To Sir WATKIN PHILLIPS, Bart. at Oxon.

DEAR KNIGHT,

I believe there is something mischievous in my disposition, for nothing diverts me so much as to see certain characters tormented with false terrors.—We last night lodged at the house of Sir Thomas Bullford, an old friend of my uncle, a jolly fellow, of moderate intellects, who, in spite of the gout, which hath lamed him, is resolved to be merry to the last; and mirth he has a particular knack in extracting from his guests, let their humour be ever so caustic or refractory.—Besides our company, there was in the house a fat-headed justice of the peace, called Frogmore, and a country practitioner in surgery, who seemed to be our landlord’s chief companion and confidant.—We found the knight sitting on a couch, with his crutches by his side, and his feet supported on cushions; but he received us with a hearty welcome, and seemed greatly rejoiced at our arrival.—After tea, we were entertained with a sonata on the harpsichord by lady Bullford, who sung and played to admiration; but Sir Thomas seemed to be a little asinine in the article of ears, though he affected to be in raptures, and begged his wife to favour us with an arietta of her own composing.—This arietta, however, she no sooner began to perform, than he and the justice fell asleep; but the moment she ceased playing, the knight waked snorting, and exclaimed, ‘O cara! what d’ye think, gentlemen? Will you talk any more of your Pargolesi and your Corelli?’—At the same time, he thrust his tongue in one cheek, and leered with one eye at the doctor and me, who sat on his left hand. He concluded the pantomime with a loud laugh, which he could command at all times extempore.—Notwithstanding his disorder, he did not do penance at supper, nor did he ever refuse his glass when the toast went round, but rather encouraged a quick circulation, both by precept and example.

I soon perceived the doctor had made himself very necessary to the baronet.—He was the whetstone of his wit, the butt of his satire, and his operator in certain experiments of humour, which were occasionally tried upon strangers.—Justice Frogmore was an excellent subject for this species of philosophy; sleek and corpulent, solemn, and shallow, he had studied Burn with uncommon application, but he studied nothing so much as the art of living (that is, eating) well—This fat buck had often afforded good sport to our landlord; and he was frequently started with tolerable success, in the course of this evening; but the baronet’s appetite for ridicule seemed to be chiefly excited by the appearance, address, and conversation of Lismahago, whom he attempted in all different modes of exposition; but he put me in mind of a contest that I once saw betwixt a young hound and an old hedge-hog—The dog turned him over and over, and bounced and barked, and mumbled; but as often as he attempted to bite, he felt a prickle in his jaws, and recoiled in manifest confusion;—The captain, when left to himself, will not fail to turn his ludicrous side to the company, but if any man attempts to force him into that attitude, he becomes stubborn as a mule, and unmanageable as an elephant unbroke.

Divers tolerable jokes were cracked upon the justice, who eat a most unconscionable supper, and, among other things, a large plate of broiled mushrooms, which he had no sooner swallowed than the doctor observed, with great gravity, that they were of the kind called champignons, which in some constitutions has a poisonous effect.—Mr Frogmore startled at this remark, asked, in some confusion, why he had not been so kind as to give him that notice sooner.—He answered, that he took it for granted, by his eating them so heartily, that he was used to the dish; but as he seemed to be under some apprehension, he prescribed a bumper of plague water, which the justice drank off immediately, and retired to rest, not without marks of terror and disquiet.

