I send you this letter, franked by our old friend Barton; who is as much
altered as it was possible for a man of his kidney to be. Instead of
the careless, indolent sloven we knew at Oxford, I found him a busy
talkative politician; a petit-maitre in his dress, and a ceremonious
courtier in his manners. He has not gall enough in his constitution
to be enflamed with the rancour of party, so as to deal in scurrilous
invectives; but, since he obtained a place, he is become a warm partizan
of the ministry, and sees every thing through such an exaggerating
medium, as to me, who am happily of no party, is altogether
incomprehensible--Without all doubt, the fumes of faction not only
disturb the faculty of reason, but also pervert the organs of sense; and
I would lay a hundred guineas to ten, that if Barton on one side, and
the most conscientious patriot in the opposition on the other, were to
draw, upon honour, the picture of the k[ing] or m[inisters], you and I,
who are still uninfected, and unbiased, would find both painters equally
distant from the truth. One thing, however, must be allowed for the
honour of Barton, he never breaks out into illiberal abuse, far less
endeavours, by infamous calumnies, to blast the moral character of any
individual on the other side.
Ever since we came hither, he has been remarkably assiduous in his
attention to our family; an attention, which, in a man of his indolence
and avocations, I should have thought altogether odd, and even
unnatural, had not I perceived that my sister Liddy had made some
impression upon his heart. I cannot say that I have any objection to
his trying his fortune in this pursuit: if an opulent estate and a great
flock of good-nature are sufficient qualifications in a husband, to
render the marriage-state happy for life, she may be happy with Barton;
but, I imagine, there is something else required to engage and secure
the affection of a woman of sense and delicacy: something which nature
has denied our friend--Liddy seems to be of the same opinion. When
he addresses himself to her in discourse, she seems to listen with
reluctance, and industriously avoids all particular communication; but
in proportion to her coyness, our aunt is coming. Mrs Tabitha goes more
than half way to meet his advances; she mistakes, or affects to mistake,
the meaning of his courtesy, which is rather formal and fulsome; she
returns his compliments with hyperbolical interest, she persecutes
him with her civilities at table, she appeals to him for ever in
conversation, she sighs, and flirts, and ogles, and by her hideous
affectation and impertinence, drives the poor courtier to the very
extremity of his complaisance; in short, she seems to have undertaken
the siege of Barton’s heart, and carries on her approaches in such a
desperate manner, that I don’t know whether he will not be obliged to
capitulate. In the mean time, his aversion to this inamorata struggling
with his acquired affability, and his natural fear of giving offence,
throws him into a kind of distress which is extremely ridiculous.
Two days ago, he persuaded my uncle and me to accompany him to St
James’s, where he undertook to make us acquainted with the persons
of all the great men in the kingdom; and, indeed, there was a great
assemblage of distinguished characters, for it was a high festival at
court. Our conductor performed his promise with great punctuality.
He pointed out almost every individual of both sexes, and generally
introduced them to our notice, with a flourish of panegyrick--Seeing the
king approach, ‘There comes (said he) the most amiable sovereign
that ever swayed the sceptre of England: the delicioe humani generis;
Augustus, in patronizing merit; Titus Vespasian in generosity; Trajan
in beneficence; and Marcus Aurelius in philosophy.’ ‘A very honest kind
hearted gentleman (added my uncle) he’s too good for the times. A king
of England should have a spice of the devil in his composition.’ Barton,
then turning to the duke of C[umberland], proceeded,--‘You know the
duke, that illustrious hero, who trode rebellion under his feet, and
secured us in possession of every thing we ought to hold dear, as
English men and Christians. Mark what an eye, how penetrating, yet
pacific! what dignity in his mien! what humanity in his aspect--Even
malice must own, that he is one of the greatest officers in
Christendom.’ ‘I think he is (said Mr Bramble) but who are these young
gentlemen that stand beside him?’ ‘Those! (cried our friend) those are
his royal nephews; the princes of the blood. Sweet young princes! the
