<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To Sir WATKIN PHILLIPS, of Jesus college, Oxon. </h2>
<h3> DEAR WAT, </h3>
<p>I mentioned in my last, my uncle's design of going to the duke of N—'s
levee; which design has been executed accordingly. His grace has been so
long accustomed to this kind of homage, that though the place he now fills
does not imply the tenth part of the influence, which he exerted in his
former office, he has given his friends to understand, that they cannot
oblige him in any thing more, than in contributing to support the shadow
of that power, which he no longer retains in substance; and therefore he
has still public days, on which they appear at his levee.</p>
<p>My uncle and I went thither with Mr Barton, who, being one of the duke's
adherents, undertook to be our introducer—The room was pretty well
filled with people, in a great variety of dress; but there was no more
than one gown and cassock, though I was told his grace had, while he was
minister, preferred almost every individual that now filled the bench of
bishops in the house of lords; but in all probability, the gratitude of
the clergy is like their charity, which shuns the light—Mr Barton
was immediately accosted by a person well stricken in years, tall, and
raw-boned, with a hook-nose, and an arch leer, that indicated, at least,
as much cunning as sagacity. Our conductor saluted him, by the name of
captain C—, and afterwards informed us he was a man of shrewd parts,
whom the government occasionally employed in secret services. But I have
had the history of him more at large, from another quarter. He had been,
many years ago, concerned in fraudulent practices, as a merchant, in
France; and being convicted of some of them, was sent to the gallies, from
whence he was delivered by the interest of the late duke of Ormond, to
whom he had recommended himself in letter, as his name-sake and relation—He
was in the sequel, employed by our ministry as a spy; and in the war of
1740, traversed all Spain, as well as France, in the disguise of a
capuchin, at the extreme hazard of his life, in as much as the court of
Madrid had actually got scent of him, and given orders to apprehend him at
St Sebastian's, from whence he had fortunately retired but a few hours
before the order arrived. This and other hair-breadth 'scapes he pleaded
so effectually as a merit with the English ministry, that they allowed him
a comfortable pension, which he now enjoys in his old age—He has
still access to all the ministers, and is said to be consulted by them on
many subjects, as a man of uncommon understanding and great experience—He
is, in fact, a fellow of some parts, and invincible assurance; and, in his
discourse, he assumes such an air of self-sufficiency, as may very well
impose upon some of the shallow politicians, who now labour at the helm of
administration. But, if he is not belied, this is not the only imposture
of which he is guilty—They say, he is at bottom not only a
Roman-catholic, but really a priest; and while he pretends to disclose to
our state-pilots all the springs that move the cabinet of Versailles, he
is actually picking up intelligence for the service of the French
minister. Be that as it may, captain C— entered into conversation
with us in the most familiar manner, and treated the duke's character
without any ceremony—'This wiseacre (said he) is still a-bed; and, I
think, the best thing he can do, is to sleep on till Christmas; for, when
he gets up, he does nothing but expose his own folly.—Since
Grenville was turned out, there has been no minister in this nation worth
the meal that whitened his peri-wig—They are so ignorant, they
scarce know a crab from a cauliflower; and then they are such dunces, that
there's no making them comprehend the plainest proposition—In the
beginning of the war, this poor half-witted creature told me, in a great
fright, that thirty thousand French had marched from Acadie to Cape Breton—"Where
did they find transports? (said I)" "Transports (cried he) I tell you they
marched by land"—"By land to the island of Cape Breton?" "What! is
Cape Breton an island?" "Certainly." "Ha! are you sure of that?" When I
pointed it out in the map, he examined it earnestly with his spectacles;
then, taking me in his arms, "My dear C—! (cried he) you always
bring us good news—Egad! I'll go directly, and tell the king that
Cape Breton is an island."'</p>
<p>He seemed disposed to entertain us with more anecdotes of this nature, at
the expense of his grace, when he was interrupted by the arrival of the
