar prejudice; and, to be sure, a great many gentlemen
and ladies of Ireland frequent the place, without seeming to be the worse
for it. They say, dancing at Spring-gardens, when the air is moist, is
recommended to them as an excellent cure for the rheumatism. I have been
twice at the play; where, notwithstanding the excellence of the
performers, the gayety of the company, and the decorations of the theatre,
which are very fine, I could not help reflecting, with a sigh, upon our
poor homely representations at Gloucester—But this, in confidence to
my dear Willis—You know my heart, and will excuse its weakness.</p>
<p>After all, the great scenes of entertainment at Bath, are the two public
rooms; where the company meet alternately every evening. They are
spacious, lofty, and, when lighted up, appear very striking. They are
generally crowded with well-dressed people, who drink tea in separate
parties, play at cards, walk, or sit and chat together, just as they are
disposed. Twice a-week there is a ball; the expence of which is defrayed
by a voluntary subscription among the gentlemen; and every subscriber has
three tickets. I was there Friday last with my aunt, under the care of my
brother, who is a subscriber; and Sir Ulic Mackilligut recommended his
nephew, captain O Donaghan, to me as a partner; but Jery excused himself,
by saying I had got the head-ach; and, indeed, it was really so, though I
can't imagine how he knew it. The place was so hot, and the smell so
different from what we are used to in the country, that I was quite
feverish when we came away. Aunt says it is the effect of a vulgar
constitution, reared among woods and mountains; and, that as I become
accustomed to genteel company, it will wear off.—Sir Ulic was very
complaisant, made her a great many high-flown compliments; and, when we
retired, handed her with great ceremony to her chair. The captain, I
believe, would have done me the same favour; but my brother seeing him
advance, took me under his arm, and wished him good night. The Captain is
a pretty man, to be sure; tall and strait, and well made; with light-grey
eyes, and a Roman nose; but there is a certain boldness in his look and
manner, that puts one out of countenance—But I am afraid I have put
you out of all patience with this long unconnected scrawl; which I shall
therefore conclude, with assuring you, that neither Bath, nor London, nor
all the diversions of life, shall ever be able to efface the idea of my
dear Letty, from the heart of her ever affectionate</p>
<p>LYDIA MELFORD <SPAN name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Mrs MARY JONES, at Brambleton-hall. </h2>
<h3> DEAR MOLLY JONES, </h3>
<p>Heaving got a frank, I now return your fever, which I received by Mr
Higgins, at the Hot Well, together with the stockings, which his wife
footed for me; but now they are of no survice. No body wears such things
in this place—O Molly! you that live in the country have no
deception of our doings at Bath. Here is such dressing, and fidling, and
dancing, and gadding, and courting and plotting—O gracious! if God
had not given me a good stock of discretion, what a power of things might
not I reveal, consarning old mistress and young mistress; Jews with beards
that were no Jews; but handsome Christians, without a hair upon their sin,
strolling with spectacles, to get speech of Miss Liddy. But she's a dear
sweet soul, as innocent as the child unborn. She has tould me all her
inward thoughts, and disclosed her passion for Mr Wilson; and that's not
his name neither; and thof he acted among the player-men, he is meat for
their masters; and she has gi'en me her yallow trollopea; which Mrs Drab,
the mantymaker, says will look very well when it is scowred and smoaked
with silfur—You knows as how, yallow fitts my fizzogmony. God he
knows what havock I shall make among the mail sex, when I make my first
appearance in this killing collar, with a full soot of gaze, as good as
new, that I bought last Friday of madam Friponeau, the French mullaner—Dear
girl, I have seen all the fine shews of Bath; the Prades, the Squires, and
the Circlis, the Crashit, the Hottogon, and Bloody Buildings, and Harry
King's row; and I have been twice in the Bath with mistress, and na'r a
smoak upon our backs, hussy. The first time I was mortally afraid, and
flustered all day; and afterwards made believe that I had got the heddick;
but mistress said, if I didn't go I should take a dose of bumtaffy; and so
remembering how it worked Mrs Gwyllim a pennorth, I chose rather to go
again with her into the Bath, and then I met with an axident. I dropt my
petticoat, and could not get it up from the bottom.—But what did
that signify; they mought laff but they could see nothing; for I was up to
the sin in water. To be sure, it threw me into such a gumbustion, that I
know not what I said, nor what I did, nor how they got me out, and rapt me
in a blanket—Mrs Tabitha scoulded a little when we got home; but she
knows as I know what's what Ah Laud help you!—There is Sir Yury
Micligut, of Balnaclinch, in the cunty of Kalloway—I took down the
name from his gentleman, Mr 0 Frizzle, and he has got an estate of fifteen
hundred a year—I am sure he is both rich and generous—But you
nose, Molly, I was always famous for keeping secrets; and so he was very
safe in trusting me with his flegm for mistress; which, to be sure is very
honourable; for Mr O Frizzle assures me, he values not her portion a brass
varthing—And, indeed, what's poor ten thousand pounds to a Baron
Knight of his fortune? and, truly, I told Mr 0 Frizzle that was all she
had trust to—As for John Thomas, he's a morass fellor—I vow, I
thought he would a fit with Mr 0 Frizzle, because he axed me to dance with
him at Spring Garden—But God he knows I have no thoughts eyther of
wan or t'other.</p>
<p>As for house news, the worst is, Chowder has fallen off greatly from his
stomick—He cats nothing but white meats, and not much of that; and
wheezes, and seems to be much bloated. The doctors think he is threatened
with a dropsy—Parson Marrofat, who has got the same disorder, finds
great benefit from the waters; but Chowder seems to like them no better
than the squire; and mistress says, if his case don't take a favourable
turn, she will sartinly carry him to Aberga'ny, to drink goat's whey—To
be sure, the poor dear honymil is lost for want of axercise; for which
reason, she intends to give him an airing once a-day upon the Downs, in a
post-chaise—I have already made very creditable connexions in this
here place; where, to be sure, we have the very squintasense of satiety—Mrs
Patcher, my lady Kilmacullock's woman, and I are sworn sisters. She has
shewn me all her secrets, and learned me to wash gaze, and refrash rusty
silks and bumbeseens, by boiling them with winegar, chamberlye, and stale
beer. My short sack and apron luck as good as new from the shop, and my
pumpydoor as fresh as a rose, by the help of turtle-water—But this
is all Greek and Latten to you, Molly—If we should come to
Aberga'ny, you'll be within a day's ride of us; and then we shall see wan
another, please God—If not, remember me in your prayers, as I shall
do by you in mine; and take care of my kitten, and give my kind sarvice to
Sall; and this is all at present, from your beloved friend and sarvent,</p>
<p>W. JENKINS BATH, April 26.</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"></SPAN></p>
<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>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Dr LEWIS. </h2>
<h3> DEAR DICK, </h3>
<p>I have done with the waters; therefore your advice comes a day too late I
grant that physic is no mystery of your making. I know it is a mystery in
its own nature; and, like other mysteries, requires a strong gulp of faith
to make it go down—Two days ago, I went into the King's Bath, by the
advice of our friend Ch—, in order to clear the strainer of the
skin, for the benefit of a free perspiration; and the first object that
saluted my eye, was a child full of scrophulous ulcers, carried in the
arms of one of the guides, under the very noses of the bathers. I was so
shocked at the sight, that I retired immediately with indignation and
disgust—Suppose the matter of those ulcers, floating on the water,
comes in contact with my skin, when the pores are all open, I would ask
you what must be the consequence?—Good Heaven, the very thought
makes my blood run cold! we know not what sores may be running into the
water while we are bathing, and what sort of matter we may thus imbibe;
the king's-evil, the scurvy, the cancer, and the pox; and, no doubt, the
heat will render the virus the more volatile and penetrating. To purify
myself from all such contamination, I went to the duke of Kingston's
private Bath, and there I was almost suffocated for want of free air; the
place was so small, and the steam so stifling.</p>
<p>After all, if the intention is no more than to wash the skin, I am
convinced that simple element is more effectual than any water impregnated
with salt and iron; which, being astringent, will certainly contract the
pores, and leave a kind of crust upon the surface of the body. But I am
now as much afraid of drinking, as of bathing; for, after a long
conversation with the Doctor, about the construction of the pump and the
cistern, it is very far from being clear with me, that the patients in the
Pump-room don't swallow the scourings of the bathers. I can't help
suspecting, that there is, or may be, some regurgitation from the bath
into the cistern of the pump. In that case, what a delicate beveridge is
every day quaffed by the drinkers; medicated with the sweat and dirt, and
dandriff; and the abominable discharges of various kinds, from twenty
different diseased bodies, parboiling in the kettle below. In order to
avoid this filthy composition, I had recourse to the spring that supplies
the private baths on the Abbey-green; but I at once perceived something
extraordinary in the taste and smell; and, upon inquiry, I find that the
Roman baths in this quarter, were found covered by an old burying ground,
belonging to the Abbey; through which, in all probability, the water
drains in its passage; so that as we drink the decoction of living bodies
at the Pump-room, we swallow the strainings of rotten bones and carcasses
at the private bath. I vow to God, the very idea turns my stomach!