At midnight we were shewn to our different chambers, and in half an hour, I was fast asleep in bed; but about three o’clock in the morning I was waked with a dismal cry of Fire! and starting up, ran to the window in my shirt.—The night was dark and stormy; and a number of people half-dressed ran backwards and forwards thro’ the court-yard, with links and lanthorns, seemingly in the utmost hurry and trepidation.—Slipping on my cloaths in a twinkling, I ran down stairs, and, upon enquiry, found the fire was confined to a back-stair, which led to a detached apartment where Lismahago lay.—By this time, the lieutenant was alarmed by bawling at his window, which was in the second story, but he could not find his cloaths in the dark, and his room-door was locked on the outside.—The servants called to him, that the house had been robbed; that, without all doubt, the villains had taken away his cloaths, fastened the door, and set the house on fire, for the stair-case was in flames.—In this dilemma the poor lieutenant ran about the room naked like a squirrel in a cage, popping out his bead at the window between whiles, and imploring assistance.—At length, the knight in person was brought out in his chair, attended by my uncle and all the family, including our aunt Tabitha, who screamed, and cried, and tore her hair, as if she had been distracted—Sir Thomas had already ordered his people to bring a long ladder which was applied to the captain’s, window, and now he exhorted him earnestly to descend.—There was no need of much rhetoric to persuade Lismahago, who forthwith made his exit by the window, roaring all the time to the people below to hold fast the ladder.

Notwithstanding the gravity of the occasion, it was impossible to behold this scene without being seized with an inclination to laugh. The rueful aspect of the lieutenant in his shirt, with a quilted night-cap fastened under his chin, and his long lank limbs and posteriors exposed to the wind, made a very picturesque appearance, when illumined by the links and torches which the servants held up to light him in his descent.—All the company stood round the ladder, except the knight, who sat in his chair, exclaiming from time to time, ‘Lord, have mercy upon us!—save the gentleman’s life!—mind your footing, dear captain! softly!—stand fast!—clasp the ladder with both hands!—there!—well done, my dear boy!—O bravo!—an old soldier for ever!—bring a blanket bring a warm blanket to comfort his poor carcase—warm the bed in the green room—give me your hand, dear captain—I’m rejoiced to see thee safe and sound with all my heart.’ Lismahago was received at the foot of the ladder by his inamorata, who snatching a blanket from one of the maids, wrapped it about his body; two men-servants took him under the arms, and a female conducted him to the green room, still accompanied by Mrs Tabitha, who saw him fairly put to bed.—During this whole transaction he spoke not a syllable, but looked exceeding grim, sometimes at one, sometimes at another of the spectators, who now adjourned in a body to the parlour where we had supped, every one surveying another with marks of astonishment and curiosity.

The knight being seated in an easy chair, seized my uncle by the hand, and bursting into a long and loud laugh, ‘Matt (cried he), crown me with oak, or ivy, or laurel, or parsely, or what you will, and acknowledge this to be a coup de maitre in the way of waggery—ha, ha, ha!—Such a camisciata, scagliata, beffata! O, che roba! O, what a subject!—O, what caricatura!—O, for a Rosa, a Rembrandt, a Schalken!—Zooks, I’ll give a hundred guineas to have it painted!—what a fine descent from the cross, or ascent to the gallows! what lights and shadows!—what a groupe below! what expression above!—what an aspect!—did you mind the aspect? ha, ha, ha!—and the limbs, and the muscles every toe denoted terror! ha, ha, ha!—then the blanket! O, what costume! St Andrew! St Lazarus! St Barrabas!—ha, ha, ha!’ ‘After all then (cried Mr Bramble very gravely), this was no more than a false alarm.—We have been frightened out of our beds, and almost out of our senses, for the joke’s sake.’ ‘Ay, and such a joke! (cried our landlord) such a farce! such a denouement! such a catastrophe!’

‘Have a little patience (replied our ‘squire); we are not yet come to the catastrophe; and pray God it may not turn out a tragedy instead of a farce.—The captain is one of those saturnine subjects, who have no idea of humour.—He never laughs in his own person; nor can he bear that other people should laugh at his expence. Besides, if the subject had been properly chosen, the joke was too severe in all conscience.’ ‘‘Sdeath! (cried the knight) I could not have bated him an ace had he been my own father; and as for the subject, such another does not present itself once in half a century.’ Here Mrs Tabitha interposing, and bridling up, declared, she did not see that Mr Lismahago was a fitter subject for ridicule than the knight himself; and that she was very much afraid, he would very soon find he had mistaken his man.—The baronet was a good deal disconcerted by his intimation, saying, that he must be a Goth and a barbarian, if he did not enter into the spirit of such a happy and humourous contrivance.—He begged, however, that Mr Bramble and his sister would bring him to reason; and this request was reinforced by lady Bullford, who did not fail to read the baronet a lecture upon his indiscretion, which lecture he received with submission on one side of his face, and a leer upon the other.