Algerine ambassador; a venerable Turk, with a long white beard, attended
by his dragoman, or interpreter, and another officer of his household, who
had got no stockings to his legs—Captain C— immediately spoke
with an air of authority to a servant in waiting, bidding him go and tell
the duke to rise, as there was a great deal of company come, and, among
others, the ambassador from Algiers. Then, turning to us, 'This poor Turk
(said he) notwithstanding his grey beard, is a green-horn—He has
been several years resident in London, and still is ignorant of our
political revolutions. This visit is intended for the prime minister of
England; but you'll see how this wise duke will receive it as a mark of
attachment to his own person'—Certain it is, the duke seemed eager
to acknowledge the compliment—A door opened, he suddenly bolted out;
with a shaving-cloth under his chin, his face frothed up to the eyes with
soap lather; and running up to the ambassador, grinned hideous in his face—'My
dear Mahomet! (said he) God love your long beard, I hope the dey will make
you a horsetail at the next promotion, ha, ha, ha! Have but a moment's
patience, and I'll send to you in a twinkling,'—So saying, he
retired into his den, leaving the Turk in some confusion. After a short
pause, however, he said something to his interpreter, the meaning of which
I had great curiosity to know, as he turned up his eyes while he spoke,
expressing astonishment, mixed with devotion. We were gratified by means
of the communicative captain C—, who conversed with the dragoman, as
an old acquaintance. Ibrahim, the ambassador, who had mistaken his grace
for the minister's fool, was no sooner undeceived by the interpreter, than
he exclaimed to this effect 'Holy prophet! I don't wonder that this nation
prospers, seeing it is governed by the counsel of ideots; a series of men,
whom all good mussulmen revere as the organs of immediate inspiration!'
Ibrahim was favoured with a particular audience of short duration; after
which the duke conducted him to the door, and then returned to diffuse his
gracious looks among the crowd of his worshippers.</p>
<p>As Mr Barton advanced to present me to his grace, it was my fortune to
attract his notice, before I was announced—He forthwith met me more
than half way, and, seizing me by the hand, 'My dear Sir Francis! (cried
he) this is so kind—I vow to God! I am so obliged—Such
attention to a poor broken minister. Well—Pray when does your
excellency set sail?—For God's sake have a care of your health, and
cat stewed prunes in the passage. Next to your own precious health, pray,
my dear excellency, take care of the Five Nations—Our good friends
the Five Nations. The Toryrories, the Maccolmacks, the Out-o'the-ways, the
Crickets, and the Kickshaws—Let 'em have plenty of blankets, and
stinkubus, and wampum; and your excellency won't fail to scour the kettle,
and boil the chain, and bury the tree, and plant the hatchet—Ha, ha,
ha!' When he had uttered this rhapsody, with his usual precipitation, Mr
Barton gave him to understand, that I was neither Sir Francis, nor St
Francis, but simply Mr Melford, nephew to Mr Bramble; who, stepping
forward, made his bow at the same time. 'Odso! no more it is Sir Francis—(said
this wise statesman) Mr Melford, I'm glad to see you—I sent you an
engineer to fortify your dock—Mr Bramble—your servant, Mr
Bramble—How d'ye, good Mr Bramble? Your nephew is a pretty young
fellow—Faith and troth, a very pretty fellow!—His father is my
old friend—How does he hold it? Still troubled with that damned
disorder, ha?' 'No, my lord (replied my uncle), all his troubles are over—He
has been dead these fifteen years.' 'Dead! how—Yes faith! now I
remember: he is dead sure enough—Well, and how—does the young
gentleman stand for Haverford West? or—a what d'ye. My dear Mr
Milfordhaven, I'll do you all the service in my power I hope I have some
credit left'—My uncle then gave him to understand, that I was still
a minor; and that we had no intention to trouble him at present, for any
favour whatsoever—'I came hither with my nephew (added he) to pay
our respects to your grace; and I may venture to say, that his views and
mine are at least as disinterested as those of any individual in this
assembly.' 'My dear Mr Brambleberry! you do me infinite honour—I
shall always rejoice to see you and your hopeful nephew, Mr Milfordhaven—My
credit, such as it is, you may command—I wish we had more friends of
your kidney.'</p>
<p>Then, turning to captain C—, 'Ha, C—! (said he) what news, C—?