Determined, as I am, against any farther use of the Bath waters, this
consideration would give me little disturbance, if I could find any thing
more pure, or less pernicious, to quench my thirst; but, although the
natural springs of excellent water are seen gushing spontaneous on every
side, from the hills that surround us, the inhabitants, in general, make
use of well-water, so impregnated with nitre, or alum, or some other
villainous mineral, that it is equally ungrateful to the taste, and
mischievous to the constitution. It must be owned, indeed, that here, in
Milsham-street, we have a precarious and scanty supply from the hill;
which is collected in an open bason in the Circus, liable to be defiled
with dead dogs, cats, rats, and every species of nastiness, which the
rascally populace may throw into it, from mere wantonness and brutality.
Well, there is no nation that drinks so hoggishly as the English.</p>
<p>What passes for wine among us, is not the juice of the grape. It is an
adulterous mixture, brewed up of nauseous ingredients, by dunces, who are
bunglers in the art of poison-making; and yet we, and our forefathers, are
and have been poisoned by this cursed drench, without taste or flavour—The
only genuine and wholesome beveridge in England, is London porter, and
Dorchester table-beer; but as for your ale and your gin, your cyder and
your perry, and all the trashy family of made wines, I detest them as
infernal compositions, contrived for the destruction of the human species—But
what have I to do with the human species? except a very few friends, I
care not if the whole was—.</p>
<p>Heark ye, Lewis, my misanthropy increases every day—The longer I
live, I find the folly and the fraud of mankind grow more and more
intolerable—I wish I had not come from Brambletonhall; after having
lived in solitude so long, I cannot bear the hurry and impertinence of the
multitude; besides, every thing is sophisticated in these crowded places.
Snares are laid for our lives in every thing we cat or drink: the very air
we breathe, is loaded with contagion. We cannot even sleep, without risque
of infection. I say, infection—This place is the rendezvous of the
diseased—You won't deny, that many diseases are infectious; even the
consumption itself, is highly infectious. When a person dies of it in
Italy, the bed and bedding are destroyed; the other furniture is exposed
to the weather and the apartment white-washed, before it is occupied by
any other living soul. You'll allow, that nothing receives infection
sooner, or retains it longer, than blankets, feather-beds, and matrasses—'Sdeath!
how do I know what miserable objects have been stewing in the bed where I
now lie!—I wonder, Dick, you did not put me in mind of sending for
my own matrasses—But, if I had not been an ass, I should not have
needed a remembrancer—There is always some plaguy reflection that
rises up in judgment against me, and ruffles my spirits—Therefore,
let us change the subject.</p>
<p>I have other reasons for abridging my stay at Bath—You know sister
Tabby's complexion—If Mrs Tabitha Bramble had been of any other
race, I should certainly have considered her as the most—. But, the
truth is, she has found means to interest my affection; or, rather, she is
beholden to the force of prejudice, commonly called the ties of blood.
Well, this amiable maiden has actually commenced a flirting correspondence
with an Irish baronet of sixty-five. His name is Sir Ulic Mackilligut. He
is said to be much out at elbows; and, I believe, has received false
intelligence with respect to her fortune. Be that as it may, the connexion
is exceedingly ridiculous, and begins already to excite whispers. For my
part, I have no intention to dispute her free-agency; though I shall fall
upon some expedient to undeceive her paramour, as to the point which he
has principally in view. But I don't think her conduct is a proper example
for Liddy, who has also attracted the notice of some coxcombs in the
Rooms; and Jery tells me, he suspects a strapping fellow, the knight's
nephew, of some design upon the girl's heart. I shall, therefore, keep a
strict eye over her aunt and her, and even shift the scene, if I find the
matter grow more serious—You perceive what an agreeable task it must
be, to a man of my kidney, to have the cure of such souls as these.—But,
hold, You shall not have another peevish word (till the next occasion)
from</p>
<p>Yours, MATT. BRAMBLE BATH, April 28.</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Sir WATKIN PHILLIPS, of Jesus college, Oxon. </h2>
<h3> DEAR KNIGHT, </h3>
<p>I think those people are unreasonable, who complain that Bath is a
contracted circle, in which the same dull scenes perpetually revolve,
without variation—I am, on the contrary, amazed to find so small a
place so crowded with entertainment and variety. London itself can hardly
exhibit one species of diversion, to which we have not something analogous
at Bath, over and above those singular advantages that are peculiar to the
place. Here, for example, a man has daily opportunities of seeing the most
remarkable characters of the community. He sees them in their natural
attitudes and true colours; descended from their pedestals, and divested
of their formal draperies, undisguised by art and affectation—Here
we have ministers of state, judges, generals, bishops, projectors,
philosophers, wits, poets, players, chemists, fiddlers, and buffoons. If
he makes any considerable stay in the place, he is sure of meeting with
some particular friend, whom he did not expect to see; and to me there is
nothing more agreeable than such casual reencounters. Another
entertainment, peculiar to Bath, arises from the general mixture of all
degrees assembled in our public rooms, without distinction of rank or
fortune. This is what my uncle reprobates, as a monstrous jumble of
heterogeneous principles; a vile mob of noise and impertinence, without
decency or subordination. But this chaos is to me a source of infinite
amusement.</p>
<p>I was extremely diverted last ball-night to see the Master of the
Ceremonies leading, with great solemnity, to the upper end of the room, an
antiquated Abigail, dressed in her lady's cast-clothes; whom he (I
suppose) mistook for some countess just arrived at the Bath. The ball was
opened by a Scotch lord, with a mulatto heiress from St Christopher's; and
the gay colonel Tinsel danced all the evening with the daughter of an
eminent tinman from the borough of Southwark. Yesterday morning, at the
Pump-room, I saw a broken-winded Wapping landlady squeeze through a circle
of peers, to salute her brandy-merchant, who stood by the window, propped
upon crutches; and a paralytic attorney of Shoe-lane, in shuffling up to
the bar, kicked the shins of the chancellor of England, while his
lordship, in a cut bob, drank a glass of water at the pump. I cannot
account for my being pleased with these incidents, any other way, than by
saying they are truly ridiculous in their own nature, and serve to
heighten the humour in the farce of life, which I am determined to enjoy
as long as I can.</p>
<p>Those follies, that move my uncle's spleen, excite my laughter. He is as
tender as a man without a skin; who cannot bear the slightest touch
without flinching. What tickles another would give him torment; and yet he
has what we may call lucid intervals, when he is remarkably facetious—Indeed,
I never knew a hypochondriac so apt to be infected with good-humour. He is
the most risible misanthrope I ever met with. A lucky joke, or any
ludicrous incident, will set him a-laughing immoderately, even in one of
his most gloomy paroxysms; and, when the laugh is over, he will curse his
own imbecility. In conversing with strangers, he betrays no marks of
disquiet—He is splenetic with his familiars only; and not even with
them, while they keep his attention employed; but when his spirits are not
exerted externally, they seem to recoil and prey upon himself—He has
renounced the waters with execration; but he begins to find a more
efficacious, and, certainly, a much more palatable remedy in the pleasures
of society. He has discovered some old friends, among the invalids of
Bath; and, in particular, renewed his acquaintance with the celebrated
James Quin, who certainly did not come here to drink water. You cannot
doubt, but that I had the strongest curiosity to know this original; and
it was gratified by Mr Bramble, who has had him twice at our house to
dinner.</p>
<p>So far as I am able to judge, Quin's character is rather more respectable
than it has been generally represented. His bon mots are in every
witling's mouth; but many of them have a rank flavour, which one would be
apt to think was derived from a natural grossness of idea. I suspect,
however, that justice has not been done the author, by the collectors of
those Quiniana; who have let the best of them slip through their fingers,
and only retained such as were suited to the taste and organs of the
multitude. How far he may relax in his hours of jollity, I cannot pretend
to say; but his general conversation is conducted by the nicest rules of
Propriety; and Mr James Quin is, certainly, one of the best bred men in
the kingdom. He is not only a most agreeable companion but (as I am
credibly informed) a very honest man; highly susceptible of friendship,
warm, steady, and even generous in his attachments, disdaining flattery,
and incapable of meanness and dissimulation. Were I to judge, however,
from Quin's eye alone, I should take him to be proud, insolent, and cruel.