We now went to bed for the second time; and before I got up, my uncle had visited Lismahago in the green room, and used such arguments with him, that when we met in the parlour he seemed to be quite appeased. He received the knight’s apology with good grace, and even professed himself pleased at finding he had contributed to the diversion of the company.—Sir Thomas shook him by the hand, laughing heartily; and then desired a pinch of snuff, in token of perfect reconciliation—The lieutenant, putting his hand in his waistcoat pocket, pulled out, instead of his own Scotch mull, a very fine gold snuff-box, which he no sooner perceived than he said, ‘Here is a small mistake.’ ‘No mistake at all (cried the baronet): a fair exchange is no robbery.—Oblige me so far, captain, as to let me keep your mull as a memorial.’ ‘Sir (said the lieutenant), the mull is much at your service; but this machine I can by no means retain.—It looks like compounding a sort of felony in the code of honour. Besides, I don’t know but there may be another joke in this conveyance; and I don’t find myself disposed to be brought upon the stage again.—I won’t presume to make free with your pockets, but I beg you will put it up again with your own hand.’ So saying, with a certain austerity of aspect, he presented the snuffbox to the knight, who received it in some confusion, and restored the mull, which he would by no means keep except on the terms of exchange.

This transaction was like to give a grave cast to the conversation, when my uncle took notice that Mr Justice Frogmore had not made his appearance either at the night-alarm, or now at the general rendezvous. The baronet hearing Frogmore mentioned, ‘Odso! (cried he) I had forgot the justice.—Pr’ythee, doctor, go and bring him out of his kennel.’ Then laughing till his sides were well shaken, he said he would shew the captain, that he was not the only person of the drama exhibited for the entertainment of the company. As to the night-scene, it could not affect the justice, who had been purposely lodged in the farther end of the house, remote from the noise, and lulled with a dose of opium into the bargain. In a few minutes, Mr Justice was led into the parlour in his nightcap and loose morning-gown, rolling his head from side to side, and groaning piteously all the way.—‘Jesu! neighbour Frogmore (exclaimed the baronet), what is the matter?—you look as if you was not a man for this world.—Set him down softly on the couch—poor gentlemen!—Lord have mercy upon us!—What makes him so pale, and yellow, and bloated?’ ‘Oh, Sir Thomas! (cried the justice) I doubt ‘tis all over with me— Those mushrooms I eat at your table have done my business—ah! oh! hey!’ ‘Now the Lord forbid! (said the other)—what! man, have a good heart—How does thy stomach feel?—hall?’

To this interrogation he made no reply; but throwing aside his nightgown, discovered that his waist-coat would not meet upon his belly by five good inches at least. ‘Heaven protect us all! (cried Sir Thomas) what a melancholy spectacle!—never did I see a man so suddenly swelled, but when he was either just dead, or just dying.—Doctor, can’st thou do nothing for this poor object?’ ‘I don’t think the case is quite desperate (said the surgeon), but I would advise Mr Frogmore to settle his affairs with all expedition; the parson may come and pray by him, while I prepare a glyster and an emetic draught.’ The justice, rolling his languid eyes, ejaculated with great fervency, ‘Lord, have mercy upon us! Christ, have mercy upon us!’—Then he begged the surgeon, in the name of God, to dispatch—‘As for my worldly affairs (said he), they are all settled but one mortgage, which must be left to my heirs—but my poor soul! my poor soul! what will become of my poor soul? miserable sinner that I am!’ ‘Nay, pr’ythee, my dear boy, compose thyself (resumed the knight); consider the mercy of heaven is infinite; thou can’st not have any sins of a very deep dye on thy conscience, or the devil’s in’t.’ ‘Name not the devil (exclaimed the terrified Frogmore), I have more sins to answer for than the world dreams of.—Ah! friend, I have been sly—sly damn’d sly!—Send for the parson without loss of time, and put me to bed, for I am posting to eternity.’—He was accordingly raised from the couch, and supported by two servants, who led him back to his room; but before he quitted the parlour, he intreated the good company to assist him with their prayers.—He added, ‘Take warning by me, who am suddenly cut off in my prime, like a flower of the field; and God forgive you, Sir Thomas, for suffering such poisonous trash to be eaten at your table.’