How does the world wag? ha!' 'The world wags much after the old fashion,
my lord (answered the captain): the politicians of London and Westminster
have begun again to wag their tongues against your grace; and your
short-lived popularity wags like a feather, which the next puff of
antiministerial calumny will blow away'—'A pack of rascals (cried
the duke)—Tories, Jacobites, rebels; one half of them would wag
their heels at Tyburn, if they had their deserts'—So saying, he
wheeled about; and going round the levee, spoke to every individual, with
the most courteous familiarity; but he scarce ever opened his mouth
without making some blunder, in relation to the person or business of the
party with whom he conversed; so that he really looked like a comedian,
hired to burlesque the character of a minister—At length, a person
of a very prepossessing appearance coming in, his grace ran up, and,
hugging him in his arms, with the appellation of 'My dear Ch—s!' led
him forthwith into the inner apartment, or Sanctum Sanctorum of this
political temple. 'That (said captain C—) is my friend C— T—,
almost the only man of parts who has any concern in the present
administration—Indeed, he would have no concern at all in the
matter, if the ministry did not find it absolutely necessary to make use
of his talents upon some particular occasions—As for the common
business of the nation, it is carried on in a constant routine by the
clerks of the different offices, otherwise the wheels of government would
be wholly stopt amidst the abrupt succession of ministers, every one more
ignorant than his predecessor—I am thinking what a fine hovel we
should be in, if all the clerks of the treasury, the secretaries, of the
war-office, and the admiralty, should take it in their heads to throw up
their places in imitation of the great pensioner—But, to return to C—
T—; he certainly knows more than all the ministry and all the
opposition, if their heads were laid together, and talks like an angel on
a vast variety of subjects. He would really be a great man, if he had any
consistency or stability of character—Then, it must be owned, he
wants courage, otherwise he would never allow himself to be cowed by the
great political bully, for whose understanding he has justly a very great
contempt. I have seen him as much afraid of that overbearing Hector, as
ever schoolboy was of his pedagogue; and yet this Hector, I shrewdly
suspect, is no more than a craven at bottom—Besides this defect, C—
has another, which he is at too little pains to hide—There's no
faith to be given to his assertions, and no trust to be put in his
promises—However, to give the devil his due, he's very good-natured;
and even friendly, when close urged in the way of solicitation—As
for principle, that's out of the question—In a word, he is a wit and
an orator, extremely entertaining, and he shines very often at the expence
even of those ministers to whom he is a retainer. This is a mark of great
imprudence, by which he has made them all his enemies, whatever face they
may put upon the matter; and sooner or later he'll have cause to wish he
had been able to keep his own counsel. I have several times cautioned him
on this subject; but 'tis all preaching to the desert—His vanity
runs away with his discretion'—I could not help thinking the captain
himself might have been the better for some hints of the same nature—His
panegyric, excluding principle and veracity, puts me in mind of a contest
I once overheard, in the way of altercation, betwixt two apple-women in
Spring-garden—One of those viragos having hinted something to the
prejudice of the other's moral character, her antagonist, setting her
hands in her sides, replied—'Speak out, hussy—I scorn your
malice—I own I'm both a whore and a thief; and what more have you to
say?—Damn you, what more have you to say? baiting that, which all
the world knows, I challenge you to say black is the white of my eye'—We
did not wait for Mr T—'s coming forth; but after captain C—
had characterised all the originals in waiting, we adjourned to a
coffeehouse, where we had buttered muffins and tea to breakfast, the said
captain still favouring us with his company—Nay, my uncle was so
diverted with his anecdotes, that he asked him to dinner, and treated him
with a fine turbot, to which he did ample justice—That same evening
I spent at the tavern with some friends, one of whom let me into C—'s
character, which Mr Bramble no sooner understood, than he expressed some
concern for the connexion he had made, and resolved to disengage himself
from it without ceremony.</p>
<p>We are become members of the Society for the Encouragement of the Arts,