There is something remarkably severe and forbidding in his aspect; and, I
have been told, he was ever disposed to insult his inferiors and
dependants.—Perhaps that report has influenced my opinion of his
looks—You know we are the fools of prejudice. Howsoever that may be,
I have as yet seen nothing but his favourable side, and my uncle, who
frequently confers with him, in a corner, declares he is one of the most
sensible men he ever knew—He seems to have a reciprocal regard for
old Squaretoes, whom he calls by the familiar name of Matthew, and often
reminds of their old tavern-adventures: on the other hand, Matthew's eyes
sparkle whenever Quin makes his appearance—Let him be never so
jarring and discordant, Quin puts him in tune; and, like treble and bass
in the same concert, they make excellent music together—. T'other
day, the conversation turning upon Shakespeare, I could not help saying,
with some emotion, that I would give an hundred guineas to see Mr Quin act
the part of Falstaff; upon which, turning to me with a smile, 'And I would
give a thousand, young gentleman (said he) that I could gratify your
longing.' My uncle and he are perfectly agreed in their estimate of life;
which Quin says, would stink in his nostrils, if he did not steep it in
claret.</p>
<p>I want to see this phenomenon in his cups; and have almost prevailed upon
uncle to give him a small turtle at the Bear. In the mean time, I must
entertain you with an incident, that seems to confirm the judgment of
those two cynic philosophers. I took the liberty to differ in opinion from
Mr Bramble, when he observed, that the mixture of people in the
entertainments of this place was destructive of all order and urbanity;
that it rendered the plebeians insufferably arrogant and troublesome, and
vulgarized the deportment and sentiments of those who moved in the upper
spheres of life. He said such a preposterous coalition would bring us into
contempt with all our neighbours; and was worse, in fact, than debasing
the gold coin of the nation. I argued, on the contrary, that those
plebeians who discovered such eagerness to imitate the dress and equipage
of their superiors, would likewise, in time, adopt their maxims and their
manners, be polished by their conversation, and refined by their example;
but when I appealed to Mr Quin, and asked if he did not think that such an
unreserved mixture would improve the whole mass? 'Yes (said he) as a plate
of marmalade would improve a pan of sirreverence.'</p>
<p>I owned I was not much conversant in high-life, but I had seen what were
called polite assemblies in London and elsewhere; that those of Bath
seemed to be as decent as any; and that, upon the whole, the individuals
that composed it, would not be found deficient in good manners and
decorum. 'But let us have recourse to experience (said I)—Jack
Holder, who was intended for a parson, has succeeded to an estate of two
thousand a year, by the death of his elder brother. He is now at the Bath,
driving about in a phaeton and four, with French horns. He has treated
with turtle and claret at all the taverns in Bath and Bristol, till his
guests are gorged with good chear: he has bought a dozen suits of fine
clothes, by the advice of the Master of the Ceremonies, under whose
tuition he has entered himself. He has lost hundreds at billiards to
sharpers, and taken one of the nymphs of Avon-street into keeping; but,
finding all these channels insufficient to drain him of his current cash,
his counsellor has engaged him to give a general tea-drinking to-morrow at
Wiltshire's room. In order to give it the more eclat, every table is to be
furnished with sweet-meats and nosegays; which, however, are not to be
touched till notice is given by the ringing of a bell, and then the ladies
may help themselves without restriction. This will be no bad way of trying
the company's breeding.'</p>
<p>'I will abide by that experiment (cried my uncle) and if I could find a
place to stand secure, without the vortex of the tumult, which I know will
ensue, I would certainly go thither and enjoy the scene.' Quin proposed
that we should take our station in the music-gallery, and we took his
advice. Holder had got thither before us, with his horns perdue, but we
were admitted. The tea-drinking passed as usual, and the company having
risen from the tables, were sauntering in groupes, in expectation of the
signal for attack, when the bell beginning to ring, they flew with
eagerness to the dessert, and the whole place was instantly in commotion.
There was nothing but justling, scrambling, pulling, snatching,
struggling, scolding, and screaming. The nosegays were torn from one
another's hands and bosoms; the glasses and china went to wreck; the
tables and floors were strewed with comfits. Some cried; some swore; and
the tropes and figures of Billingsgate were used without reserve in all
their native zest and flavour; nor were those flowers of rhetoric
unattended with significant gesticulation. Some snapped their fingers;
some forked them out; some clapped their hands, and some their back-sides;
at length, they fairly proceeded to pulling caps, and every thing seemed
to presage a general battle; when Holder ordered his horns to sound a
charge, with a view to animate the combatants, and inflame the contest;
but this manoeuvre produced an effect quite contrary to what he expected.
It was a note of reproach that roused them to an immediate sense of their
disgraceful situation. They were ashamed of their absurd deportment, and
suddenly desisted. They gathered up their caps, ruffles, and
handkerchiefs; and great part of them retired in silent mortification.</p>
<p>Quin laughed at this adventure; but my uncle's delicacy was hurt. He hung
his head in manifest chagrin, and seemed to repine at the triumph of his
judgment—Indeed, his victory was more complete than he imagined;
for, as we afterwards learned, the two amazons who singularized themselves
most in the action, did not come from the purlieus of Puddle-dock, but
from the courtly neighbourhood of St James's palace. One was a baroness,
and the other, a wealthy knight's dowager—My uncle spoke not a word,
till we had made our retreat good to the coffee-house; where, taking off
his hat and wiping his forehead, 'I bless God (said he) that Mrs Tabitha
Bramble did not take the field today!' 'I would pit her for a cool hundred
(cried Quin) against the best shake-bag of the whole main.' The truth is,
nothing could have kept her at home but the accident of her having taken
physic before she knew the nature of the entertainment. She has been for
some days furbishing up an old suit of black velvet, to make her
appearance as Sir Ulic's partner at the next ball.</p>
<p>I have much to say of this amiable kinswoman; but she has not been
properly introduced to your acquaintance. She is remarkably civil to Mr
Quin; of whose sarcastic humour she seems to stand in awe; but her caution
is no match for her impertinence. 'Mr Gwynn (said she the other day) I was
once vastly entertained with your playing the Ghost of Gimlet at
Drury-lane, when you rose up through the stage, with a white face and red
eyes, and spoke of quails upon the frightful porcofine—Do, pray,
spout a little the Ghost of Gimlet.' 'Madam (said Quin, with a glance of
ineffable disdain) the Ghost of Gimlet is laid, never to rise again'—
Insensible of this check, she proceeded: 'Well, to be sure, you looked and
talked so like a real ghost; and then the cock crowed so natural. I wonder
how you could teach him to crow so exact, in the very nick of time; but, I
suppose, he's game—An't he game, Mr Gwynn?' 'Dunghill, madam.'—'Well,
dunghill, or not dunghill, he has got such a clear counter-tenor, that I
wish I had such another at Brambleton-hall, to wake the maids of a
morning. Do you know where I could find one of his brood?' 'Probably in
the work-house at St Giles's parish, madam; but I protest I know not his
particular mew!' My uncle, frying with vexation, cried, 'Good God, sister,
how you talk! I have told you twenty times, that this gentleman's name is
not Gwynn.'—'Hoity toity, brother mine (she replied) no offence, I
hope—Gwynn is an honorable name, of true old British extraction—I
thought the gentleman had been come of Mrs Helen Gwynn, who was of his own
profession; and if so be that were the case, he might be of king Charles's
breed, and have royal blood in his veins.'—'No, madam (answered
Quin, with great solemnity) my mother was not a whore of such distinction—True
it is, I am sometimes tempted to believe myself of royal descent; for my
inclinations are often arbitrary—If I was an absolute prince, at
this instant, I believe I should send for the head of your cook in a
charger—She has committed felony, on the person of that John Dory,
which is mangled in a cruel manner, and even presented without sauce—O
tempora! O mores!'</p>
<p>This good-humoured sally turned the conversation into a less disagreeable
channel—But, lest you should think my scribble as tedious as Mrs
Tabby's clack, I shall not add another word, but that I am as usual</p>
<p>Yours, J. MELFORD BATH, April 30.</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Dr LEWIS. </h2>
<h3> DEAR LEWIS, </h3>
<p>I received your bill upon Wiltshire, which was punctually honoured; but as