sacred pledges of the Protestant line; so spirited, so sensible,
so princely’--‘Yes; very sensible! very spirited! (said my uncle,
interrupting him) but see the queen! ha, there’s the queen!--There’s the
queen! let me see--Let me see--Where are my glasses? ha! there’s meaning
in that eye--There’s sentiment--There’s expression--Well, Mr Barton,
what figure do you call next?’ The next person he pointed out, was the
favourite yearl; who stood solitary by one of the windows--‘Behold
yon northern star (said he) shorn of his beams’--‘What! the Caledonian
luminary, that lately blazed so bright in our hemisphere! methinks, at
present, it glimmers through a fog; like Saturn without his ring, bleak,
and dim, and distant--Ha, there’s the other great phenomenon, the grand
pensionary, that weathercock of patriotism that veers about in every
point of the political compass, and still feels the wind of popularity
in his tail. He too, like a portentous comet, has risen again above the
court-horizon; but how long he will continue to ascend, it is not easy
to foretell, considering his great eccentricity--Who are those two
satellites that attend his motions?’ When Barton told him their names,
‘To their characters (said Mr Bramble) I am no stranger. One of them,
without a drop of red blood in his veins, has a cold intoxicating vapour
in his head; and rancour enough in his heart to inoculate and affect
a whole nation. The other is (I hear) intended for a share in the
ad[ministratio]n, and the pensionary vouches for his being duly
qualified--The only instance I ever heard of his sagacity, was his
deserting his former patron, when he found him declining in power, and
in disgrace with the people. Without principle, talent, or intelligence,
he is ungracious as a hog, greedy as a vulture, and thievish as a
jackdaw; but, it must be owned, he is no hypocrite. He pretends to no
virtue, and takes no pains to disguise his character--His ministry
will be attended with one advantage, no man will be disappointed by his
breach of promise, as no mortal ever trusted to his word. I wonder how
lord--first discovered this happy genius, and for what purpose lord--has
now adopted him: but one would think, that as amber has a power to
attract dirt, and straws, and chaff, a minister is endued with the same
kind of faculty, to lick up every knave and blockhead in his way’--His
eulogium was interrupted by the arrival of the old duke of N--; who,
squeezing into the circle with a busy face of importance, thrust his
head into every countenance, as if he had been in search of somebody, to
whom he wanted to impart something of great consequence--My uncle, who
had been formerly known to him, bowed as he passed; and the duke seeing
himself saluted so respectfully by a well-dressed person, was not slow
in returning the courtesy--He even came up, and, taking him cordially by
the hand, ‘My dear friend, Mr A-- (said he) I am rejoiced to see you--
How long have you been come from abroad?--How did you leave our good
friends the Dutch? The king of Prussia don’t think of another war,
ah?--He’s a great king! a great conqueror! a very great conqueror! Your
Alexanders and Hannibals were nothing, at all to him, sir--Corporals!
drummers! dross! mere trash--Damned trash, heh?’--His grace being by
this time out of breath, my uncle took the opportunity to tell him he
had not been out of England, that his name was Bramble, and that he had
the honour to sit in the last parliament but one of the late king, as
representative for the borough of Dymkymraig. ‘Odso! (cried the duke) I
remember you perfectly well, my dear Mr Bramble--You was always a
good and loyal subject--a stanch friend to administration--I made your
brother an Irish bishop’--‘Pardon me, my lord (said the squire) I once
had a brother, but he was a captain in the army’--‘Ha! (said his
grace) he was so--He was, indeed! But who was the Bishop then! Bishop
Blackberry--Sure it was bishop Blackberry. Perhaps some relation of
yours’--‘Very likely, my lord (replied my uncle); the Blackberry is the
fruit of the Bramble--But, I believe, the bishop is not a berry of our
bush’--‘No more he is--No more he is, ha, ha, ha! (exclaimed the duke)
there you gave me a scratch, good Mr Bramble, ha, ha, ha!--Well,
I shall be glad to see you at Lincoln’s inn-fields--You know the
way--Times are altered. Though I have lost the power, I retain the
inclination--Your very humble servant, good Mr Blackberry’--So saying,
he shoved to another corner of the room. ‘What a fine old gentleman!