and have assisted at some of their deliberations, which were conducted
with equal spirit and sagacity—My uncle is extremely fond of the
institution, which will certainly be productive of great advantages to the
public, if, from its democratical form, it does not degenerate into cabal
and corruption—You are already acquainted with his aversion to the
influence of the multitude, which, he affirms, is incompatible with
excellence, and subversive of order—Indeed his detestation of the
mob has been heightened by fear, ever since he fainted in the room at
Bath; and this apprehension has prevented him from going to the Little
Theatre in the Hay-market, and other places of entertainment, to which,
however, I have had the honour to attend the ladies.</p>
<p>It grates old Square-toes to reflect, that it is not in his power to enjoy
even the most elegant diversions of the capital, without the participation
of the vulgar; for they now thrust themselves into all assemblies, from a
ridotto at St James's, to a hop at Rotherhithe. I have lately seen our old
acquaintance Dick Ivy, who we imagined had died of dram-drinking; but he
is lately emerged from the Fleet, by means of a pamphlet which he wrote
and published against the government with some success. The sale of this
performance enabled him to appear in clean linen, and he is now going
about soliciting subscriptions for his Poems; but his breeches are not yet
in the most decent order.</p>
<p>Dick certainly deserves some countenance for his intrepidity and
perseverance—It is not in the power of disappointment, nor even of
damnation, to drive him to despair—After some unsuccessful essays in
the way of poetry, he commenced brandy-merchant, and I believe his whole
stock ran out through his own bowels; then he consorted with a milk-woman,
who kept a cellar in Petty France: but he could not make his quarters
good; he was dislodged and driven up stairs into the kennel by a corporal
in the second regiment of foot-guards—He was afterwards the laureat
of Blackfriars, from whence there was a natural transition to the Fleet—As
he had formerly miscarried in panegyric, he now turned his thoughts to
satire, and really seems to have some talent for abuse. If he can hold out
till the meeting of the parliament, and be prepared for another charge, in
all probability Dick will mount the pillory, or obtain a pension, in
either of which events his fortune will be made—Mean while he has
acquired some degree of consideration with the respectable writers of the
age; and as I have subscribed for his works, he did me the favour t'other
night to introduce me to a society of those geniuses; but I found them
exceedingly formal and reserved—They seemed afraid and jealous of
one another, and sat in a state of mutual repulsion, like so many
particles of vapour, each surrounded by its own electrified atmosphere.
Dick, who has more vivacity than judgment, tried more than once to enliven
the conversation; sometimes making an effort at wit, sometimes letting off
a pun, and sometimes discharging a conundrum; nay, at length he started a
dispute upon the hackneyed comparison betwixt blank verse and rhyme, and
the professors opened with great clamour; but, instead of keeping to the
subject, they launched out into tedious dissertations on the poetry of the
ancients; and one of them, who had been a school-master, displayed his
whole knowledge of prosody, gleaned from Disputer and Ruddiman. At last, I
ventured to say, I did not see how the subject in question could be at all
elucidated by the practice of the ancients, who certainly had neither
blank verse nor rhyme in their poems, which were measured by feet, whereas
ours are reckoned by the number of syllables—This remark seemed to
give umbrage to the pedant, who forthwith involved himself in a cloud of
Greek and Latin quotations, which nobody attempted to dispel—A
confused hum of insipid observations and comments ensued; and, upon the
whole, I never passed a duller evening in my life—Yet, without all
doubt, some of them were men of learning, wit, and ingenuity. As they are
afraid of making free with one another, they should bring each his butt,
or whet-stone, along with him, for the entertainment of the company—My
uncle says, he never desires to meet with more than one wit at a time—One
wit, like a knuckle of ham in soup, gives a zest and flavour to the dish;
but more than one serves only to spoil the pottage—And now I'm
afraid I have given you an unconscionable mess, without any flavour at
all; for which, I suppose, you will bestow your benedictions upon</p>
<p>Your friend, and servant J. MELFORD LONDON, June 5</p>
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