I don't choose to keep so much cash by me, in a common lodging house, I
have deposited 250l. in the bank of Bath, and shall take their bills for
it in London, when I leave this place, where the season draws to an end—You
must know, that now being a-foot, I am resolved to give Liddy a glimpse of
London. She is one of the best hearted creatures I ever knew, and gains
upon my affection every day—As for Tabby, I have dropt such hints to
the Irish baronet, concerning her fortune, as, I make no doubt, will cool
the ardour of his addresses. Then her pride will take the alarm; and the
rancour of stale maidenhood being chafed, we shall hear nothing but
slander and abuse of Sir Ulic Mackilligut—This rupture, I foresee,
will facilitate our departure from Bath; where, at present, Tabby seems to
enjoy herself with peculiar satisfaction. For my part, I detest it so
much, that I should not have been able to stay so long in the place if I
had not discovered some old friends; whose conversation alleviates my
disgust—Going to the coffeehouse one forenoon, I could not help
contemplating the company, with equal surprize and compassion—We
consisted of thirteen individuals; seven lamed by the gout, rheumatism, or
palsy; three maimed by accident; and the rest either deaf or blind. One
hobbled, another hopped, a third dragged his legs after him like a wounded
snake, a fourth straddled betwixt a pair of long crutches, like the mummy
of a felon hanging in chains; a fifth was bent into a horizontal position,
like a mounted telescope, shoved in by a couple of chairmen; and a sixth
was the bust of a man, set upright in a wheel machine, which the waiter
moved from place to place.</p>
<p>Being struck with some of their faces, I consulted the subscription-book;
and, perceiving the names of several old friends, began to consider the
groupe with more attention. At length I discovered rear-admiral Balderick,
the companion of my youth, whom I had not seen since he was appointed
lieutenant of the Severn. He was metamorphosed into an old man, with a
wooden leg and a weatherbeaten face, which appeared the more ancient from
his grey locks, that were truly venerable—Sitting down at the table,
where he was reading a news-paper, I gazed at him for some minutes, with a
mixture of pleasure and regret, which made my heart gush with tenderness;
then, taking him by the hand, 'Ah, Sam (said I) forty years ago I little
thought'—I was too much moved to proceed. 'An old friend, sure
enough! (cried he, squeezing my hand, and surveying me eagerly through his
glasses) I know the looming of the vessel, though she has been hard
strained since we parted; but I can't heave up the name'—The moment
I told him who I was, he exclaimed, 'Ha! Matt, my old fellow cruizer,
still afloat!' And, starting up, hugged me in his arms. His transport,
however, boded me no good; for, in saluting me, he thrust the spring of
his spectacles into my eye, and, at the same time, set his wooden stump
upon my gouty toe; an attack that made me shed tears in sad earnest—After
the hurry of our recognition was over, he pointed out two of our common
friends in the room: the bust was what remained of colonel Cockril, who
had lost the use of his limbs in making an American campaign; and the
telescope proved to be my college chum, sir Reginald Bently; who, with his
new title, and unexpected inheritance, commenced fox-hunter, without
having served his apprenticeship to the mystery; and, in consequence of
following the hounds through a river, was seized with an inflammation of
his bowels, which has contracted him into his present attitude.</p>
<p>Our former correspondence was forthwith renewed, with the most hearty
expressions of mutual good-will, and as we had met so unexpectedly, we
agreed to dine together that very day at the tavern. My friend Quin, being
luckily unengaged, obliged us with his company; and, truly, this the most
happy day I have passed these twenty years. You and I, Lewis, having been
always together, never tasted friendship in this high gout, contracted
from long absence. I cannot express the half of what I felt at this casual
meeting of three or four companions, who had been so long separated, and
so roughly treated by the storms of life. It was a renovation of youth; a
kind of resuscitation of the dead, that realized those interesting dreams,
in which we sometimes retrieve our ancient friends from the grave. Perhaps
my enjoyment was not the less pleasing for being mixed with a strain of
melancholy, produced by the remembrance of past scenes, that conjured up
the ideas of some endearing connexions, which the hand of Death has
actually dissolved.</p>
<p>The spirits and good humour of the company seemed to triumph over the
wreck of their constitutions. They had even philosophy enough to joke upon
their own calamities; such is the power of friendship, the sovereign
cordial of life—I afterwards found, however, that they were not
without their moments, and even hours of disquiet. Each of them apart, in
succeeding conferences, expatiated upon his own particular grievances; and
they were all malcontents at bottom—Over and above their personal
disasters, they thought themselves unfortunate in the lottery of life.
Balderick complained, that all the recompence he had received for his long
and hard service, was the half-pay of a rear-admiral. The colonel was
mortified to see himself over-topped by upstart generals, some of whom he
had once commanded; and, being a man of a liberal turn, could ill put up
with a moderate annuity, for which he had sold his commission. As for the
baronet, having run himself considerably in debt, on a contested election,
he has been obliged to relinquish his seat in parliament, and his seat in
the country at the same time, and put his estate to nurse; but his
chagrin, which is the effect of his own misconduct, does not affect me
half so much as that of the other two, who have acted honourable and
distinguished parts on the great theatre, and are now reduced to lead a
weary life in this stew-pan of idleness and insignificance. They have long
left off using the waters, after having experienced their inefficacy. The
diversions of the place they are not in a condition to enjoy. How then do
they make shift to pass their time? In the forenoon they crawl out to the
Rooms or the coffeehouse, where they take a hand at whist, or descant upon
the General Advertiser; and their evenings they murder in private parties,
among peevish invalids, and insipid old women—This is the case with
a good number of individuals, whom nature seems to have intended for
better purposes.</p>
<p>About a dozen years ago, many decent families, restricted to small
fortunes, besides those that came hither on the score of health, were
tempted to settle at Bath, where they could then live comfortably, and
even make a genteel appearance, at a small expence: but the madness of the
times has made the place too hot for them, and they are now obliged to
think of other migrations—Some have already fled to the mountains of
Wales, and others have retired to Exeter. Thither, no doubt, they will be
followed by the flood of luxury and extravagance, which will drive them
from place to place to the very Land's End; and there, I suppose, they
will be obliged to ship themselves to some other country. Bath is become a
mere sink of profligacy and extortion. Every article of house-keeping is
raised to an enormous price; a circumstance no longer to be wondered at,
when we know that every petty retainer of fortune piques himself upon
keeping a table, and thinks it is for the honour of his character to wink
at the knavery of his servants, who are in a confederacy with the
market-people; and, of consequence, pay whatever they demand. Here is now
a mushroom of opulence, who pays a cook seventy guineas a week for
furnishing him with one meal a day. This portentous frenzy is become so
contagious, that the very rabble and refuse of mankind are infected. I
have known a negro-driver, from Jamaica, pay over-night, to the master of
one of the rooms, sixty-five guineas for tea and coffee to the company,
and leave Bath next morning, in such obscurity, that not one of his guests
had the slightest idea of his person, or even made the least inquiry about
his name. Incidents of this kind are frequent; and every day teems with
fresh absurdities, which are too gross to make a thinking man merry.</p>
<p>—But I feel the spleen creeping on me apace; and therefore will
indulge you with a cessation, that you may have no unnecessary cause to
curse your correspondence with,</p>
<p>Dear Dick, Yours ever, MAT. BRAMBLE BATH, May 5.</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Miss LAETITIA WILLIS, at Gloucester. </h2>
<h3> MY DEAR LETTY, </h3>
<p>I wrote you at great length by the post, the twenty-sixth of last month,
to which I refer you for an account of our proceedings at Bath; and I
expect your answer with impatience. But, having this opportunity of a
private hand, I send you two dozen of Bath rings; six of the best of which
I desire you will keep for yourself, and distribute the rest among the
young ladies, our common friends, as you shall think proper—I don't
know how you will approve of the mottoes; some of them are not much to my