(cried Mr Barton) what spirits! what a memory! He never forgets an old
friend.’ ‘He does me too much honour (observed our squire) to rank me
among the number--Whilst I sat in parliament, I never voted with the
ministry but three times, when my conscience told me they were in the
right: however, if he still keeps levee, I will carry my nephew thither,
that he may see, and learn to avoid the scene; for, I think, an English
gentleman never appears to such disadvantage, as at the levee of a
minister--Of his grace I shall say nothing at present, but that for
thirty years he was the constant and common butt of ridicule and
execration. He was generally laughed at as an ape in politics, whose
office and influence served only to render his folly the more notorious;
and the opposition cursed him, as the indefatigable drudge of a
first-mover, who was justly stiled and stigmatized as the father of
corruption: but this ridiculous ape, this venal drudge, no sooner lost
the places he was so ill qualified to fill, and unfurled the banners of
faction, than he was metamorphosed into a pattern of public virtue; the
very people who reviled him before, now extolled him to the skies, as a
wise, experienced statesman, chief pillar of the Protestant succession,
and corner stone of English liberty. I should be glad to know how Mr
Barton reconciles these contradictions, without obliging us to resign
all title to the privilege of common sense.’ ‘My dear sir (answered
Barton) I don’t pretend to justify the extravagations of the multitude;
who, I suppose, were as wild in their former censure, as in the present
praise: but I shall be very glad to attend you on Thursday next to his
grace’s levee; where, I’m afraid, we shall not be crowded with company;
for, you know, there’s a wide difference between his present office of
president of the council, and his former post of first lord commissioner
of the treasury.’
This communicative friend having announced all the remarkable characters
of both sexes, that appeared at court, we resolved to adjourn, and
retired. At the foot of the stair-case, there was a crowd of lacqueys
and chairmen, and in the midst of them stood Humphry Clinker, exalted
upon a stool, with his hat in one hand, and a paper in the other, in
the act of holding forth to the people--Before we could inquire into the
meaning of this exhibition, he perceived his master, thrust the paper
into his pocket, descended from his elevation, bolted through the crowd,
and brought up the carriage to the gate.
My uncle said nothing till we were seated, when, after having looked at
me earnestly for some time, he burst out a-laughing, and asked if I knew
upon what subject Clinker was holding forth to the mob--‘If (said he)
the fellow is turned mountebank, I must turn him out of my service,
otherwise he’ll make Merry Andrews of us all’--I observed, that, in
all probability, he had studied medicine under his master, who was a
farrier.
At dinner, the squire asked him, if he had ever practised physic? ‘Yes,
and please your honour (said he) among brute beasts; but I never meddle
with rational creatures.’ ‘I know not whether you rank in that class the
audience you was haranguing in the court at St. James’s, but I should be
glad to know what kind of powders you was distributing; and whether you
had a good sale’--‘Sale, sir! (cried Clinker) I hope I shall never be
base enough to sell for gold and silver, what freely comes of God’s
grace. I distributed nothing, an like your honour, but a word of
advice to my fellows in servitude and sin.’ ‘Advice! concerning what?’
‘Concerning profane swearing, an please your honour; so horrid and
shocking, that it made my hair stand on end.’ ‘Nay, if thou can’st cure
them Of that disease, I shall think thee a wonderful doctor indeed’ ‘Why
not cure them, my good master? the hearts of those poor people are not
so stubborn as your honour seems to think--Make them first sensible
that you have nothing in view but their good, then they will listen with
patience, and easily be convinced of the sin and folly of a practice
that affords neither profit nor pleasure--At this remark, our uncle
changed colour, and looked round the company, conscious that his own
withers were not altogether unwrung. ‘But, Clinker (said he) if you
should have eloquence enough to persuade the vulgar to resign those
tropes and figures of rhetoric, there will be little or nothing left to
distinguish their conversation from that of their betters.’ ‘But then
your honour knows, their conversation will be void of offence; and, at
the day of judgment, there will be no distinction of persons.’
Humphry going down stairs to fetch up a bottle of wine, my uncle
congratulated his sister upon having such a reformer in the family; when
Mrs Tabitha declared, he was a sober civilized fellow; very respectful,
and very industrious; and, she believed, a good Christian into
the bargain. One would think, Clinker must really have some very
extraordinary talent, to ingratiate himself in this manner with a
virago of her character, so fortified against him with prejudice and
resentment; but the truth is, since the adventure of Salt-hill, Mrs
Tabby seems to be entirely changed. She has left off scolding the
servants, an exercise which was grown habitual, and even seemed
necessary to her constitution; and is become so indifferent to Chowder,
as to part with him in a present to lady Griskin, who proposes to bring
the breed of him into fashion. Her ladyship is the widow of Sir Timothy
Griskin, a distant relation of our family. She enjoys a jointure of five
hundred pounds a-year, and makes shift to spend three times that sum.
