To Dr LEWIS. BATH, April 23. DEAR DOCTOR,
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.
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 ease, 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.
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.
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.
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,
Dear Lewis, Your affectionate M. BRAMBLE,
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.
To Miss WILLIS at Gloucester. BATH, April 26. MY DEAREST COMPANION,
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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