own liking; but I was obliged to take such as I could find ready
manufactured—I am vexed, that neither you nor I have received any
further information of a certain person—Sure it cannot be wilful
neglect!—O my dear Willis! I begin to be visited by strange fancies,
and to have some melancholy doubts; which, however, it would be ungenerous
to harbour without further inquiry—My uncle, who has made me a present
of a very fine set of garnets, talks of treating us with a jaunt to
London; which, you may imagine, will be highly agreeable; but I like Bath
so well, that I hope he won't think of leaving it till the season is quite
over; and yet, betwixt friends, something has happened to my aunt, which
will probably shorten our stay in this place.</p>
<p>Yesterday, in the forenoon, she went by herself to a breakfasting in one
of the rooms; and, in half an hour, returned in great agitation, having
Chowder along with her in the chair. I believe some accident must have
happened to that unlucky animal, which is the great source of all her
troubles. Dear Letty! what a pity it is, that a woman of her years and
discretion, should place her affection upon such an ugly, ill-conditioned
cur, that snarls and snaps at every body. I asked John Thomas, the footman
who attended her, what was the matter? and he did nothing but grin. A
famous dog-doctor was sent for, and undertook to cure the patient,
provided he might carry him home to his own house; but his mistress would
not part with him out of her own sight—She ordered the cook to warm
cloths, which she applied to his bowels, with her own hand. She gave up
all thoughts of going to the ball in the evening; and when Sir Ulic came
to drink tea, refused to be seen; so that he went away to look for another
partner. My brother Jery whistles and dances. My uncle sometimes shrugs up
his shoulders, and sometimes bursts out a-laughing. My aunt sobs and
scolds by turns; and her woman, Win. Jenkins, stares and wonders with a
foolish face of curiosity; and, for my part, I am as curious as she, but
ashamed to ask questions.</p>
<p>Perhaps time will discover the mystery; for if it was any thing that
happened in the Rooms, it cannot be long concealed—All I know is,
that last night at supper, miss Bramble spoke very disdainfully of Sir
Ulic Mackilligut, and asked her brother if he intended to keep us
sweltering all the summer at Bath? 'No, sister Tabitha (said he, with an
arch smile) we shall retreat before the Dog-days begin; though I make no
doubt, that with a little temperance and discretion, our constitutions
might be kept cool enough all the year, even at Bath.' As I don't know the
meaning of this insinuation, I won't pretend to make any remarks upon it
at present: hereafter, perhaps, I may be able to explain it more to your
satisfaction—In the mean time, I beg you will be punctual in your
correspondence, and continue to love your ever faithful</p>
<p>LYDIA MELFORD BATH, May 6.</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Sir WATKIN PHILLIPS, of Jesus college, Oxon. </h2>
<p>So then Mrs Blackerby's affair has proved a false alarm, and I have saved
my money? I wish, however, her declaration had not been so premature; for
though my being thought capable of making her a mother, might have given
me some credit, the reputation of an intrigue with such a cracked pitcher
does me no honour at all In my last I told you I had hopes of seeing Quin,
in his hours of elevation at the tavern which is the temple of mirth and
good fellowship; where he, as priest of Comus, utters the inspirations of
wit and humour—I have had that satisfaction. I have dined with his
club at the Three Tuns, and had the honour to sit him out. At half an hour
past eight in the evening, he was carried home with six good bottles of
claret under his belt; and it being then Friday, he gave orders that he
should not be disturbed till Sunday at noon—You must not imagine
that this dose had any other effect upon his conversation, but that of
making it more extravagantly entertaining—He had lost the use of his
limbs, indeed, several hours before we parted, but he retained all his
other faculties in perfection; and as he gave vent to every whimsical idea
as it rose, I was really astonished at the brilliancy of his thoughts, and
the force of his expression. Quin is a real voluptuary in the articles of
eating and drinking; and so confirmed an epicure, in the common
acceptation of the term, that he cannot put up with ordinary fare. This is
a point of such importance with him, that he always takes upon himself the
charge of catering; and a man admitted to his mess, is always sure of
eating delicate victuals, and drinking excellent wine—He owns
himself addicted to the delights of the stomach, and often jokes upon his
own sensuality; but there is nothing selfish in this appetite—He
finds that good chear unites good company, exhilerates the spirits, opens
the heart, banishes all restraint from conversation, and promotes the
happiest purposes of social life. But Mr James Quin is not a subject to be
discussed in the compass of one letter; I shall therefore, at present,
leave him to his repose, and call another of a very different complexion.</p>
<p>You desire to have further acquaintance with the person of our aunt, and
promise yourself much entertainment from her connexion with Sir Ulic
Mackilligut: but in this hope you are baulked already; that connexion is
dissolved. The Irish baronet is an old hound, that, finding her carrion,
has quitted the scent—I have already told you, that Mrs Tabitha
Bramble is a maiden of forty-five. In her person, she is tall, raw-boned,
aukward, flat-chested, and stooping; her complexion is sallow and
freckled; her eyes are not grey, but greenish, like those of a cat, and
generally inflamed; her hair is of a sandy, or rather dusty hue; her
forehead low; her nose long, sharp, and, towards the extremity, always red
in cool weather; her lips skinny, her mouth extensive, her teeth
straggling and loose, of various colours and conformation; and her long
neck shrivelled into a thousand wrinkles—In her temper, she is
proud, stiff, vain, imperious, prying, malicious, greedy, and
uncharitable. In all likelihood, her natural austerity has been soured by
disappointment in love; for her long celibacy is by no means owing to her
dislike of matrimony: on the contrary, she has left no stone unturned to
avoid the reproachful epithet of old maid.</p>
<p>Before I was born, she had gone such lengths in the way of flirting with a
recruiting officer, that her reputation was a little singed. She
afterwards made advances to the curate of the parish, who dropped some
distant hints about the next presentation to the living, which was in her
brother's gift; but finding that was already promised to another, he flew
off at a tangent; and Mrs Tabby, in revenge, found means to deprive him of
his cure. Her next lover was lieutenant of a man of war, a relation of the
family, who did not understand the refinements of the passion, and
expressed no aversion to grapple with cousin Tabby in the way of marriage;
but before matters could be properly adjusted, he went out on a cruise,
and was killed in an engagement with a French frigate. Our aunt, though
baffled so often, did not yet despair. She layed all her snares for Dr
Lewis, who is the fidus Achates of my uncle. She even fell sick upon the
occasion, and prevailed with Matt to interpose in her behalf with his
friend; but the Doctor, being a shy cock, would not be caught with chaff,
and flatly rejected the proposal: so that Mrs Tabitha was content to exert
her patience once more, after having endeavoured in vain to effect a
rupture betwixt the two friends; and now she thinks proper to be very
civil to Lewis, who is become necessary to her in the way of his
profession.</p>
<p>These, however, are not the only efforts she has made towards a nearer
conjunction with our sex. Her fortune was originally no more than a
thousand pounds; but she gained an accession of five hundred by the death
of a sister, and the lieutenant left her three hundred in his will. These
sums she has more than doubled, by living free of all expence, in her
brother's house; and dealing in cheese and Welsh flannel, the produce of
his flocks and dairy. At present her capital is increased to about four
thousand pounds; and her avarice seems to grow every day more and more
rapacious: but even this is not so intolerable as the perverseness of her
nature, which keeps the whole family in disquiet and uproar. She is one of
those geniuses who find some diabolical enjoyment in being dreaded and
detested by their fellow-creatures.</p>
<p>I once told my uncle, I was surprised that a man of his disposition could
bear such a domestic plague, when it could be so easily removed. The
remark made him sore, because it seemed to tax him with want of resolution—Wrinkling
up his nose, and drawing down his eye-brows, 'A young fellow (said he)
when he first thrusts his snout into the world, is apt to be surprised at
many things which a man of experience knows to be ordinary and unavoidable—This
precious aunt of yours is become insensibly a part of my constitution—Damn
her! She's a noli me tangere in my flesh, which I cannot bear to be
touched or tampered with.' I made no reply; but shifted the conversation.