Her character before marriage was a little equivocal; but at present she
lives in the bon ton, keeps card-tables, gives private suppers to select
friends, and is visited by persons of the first fashion--She has been
remarkably civil to us all, and cultivates my uncle with the most
particular regard; but the more she strokes him, the more his bristles
seem to rise--To her compliments he makes very laconic and dry
returns--T’other day she sent us a pottle of fine strawberries, which
he did not receive without signs of disgust, muttering from the Aeneid,
timeo Danaos et Dona ferentes. She has twice called for Liddy, of a
forenoon, to take an airing in the coach; but Mrs Tabby was always so
alert (I suppose by his direction) that she never could have the niece
without her aunt’s company. I have endeavoured to sound Square-toes on
this subject; but he carefully avoids all explanation.
I have now, dear Phillips, filled a whole sheet, and if you have read it
to an end, I dare say, you are as tired as
Your humble servant, J. MELFORD LONDON, June 2.
To Dr LEWIS.
Yes, Doctor, I have seen the British Museum; which is a noble
collection, and even stupendous, if we consider it was made by a private
man, a physician, who was obliged to make his own fortune at the same
time: but great as the collection is, it would appear more striking if
it was arranged in one spacious saloon, instead of being divided into
different apartments, which it does not entirely fill--I could wish the
series of medals was connected, and the whole of the animal, vegetable,
and mineral kingdoms completed, by adding to each, at the public
expence, those articles that are wanting. It would likewise be a great
improvement, with respect to the library, if the deficiencies were made
up, by purchasing all the books of character that are not to be found
already in the collection--They might be classed in centuries, according
to the dates of their publication, and catalogues printed of them and
the manuscripts, for the information of those that want to consult, or
compile from such authorities. I could also wish, for the honour of the
nation, that there was a complete apparatus for a course of mathematics,
mechanics, and experimental philosophy; and a good salary settled upon
an able professor, who should give regular lectures on these subjects.
But this is all idle speculation, which will never be reduced to
practice--Considering the temper of the times, it is a wonder to see any
institution whatsoever established for the benefit of the Public. The
spirit of party is risen to a kind of phrenzy, unknown to former ages,
or rather degenerated to a total extinction of honesty and candour--You
know I have observed, for some time, that the public papers are become
the infamous vehicles of the most cruel and perfidious defamation: every
rancorous knave every desperate incendiary, that can afford to spend
half a crown or three shillings, may skulk behind the press of a
newsmonger, and have a stab at the first character in the kingdom,
without running the least hazard of detection or punishment.
I have made acquaintance with a Mr Barton, whom Jery knew at Oxford;
a good sort of a man, though most ridiculously warped in his political
principles; but his partiality is the less offensive, as it never
appears in the stile of scurrility and abuse. He is a member of
parliament, and a retainer to the court; and his whole conversation
turns upon the virtues and perfections of the ministers, who are his
patrons. T’other day, when he was bedaubing one of those worthies,
with the most fulsome praise, I told him I had seen the same nobleman
characterised very differently, in one of the daily-papers; indeed, so
stigmatized, that if one half of what was said of him was true, he
must be not only unfit to rule, but even unfit to live: that those
impeachments had been repeated again and again, with the addition
of fresh matter; and that as he had taken no steps towards his own
vindication, I began to think there was some foundation for the charge.
‘And pray, Sir (said Mr Barton), what steps would you have him take?
Suppose he should prosecute the publisher, who screens the anonymous
accuser, and bring him to the pillory for a libel; this is so far from
being counted a punishment, in terrorem, that it will probably make his
fortune. The multitude immediately take him into their protection, as a
martyr to the cause of defamation, which they have always espoused. They
pay his fine, they contribute to the increase of his stock, his shop is
crowded with customers, and the sale of his paper rises in proportion
to the scandal it contains. All this time the prosecutor is inveighed
against as a tyrant and oppressor, for having chosen to proceed by
the way of information, which is deemed a grievance; but if he lays an
action for damages, he must prove the damage, and I leave you to judge,
whether a gentleman’s character may not be brought into contempt, and
all his views in life blasted by calumny, without his being able to
specify the particulars of the damage he has sustained.