He really has an affection for this original; which maintains its ground
in defiance of common sense, and in despite of that contempt which he must
certainly feel for her character and understanding. Nay, I am convinced,
that she has likewise a most virulent attachment to his person; though her
love never shews itself but in the shape of discontent; and she persists
in tormenting him out of pure tenderness—The only object within
doors upon which she bestows any marks of affection, in the usual stile,
is her dog Chowder; a filthy cur from Newfoundland, which she had in a
present from the wife of a skipper in Swansey. One would imagine she had
distinguished this beast with her favour on account of his ugliness and
ill-nature, if it was not, indeed, an instinctive sympathy, between his
disposition and her own. Certain it is, she caresses him without ceasing;
and even harasses the family in the service of this cursed animal, which,
indeed, has proved the proximate cause of her breach with Sir Ulic
Mackilligut.</p>
<p>You must know, she yesterday wanted to steal a march of poor Liddy, and
went to breakfast in the Room without any other companion than her dog, in
expectation of meeting with the Baronet, who had agreed to dance with her
in the evening—Chowder no sooner made his appearance in the Room,
than the Master of the Ceremonies, incensed at his presumption, ran up to
drive him away, and threatened him with his foot; but the other seemed to
despise his authority, and displaying a formidable case of long, white,
sharp teeth, kept the puny monarch at bay—While he stood under some
trepidation, fronting his antagonist, and bawling to the waiter, Sir Ulic
Mackilligut came to his assistance; and seeming ignorant of the connexion
between this intruder and his mistress, gave the former such a kick in the
jaws, as sent him howling to the door—Mrs Tabitha, incensed at this
outrage, ran after him, squalling in a tone equally disagreeable; while
the Baronet followed her on one side, making apologies for his mistake;
and Derrick on the other, making remonstrances upon the rules and
regulations of the place.</p>
<p>Far from being satisfied with the Knight's excuses, she said she was sure
he was no gentleman; and when the Master of the Ceremonies offered to hand
her into the chair, she rapped him over the knuckles with her fan. My
uncle's footman being still at the door, she and Chowder got into the same
vehicle, and were carried off amidst the jokes of the chairmen and other
populace—I had been riding out on Clerkendown, and happened to enter
just as the fracas was over—The Baronet, coming up to me with an
affected air of chagrin, recounted the adventure; at which I laughed
heartily, and then his countenance cleared up. 'My dear soul (said he)
when I saw a sort of a wild baist, snarling with open mouth at the Master
of the Ceremonies, like the red cow going to devour Tom Thumb, I could do
no less than go to the assistance of the little man; but I never dreamt
the baist was one of Mrs Bramble's attendants—O! if I had, he might
have made his breakfast upon Derrick and welcome—But you know, my
dear friend, how natural it is for us Irishmen to blunder, and to take the
wrong sow by the ear—However, I will confess judgment, and cry her
mercy; and it is to be hoped, a penitent sinner may be forgiven.' I told
him, that as the offence was not voluntary of his side, it was to be hoped
he would not find her implacable.</p>
<p>But, in truth, all this concern was dissembled. In his approaches of
gallantry to Mrs Tabitha, he had been misled by a mistake of at least six
thousand pounds, in the calculation of her fortune; and in this particular
he was just undeceived. He, therefore, seized the first opportunity of
incurring her displeasure decently, in such a manner as would certainly
annihilate the correspondence; and he could not have taken a more
effectual method, than that of beating her dog. When he presented himself
at our door, to pay his respects to the offended fair, he was refused
admittance, and given to understand that he should never find her at home
for the future. She was not so inaccessible to Derrick, who came to demand
satisfaction for the insult she had offered to him, even in the verge of
his own court. She knew it was convenient to be well with the Master of
the Ceremonies, while she continued to frequent the Rooms; and, having
heard he was a poet, began to be afraid of making her appearance in a
ballad or lampoon.—She therefore made excuses for what she had done,
imputing it to the flutter of her spirits; and subscribed handsomely for
his poems: so that he was perfectly appeased, and overwhelmed her with a
profusion of compliment. He even solicited a reconciliation with Chowder;
which, however, the latter declined; and he declared, that if he could
find a precedent in the annals of the Bath, which he would carefully
examine for that purpose, her favourite should be admitted to the next
public breakfasting—But, I, believe, she will not expose herself or
him to the risque of a second disgrace—Who will supply the place of
Mackilligut in her affections, I cannot foresee; but nothing in the shape
of man can come amiss. Though she is a violent church-woman, of the most
intolerant zeal, I believe in my conscience she would have no objection,
at present, to treat on the score of matrimony with an Anabaptist, Quaker,
or Jew; and even ratify the treaty at the expense of her own conversion.
But, perhaps, I think too hardly of this kinswoman; who, I must own, is
very little beholden to the good opinion of</p>
<p>Yours, J. MELFORD BATH, May 6.</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Dr LEWIS. </h2>
<p>You ask me, why I don't take the air a-horseback, during this fine
weather?—In which of the avenues of this paradise would you have me
take that exercise? Shall I commit myself to the high-roads of London or
Bristol, to be stifled with dust, or pressed to death in the midst of
post-chaises, flying-machines, waggons, and coal-horses; besides the
troops of fine gentlemen that take to the highway, to shew their
horsemanship; and the coaches of fine ladies, who go thither to shew their
equipages? Shall I attempt the Downs, and fatigue myself to death in
climbing up an eternal ascent, without any hopes of reaching the summit?
Know then, I have made divers desperate leaps at those upper regions; but
always fell backward into this vapour-pit, exhausted and dispirited by
those ineffectual efforts; and here we poor valetudinarians pant and
struggle, like so many Chinese gudgeons, gasping in the bottom of a
punch-bowl. By Heaven it is a kind of enchantment! If I do not speedily
break the spell, and escape, I may chance to give up the ghost in this
nauseous stew of corruption—It was but two nights ago, that I had
like to have made my public exit, at a minute's warning. One of my
greatest weaknesses is that of suffering myself to be over-ruled by the
opinion of people, whose judgment I despise—I own, with shame and
confusion of face, that importunity of any kind I cannot resist. This want
of courage and constancy is an original flaw in my nature, which you must
have often observed with compassion, if not with contempt. I am afraid
some of our boasted virtues maybe traced up to this defect.</p>
<p>Without further preamble, I was persuaded to go to a ball, on purpose to
see Liddy dance a minuet with a young petulant jackanapes, the only son of
a wealthy undertaker from London, whose mother lodges in our
neighbourhood, and has contracted an acquaintance with Tabby. I sat a
couple of long hours, half stifled, in the midst of a noisome crowd; and
could not help wondering that so many hundreds of those that rank as
rational creatures, could find entertainment in seeing a succession of
insipid animals, describing the same dull figure for a whole evening, on
an area, not much bigger than a taylor's shop-board. If there had been any
beauty, grace, activity, magnificent dress, or variety of any kind
howsoever absurd, to engage the attention, and amuse the fancy, I should
not have been surprised; but there was no such object: it was a tiresome
repetition of the same languid, frivolous scene, performed by actors that
seemed to sleep in all their motions. The continual swimming of these
phantoms before my eyes, gave me a swimming of the head; which was also
affected by the fouled air, circulating through such a number of rotten
human bellows. I therefore retreated towards the door, and stood in the
passage to the next room, talking to my friend Quin; when an end being put
to the minuets, the benches were removed to make way for the
country-dances; and the multitude rising at once, the whole atmosphere was
put in commotion. Then, all of a sudden, came rushing upon me an Egyptian
gale, so impregnated with pestilential vapours, that my nerves were
overpowered, and I dropt senseless upon the floor.</p>
<p>You may easily conceive what a clamour and confusion this accident must
have produced, in such an assembly—I soon recovered, however, and
found myself in an easy chair, supported by my own people—Sister
Tabby, in her great tenderness, had put me to the torture, squeezing my
hand under her arm, and stuffing my nose with spirit of hartshorn, till
the whole inside was excoriated. I no sooner got home, than I sent for
Doctor Ch—, who assured me I needed not be alarmed, for my swooning
was entirely occasioned by an accidental impression of fetid effluvia upon
nerves of uncommon sensibility. I know not how other people's nerves are
constructed; but one would imagine they must be made of very coarse
materials, to stand the shock of such a torrid assault. It was, indeed, a
compound of villainous smells, in which the most violent stinks, and the
most powerful perfumes, contended for the mastery. Imagine to yourself a
high exalted essence of mingled odours, arising from putrid gums,
imposthumated lungs, sour flatulencies, rank armpits, sweating feet,
running sores and issues, plasters, ointments, and embrocations,
hungary-water, spirit of lavender, assafoetida drops, musk, hartshorn, and
sal volatile; besides a thousand frowzy steams, which I could not analyse.
Such, O Dick! is the fragrant aether we breathe in the polite assemblies
of Bath—Such is the atmosphere I have exchanged for the pure,
elastic, animating air of the Welsh mountains—O Rus, quando te
aspiciam!—-I wonder what the devil possessed me—</p>
<p>But few words are best: I have taken my resolution—You may well
suppose I don't intend to entertain the company with a second exhibition—I
have promised, in an evil hour, to proceed to London, and that promise
shall be performed, but my stay in the metropolis shall be brief. I have,
for the benefit of my health, projected an expedition to the North, which,
I hope, will afford some agreeable pastime. I have never travelled farther
that way than Scarborough; and, I think, it is a reproach upon me, as a
British freeholder, to have lived so long without making an excursion to
the other side of the Tweed. Besides, I have some relations settled in
Yorkshire, to whom it may not be improper to introduce my nephew and his
sister—At present, I have nothing to add, but that Tabby is happily
disentangled from the Irish Baronet; and that I will not fail to make you
acquainted, from time to time, with the sequel of our adventures: a mark
of consideration, which, perhaps, you would willingly dispense with in</p>
<p>Your humble servant, M. BRAMBLE BATH, May 8.</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"></SPAN></p>
<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>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Mrs MARY JONES, at Brambleton-hall. </h2>
<h3> DEAR MOLLY, </h3>
<p>We are all upon the ving—Hey for London, girl!—Fecks! we have
been long enough here; for we're all turned tipsy turvy—Mistress has
excarded Sir Ulic for kicking of Chowder; and I have sent O Frizzle away,
with a flea in his ear—I've shewn him how little I minded his tinsy
and his long tail—A fellor, who would think for to go, for to offer,
to take up with a dirty trollop under my nose—I ketched him in the
very feet, coming out of the housemaids garret.—But I have gi'en the
dirty slut a siserary. O Molly! the sarvants at Bath are devils in garnet.
They lite the candle at both ends—Here's nothing but ginketting, and
wasting, and thieving and tricking, and trigging; and then they are never
content—They won't suffer the 'squire and mistress to stay any
longer; because they have been already above three weeks in the house; and
they look for a couple of ginneys a-piece at our going away; and this is a
parquisite they expect every month in the season; being as how no family
has a right to stay longer than four weeks in the same lodgings; and so
the cuck swears she will pin the dish-clout to mistress's tail; and the
house-maid vows, she'll put cowitch in master's bed, if so be he don't
discamp without furder ado—I don't blame them for making the most of
their market, in the way of vails and parquisites; and I defy the devil to
say I am a tail-carrier, or ever brought a poor sarvant into trouble—But
then they oft to have some conscience, in vronging those that be sarvants
like themselves—For you must no, Molly, I missed three-quarters of
blond lace, and a remnant of muslin, and my silver thimble; which was the
gift of true love; they were all in my workbasket, that I left upon the
table in the sarvants-hall, when mistresses bell rung; but if they had
been under lock and kay, 'twould have been all the same; for there are
double keys to all the locks in Bath; and they say as how the very teeth
an't safe in your head, if you sleep with your mouth open—And so
says I to myself, them things could not go without hands; and so I'll
watch their waters: and so I did with a vitness; for then it was I found
Bett consarned with O Frizzle. And as the cuck had thrown her slush at me,
because I had taken part with Chowder, when he fit, with the turnspit, I
resolved to make a clear kitchen, and throw some of her fat into the fire.
I ketched the chare-woman going out with her load in the morning, before
she thought I was up, and brought her to mistress with her whole cargo—Marry,
what do'st think she had got in the name of God? Her buckets were foaming
full of our best bear, and her lap was stuffed with a cold tongue, part of
a buttock of beef, half a turkey, and a swinging lump of butter, and the
matter of ten mould kandles, that had scarce ever been lit. The cuck
brazened it out, and said it was her rite to rummage the pantry; and she
was ready for to go before the mare: that he had been her potticary many
years, and would never think of hurting a poor sarvant, for giving away
the scraps of the kitchen. I went another way to work with madam Betty,
because she had been saucy, and called me skandelus names; and said O
Frizzle couldn't abide me, and twenty other odorous falsehoods. I got a
varrant from the mare, and her box being sarched by the constable, my
things came out sure enuff; besides a full pound of vax candles, and a
nite-cap of mistress, that I could sware to on my cruperal oaf—O!
then madam Mopstick came upon her merry bones; and as the squire wouldn't
hare of a pursecution, she scaped a skewering: but the longest day she has
to live, she'll remember your</p>
<p>Humble sarvant, W. JENKINS BATH, May 15.</p>
<p>If the hind should come again, before we be gone, pray send me the shift
and apron, with the vite gallow manky shoes; which you'll find in my
pillowber—Sarvice to Saul—</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Sir WATKIN PHILLIPS, Bart. of Jesus college, Oxon. </h2>
<p>You are in the right, dear Phillips; I don't expect regular answers to
every letter—I know a college-life is too circumscribed to afford
materials for such quick returns of communication. For my part, I am
continually shifting the scene, and surrounded with new objects; some of
which are striking enough. I shall therefore conclude my journal for your
amusement; and, though, in all appearance, it will not treat of very
important or interesting particulars, it may prove, perhaps, not
altogether uninstructive and unentertaining.</p>
<p>The music and entertainments of Bath are over for this season; and all our
gay birds of passage have taken their flight to Bristolwell, Tunbridge,
Brighthelmstone, Scarborough, Harrowgate, &c. Not a soul is seen in
this place, but a few broken-winded parsons, waddling like so many crows
along the North Parade. There is always a great shew of the clergy at
Bath: none of your thin, puny, yellow, hectic figures, exhausted with
abstinence, and hardy study, labouring under the morbi eruditorum, but
great overgrown dignitaries and rectors, with rubicund noses and gouty
ancles, or broad bloated faces, dragging along great swag bellies; the
emblems of sloth and indigestion.</p>
<p>Now we are upon the subject of parsons, I must tell you a ludicrous
adventure, which was achieved the other day by Tom Eastgate, whom you may
remember on the foundation of Queen's. He had been very assiduous to pin
himself upon George Prankley, who was a gentleman-commoner of
Christchurch, knowing the said Prankley was heir to a considerable estate,
and would have the advowson of a good living, the incumbent of which was
very old and infirm. He studied his passions, and flattered them so
effectually, as to become his companion and counsellor; and, at last,
obtained of him a promise of the presentation, when the living should
fall. Prankley, on his uncle's death, quitted Oxford, and made his first
appearance in the fashionable world at London; from whence he came lately
to Bath, where he has been exhibiting himself among the bucks and
gamesters of the place. Eastgate followed him hither; but he should not
have quitted him for a moment, at his first emerging into life. He ought
to have known he was a fantastic, foolish, fickle fellow, who would forget
his college-attachments the moment they ceased appealing to his senses.
Tom met with a cold reception from his old friend; and was, moreover,
informed, that he had promised the living to another man, who had a vote
in the county, where he proposed to offer himself a candidate at the next
general election. He now remembered nothing of Eastgate, but the freedoms
he had used to take with him, while Tom had quietly stood his butt, with
an eye to the benefice; and those freedoms he began to repeat in
common-place sarcasms on his person and his cloth, which he uttered in the
public coffeehouse, for the entertainment of the company. But he was
egregiously mistaken in giving his own wit credit for that tameness of
Eastgate, which had been entirely owing to prudential considerations.
These being now removed, he retorted his repartee with interest, and found
no great difficulty in turning the laugh upon the aggressor; who, losing
his temper, called him names, and asked, If he knew whom he talked to?