‘This spirit of defamation is a kind of heresy, that thrives under
persecution. The liberty of the press is a term of great efficacy; and
like that of the Protestant religion, has often served the purposes of
sedition--A minister, therefore, must arm himself with patience, and
bear those attacks without repining--Whatever mischief they may do in
other respects, they certainly contribute, in one particular, to the
advantages of government; for those defamatory articles have multiplied
papers in such a manner, and augmented their sale to such a degree, that
the duty upon stamps and advertisements has made a very considerable
addition to the revenue.’ Certain it is, a gentleman’s honour is a very
delicate subject to be handled by a jury, composed of men, who cannot
be supposed remarkable either for sentiment or impartiality--In such a
case, indeed, the defendant is tried, not only by his peers, but also
by his party; and I really think, that of all patriots, he is the most
resolute who exposes himself to such detraction, for the sake of his
country--If, from the ignorance or partiality of juries, a gentleman can
have no redress from law, for being defamed in a pamphlet or newspaper,
I know but one other method of proceeding against the publisher, which
is attended with some risque, but has been practised successfully, more
than once, in my remembrance--A regiment of horse was represented, in
one of the newspapers, as having misbehaved at Dettingen; a captain
of that regiment broke the publisher’s bones, telling him, at the same
time, if he went to law, he should certainly have the like salutation
from every officer of the corps. Governor--took the same satisfaction on
the ribs of an author, who traduced him by name in a periodical paper--I
know a low fellow of the same class, who, being turned out of Venice for
his impudence and scurrility, retired to Lugano, a town of the Grisons
(a free people, God wot) where he found a printing press, from whence he
squirted his filth at some respectable characters in the republic, which
he had been obliged to abandon. Some of these, finding him out of the
reach of legal chastisement, employed certain useful instruments, such
as may be found in all countries, to give him the bastinado; which,
being repeated more than once, effectually stopt the current of his
abuse.
As for the liberty of the press, like every other privilege, it must be
restrained within certain bounds; for if it is carried to a branch of
law, religion, and charity, it becomes one of the greatest evils that
ever annoyed the community. If the lowest ruffian may stab your good
name with impunity in England, will you be so uncandid as to exclaim
against Italy for the practice of common assassination? To what purpose
is our property secured, if our moral character is left defenceless?
People thus baited, grow desperate; and the despair of being able to
preserve one’s character, untainted by such vermin, produces a total
neglect of fame; so that one of the chief incitements to the practice of
virtue is effectually destroyed.
Mr Barton’s last consideration, respecting the stamp-duty, is equally
wise and laudable with another maxim which has been long adopted by our
financiers, namely, to connive at drunkenness, riot, and dissipation,
because they inhance the receipt of the excise; not reflecting, that in
providing this temporary convenience, they are destroying the morals,
health, and industry of the people--Notwithstanding my contempt for
those who flatter a minister, I think there is something still more
despicable in flattering a mob. When I see a man of birth, education,
and fortune, put himself on a level with the dregs of the people, mingle
with low mechanics, feed with them at the same board, and drink with
them in the same cup, flatter their prejudices, harangue in praise of
their virtues, expose themselves to the belchings of their beer, the
fumes of their tobacco, the grossness of their familiarity, and the
impertinence of their conversation, I cannot help despising him, as
a man guilty of the vilest prostitution, in order to effect a purpose
equally selfish and illiberal.
I should renounce politics the more willingly, if I could find other
topics of conversation discussed with more modesty and candour; but the
daemon of party seems to have usurped every department of life. Even
the world of literature and taste is divided into the most virulent
factions, which revile, decry, and traduce the works of one another.
Yesterday, I went to return an afternoon’s visit to a gentleman of my
acquaintance, at whose house I found one of the authors of the present
age, who has written with some success--As I had read one or two of his
performances, which gave me pleasure, I was glad of this opportunity
to know his person; but his discourse and deportment destroyed all the
impressions which his writings had made in his favour. He took upon him
to decide dogmatically upon every subject, without deigning to shew the
least cause for his differing from the general opinions of mankind,
as if it had been our duty to acquiesce in the ipse dixit of this new
Pythagoras. He rejudged the characters of all the principal authors, who
had died within a century of the present time; and, in this revision,
paid no sort of regard to the reputation they had acquired--Milton was
harsh and prosaic; Dryden, languid and verbose; Butler and Swift
without humour; Congreve, without wit; and Pope destitute of any sort of
poetical merit--As for his contemporaries, he could not bear to hear
one of them mentioned with any degree of applause--They were all dunces,
pedants, plagiaries, quacks, and impostors; and you could not name a
single performance, but what was tame, stupid, and insipid. It must be
owned, that this writer had nothing to charge his conscience with, on
the side of flattery; for I understand, he was never known to praise one
line that was written, even by those with whom he lived on terms of good
fellowship. This arrogance and presumption, in depreciating authors, for
whose reputation the company may be interested, is such an insult upon
the understanding, as I could not bear without wincing.