After much altercation, Prankley, shaking his cane, bid him hold his
tongue, otherwise he could dust his cassock for him. 'I have no
pretensions to such a valet (said Tom) but if you should do me that
office, and overheat yourself, I have here a good oaken towel at your
service.'</p>
<p>Prankley was equally incensed and confounded at this reply. After a
moment's pause, he took him aside towards die window; and, pointing to the
clump of firs, on Clerken-down, asked in a whisper, if he had spirit
enough to meet him there, with a case of pistols, at six o'clock tomorrow
morning. Eastgate answered in the affirmative; and, with a steady
countenance, assured him, he would not fail to give him the rendezvous at
the hour he mentioned. So saying, he retired; and the challenger stayed
some time in manifest agitation. In the morning, Eastgate, who knew his
man, and had taken his resolution, went to Prankley's lodgings, and roused
him by five o'clock.</p>
<p>The squire, in all probability, cursed his punctuality in his heart, but
he affected to talk big; and having prepared his artillery overnight, they
crossed the water at the end of the South Parade. In their progress up the
hill, Prankley often eyed the parson, in hopes of perceiving some
reluctance in his countenance; but as no such marks appeared, he attempted
to intimidate him by word of mouth. 'If these flints do their office (said
he) I'll do thy business in a few minutes.' 'I desire you will do your
best (replied the other); for my part, I come not here to trifle. Our
lives are in the hands of God; and one of us already totters on the brink
of eternity' This remark seemed to make some impression upon the squire,
who changed countenance, and with a faultering accent observed, 'That it
ill became a clergyman to be concerned in quarrels and bloodshed'—'Your
insolence to me (said Eastgate) I should have bore with patience, had not
you cast the most infamous reflections upon my order, the honour of which
I think myself in duty bound to maintain, even at the expence of my
heart's blood; and surely it can be no crime to put out of the world a
profligate wretch, without any sense of principle, morality, or religion'—'Thou
may'st take away my life (cried Prankley, in great perturbation) but don't
go to murder my character. What! has't got no conscience?' 'My conscience
is perfectly quiet (replied the other); and now, Sir, we are upon the spot—Take
your ground as near as you please; prime your pistol; and the Lord, of his
infinite mercy, have compassion upon your miserable soul!'</p>
<p>This ejaculation he pronounced in a loud solemn tone, with his hat off,
and his eyes lifted up; then drawing a large horse-pistol, he presented,
and put himself in a posture of action. Prankley took his distance, and
endeavoured to prime, but his hand shook with such violence, that he found
this operation impracticable—His antagonist, seeing how it was with
him, offered his assistance, and advanced for that purpose; when the poor
squire, exceedingly alarmed at what he had heard and seen, desired the
action might be deferred till next day, as he had not settled his affairs.
'I ha'n't made my will (said he); my sisters are not provided for; and I
just now recollect an old promise, which my conscience tells me I ought to
perform—I'll first convince thee, that I'm not a wretch without
principle, and then thou shalt have an opportunity to take my life, which
thou seem'st to thirst after so eagerly.'</p>
<p>Eastgate understood the hint; and told him, that one day should break no
squares: adding, 'God forbid that I should be the means of hindering you
from acting the part of an honest man, and a dutiful brother'—By
virtue of this cessation, they returned peaceably together. Prankley
forthwith made out the presentation of the living, and delivered it to
Eastgate, telling him at the same time, he had now settled his affairs,
and was ready to attend him to the Fir-grove; but Tom declared he could
not think of lifting his hand against the life of so great a benefactor—He
did more: when they next met at the coffeehouse, he asked pardon of Mr
Prankley, if in his passion he had said any thing to give him offence; and
the squire was so gracious as to forgive him with a cordial shake of the
hand, declaring, that he did not like to be at variance with an old
college companion—Next day, however, he left Bath abruptly; and then
Eastgate told me all these particulars, not a little pleased with the
effects of his own sagacity, by which he has secured a living worth 160l.
per annum.</p>
<p>Of my uncle, I have nothing at present to say; but that we set out
tomorrow for London en famille. He and the ladies, with the maid and
Chowder in a coach; I and the man-servant a-horseback. The particulars of
our journey you shall have in my next, provided no accident happens to
prevent,</p>
<p>Yours ever, J. MELFORD BATH May 17.</p>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Dr LEWIS. </h2>
<h3> DEAR DICK, </h3>
<p>I shall to-morrow set out for London, where I have bespoke lodgings, at
Mrs Norton's in Golden-square. Although I am no admirer of Bath, I shall
leave it with regret; because I must part with some old friends, whom, in
all probability, I shall never see again. In the course of coffeehouse
conversation, I had often heard very extraordinary encomiums passed on the
performances of Mr T—, a gentleman residing in this place, who
paints landscapes for his amusement. As I have no great confidence in the
taste and judgment of coffeehouse connoisseurs, and never received much
pleasure from this branch of the art, those general praises made no
impression at all on my curiosity; but, at the request of a particular
friend, I went yesterday to see the pieces, which had been so warmly
commended—I must own I am no judge of painting, though very fond of
pictures. I don't imagine that my senses would play me so false, as to
betray me into admiration of any thing that was very bad; but, true it is,
I have often overlooked capital beauties, in pieces of extraordinary
merit.—If I am not totally devoid of taste, however, this young
gentleman of Bath is the best landscape-painter now living: I was struck
with his performances in such a manner, as I had never been by painting
before. His trees not only have a richness of foliage and warmth of
colouring, which delights the view; but also a certain magnificence in the
disposition and spirit in the expression, which I cannot describe. His
management of the chiaro oscuro, or light and shadow, especially gleams of
sunshine, is altogether wonderful, both in the contrivance and execution;
and he is so happy in his perspective, and marking his distances at sea,
by a progressive series of ships, vessels, capes, and promontories, that I
could not help thinking, I had a distant view of thirty leagues upon the
back-ground of the picture. If there is any taste for ingenuity left in a
degenerate age, fast sinking into barbarism, this artist, I apprehend,
will make a capital figure, as soon as his works are known.</p>
<p>Two days ago, I was favoured with a visit by Mr Fitzowen; who, with great
formality, solicited my vote and interest at the general election. I ought
not to have been shocked at the confidence of this man; though it was
remarkable, considering what had passed between him and me on a former
occasion—These visits are mere matter of form, which a candidate
makes to every elector; even to those who, he knows, are engaged in the
interest of his competitor, lest he should expose himself to the
imputation of pride, at a time when it is expected he should appear
humble. Indeed, I know nothing so abject as the behaviour of a man
canvassing for a seat in parliament—This mean prostration (to
borough-electors, especially) has, I imagine, contributed in a great
measure to raise that spirit of insolence among the vulgar; which, like
the devil, will be found very difficult to lay. Be that as it may, I was
in some confusion at the effrontery of Fitzowen; but I soon recollected
myself, and told him, I had not yet determined for whom I should give my
vote, nor whether I should give it for any.—The truth is, I look
upon both candidates in the same light; and should think myself a traitor
to the constitution of my country, if I voted for either. If every elector
would bring the same consideration home to his conscience, we should not
have such reason to exclaim against the venality of p—ts. But we all
are a pack of venal and corrupted rascals; so lost to all sense of
honesty, and all tenderness of character, that, in a little time, I am
fully persuaded, nothing will be infamous but virtue and public-spirit.</p>
<p>G. H—, who is really an enthusiast in patriotism, and represented
the capital in several successive parliaments, declared to me t'other day,
with the tears in his eyes, that he had lived above thirty years in the
city of London, and dealt in the way of commerce with all the citizens of
note in their turns; but that, as he should answer to God, he had never,
in the whole course of his life, found above three or four whom he could
call thoroughly honest: a declaration which was rather mortifying than
surprising to me; who have found so few men of worth in the course of my
acquaintance, that they serve only as exceptions; which, in the
grammarian's phrase, confirm and prove a general canon—I know you
will say, G. H— saw imperfectly through the mist of prejudice, and I
am rankled by the spleen—Perhaps, you are partly in the right; for I
have perceived that my opinion of mankind, like mercury in the
thermometer, rises and falls according to the variations of the weather.</p>
<p>Pray settle accompts with Barnes; take what money of mine is in his hands,
and give him acquittance. If you think Davis has stock or credit enough to
do justice to the farm, give him a discharge for the rent that is due,
this will animate his industry; for I know that nothing is so discouraging
to a farmer as the thoughts of being in arrears with his landlord. He
becomes dispirited, and neglects his labour; and so the farm goes to
wreck. Tabby has been clamouring for some days about the lamb's skin,
which Williams, the hind, begged of me, when he was last at Bath. Prithee
take it back, paying the fellow the full value of it, that I may have some
peace in my own house; and let him keep his own counsel, if he means to
keep his place—O! I shall never presume to despise or censure any
poor man, for suffering himself to be henpecked; conscious how I myself am
obliged to truckle to a domestic demon; even though (blessed be God) she
is not yoked with me for life, in the matrimonial waggon—She has
quarrelled with the servants of the house about vails; and such
intolerable scolding ensued on both sides, that I have been fain to
appease the cook and chambermaid by stealth. Can't you find some poor
gentleman of Wales, to take this precious commodity off the hands of</p>
<p>Yours, MATT. BRAMBLE BATH, May 19.</p>
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