I desired to know his reasons for decrying some works, which had
afforded me uncommon pleasure; and, as demonstration did not seem to be
his talent, I dissented from his opinion with great freedom. Having been
spoiled by the deference and humility of his hearers, he did not bear
contradiction with much temper; and the dispute might have grown warm,
had it not been interrupted by the entrance of a rival bard, at whose
appearance he always quits the place--They are of different cabals, and
have been at open war these twenty years--If the other was dogmatical,
this genius was declamatory: he did not discourse, but harangue; and his
orations were equally tedious and turgid. He too pronounces ex cathedra
upon the characters of his contemporaries; and though he scruples not to
deal out praise, even lavishly, to the lowest reptile in Grubstreet who
will either flatter him in private, or mount the public rostrum as his
panegyrist, he damns all the other writers of the age, with the utmost
insolence and rancour--One is a blunderbuss, as being a native of
Ireland; another, a half-starved louse of literature, from the banks
of the Tweed; a third, an ass, because he enjoys a pension from the
government; a fourth, the very angel of dulness, because he succeeded in
a species of writing in which this Aristarchus had failed; a fifth, who
presumed to make strictures upon one of his performances, he holds as
a bug in criticism, whose stench is more offensive than his sting--In
short, except himself and his myrmidons, there is not a man of genius
or learning in the three kingdoms. As for the success of those, who have
written without the pale of this confederacy, he imputes it entirely to
want of taste in the public; not considering, that to the approbation of
that very tasteless public, he himself owes all the consequence he has
in life.
Those originals are not fit for conversation. If they would maintain the
advantage they have gained by their writing, they should never appear
but upon paper--For my part, I am shocked to find a man have sublime
ideas in his head, and nothing but illiberal sentiments in his
heart--The human soul will be generally found most defective in the
article of candour--I am inclined to think, no mind was ever wholly
exempt from envy; which, perhaps, may have been implanted, as an
instinct essential to our nature. I am afraid we sometimes palliate
this vice, under the spacious name of emulation. I have known a person
remarkably generous, humane, moderate, and apparently self-denying,
who could not hear even a friend commended, without betraying marks of
uneasiness; as if that commendation had implied an odious comparison
to his prejudice, and every wreath of praise added to the other’s
character, was a garland plucked from his own temples. This is a
malignant species of jealousy, of which I stand acquitted in my own
conscience.
Whether it is a vice, or an infirmity, I leave you to inquire.
There is another point, which I would much rather see determined;
whether the world was always as contemptible, as it appears to me at
present?--If the morals of mankind have not contracted an extraordinary
degree of depravity, within these thirty years, then must I be infected
with the common vice of old men, difficilis, querulus, laudator temporis
acti; or, which is more probable, the impetuous pursuits and avocations
of youth have formerly hindered me from observing those rotten parts of
human nature, which now appear so offensively to my observation.
We have been at court, and ‘change, and every where; and every where we
find food for spleen, and subject for ridicule--My new servant,
Humphry Clinker, turns out a great original: and Tabby is a changed
creature--She has parted with Chowder; and does nothing but smile, like
Malvolio in the play--I’ll be hanged if she is not acting a part which
is not natural to her disposition, for some purpose which I have not yet
discovered.
With respect to the characters of mankind, my curiosity is quite
satisfied: I have done with the science of men, and must now endeavour
to amuse myself with the novelty of things. I am, at present, by a
violent effort of the mind, forced from my natural bias; but this power
ceasing to act, I shall return to my solitude with redoubled velocity.
Every thing I see, and hear, and feel, in this great reservoir of folly,
knavery, and sophistication, contributes to inhance the value of a
country life, in the sentiments of
Yours always, MATT. BRAMBLE LONDON, June 2.
To Mrs MARY JONES, at Brambleton-hall.