He was no sooner removed out of hearing, than the baronet abandoned himself to a violent fit of laughing, in which he was joined by the greatest part of the company; but we could hardly prevent the good lady from going to undeceive the patient, by discovering, that while he slept his waistcoat had been straitened by the contrivance of the surgeon; and that the disorder in his stomach and bowels was occasioned by some antimonial wine, which he had taken over night, under the denomination of plague-water. She seemed to think that his apprehension might put an end to his life: the knight swore he was no such chicken, but a tough old rogue, that would live long enough to plague all his neighbours.—Upon enquiry, we found his character did not intitle him to much compassion or respect, and therefore we let our landlord’s humour take its course.—A glyster was actually administered by an old woman of the family, who had been Sir Thomas’s nurse, and the patient took a draught made with oxymel of squills to forward the operation of the antimonial wine, which had been retarded by the opiate of the preceding night. He was visited by the vicar, who read prayers, and began to take an account of the state of his soul, when those medicines produced their effect; so that the parson was obliged to hold his nose while he poured forth spiritual consolation from his mouth. The same expedient was used by the knight and me, who, with the doctor, entered the chamber at this juncture, and found Frogmore enthroned on an easing-chair, under the pressure of a double evacuation. The short intervals betwixt every heave he employed in crying for mercy, confessing his sins, or asking the vicar’s opinion of his case; and the vicar answered, in a solemn snuffling tone, that heightened the ridicule of the scene. The emetic having done its office, the doctor interfered, and ordered the patient to be put in bed again. When he examined the egesta, and felt his pulse, he declared that much of the virus was discharged, and, giving him a composing draught, assured him he had good hopes of his recovery.—This welcome hint he received with the tears of joy in his eyes, protesting, that if he should recover, he would always think himself indebted for his life to the great skill and tenderness of his doctor, whose hand he squeezed with great fervour; and thus he was left to his repose.

We were pressed to stay dinner, that we might be witnesses of his resuscitation; but my uncle insisted upon our departing before noon, that we might reach this town before it should be dark.—In the mean-time, lady Bullford conducted us into the garden to see a fishpond just finished, which Mr Bramble censured as being too near the parlour, where the knight now sat by himself, dozing in an elbow-chair after the fatigues of his morning atchievement.—In this situation he reclined, with his feet wrapped in flannel, and supported in a line with his body, when the door flying open with a violent shock, lieutenant Lismahago rushed into the room with horror in his looks, exclaiming, ‘A mad dog! a mad dog!’ and throwing up the window sash, leaped into the garden—Sir Thomas, waked by this tremendous exclamation, started up, and forgetting his gout, followed the lieutenant’s example by a kind of instinctive impulse. He not only bolted thro’ the window like an arrow from a bow, but ran up to his middle in the pond before he gave the least sign of recollection. Then the captain began to bawl, ‘Lord have mercy upon us!—pray, take care of the gentleman!—for God’s sake, mind your footing, my dear boy!—get warm blankets—comfort his poor carcase—warm the bed in the green room.’

Lady Bullford was thunder-struck at this phaenomenon, and the rest of the company gazed in silent astonishment, while the servants hastened to assist their master, who suffered himself to be carried back into the parlour without speaking a word.—Being instantly accommodated with dry clothes and flannels, comforted with a cordial, and replaced in statu quo, one of the maids was ordered to chafe his lower extremities, an operation in consequence of which his senses seemed to return and his good humour to revive.—As we had followed him into the room, he looked at every individual in his turn, with a certain ludicrous expression in his countenance, but fixed his eyes in particular upon Lismahago, who presented him with a pinch of snuff, and when he took it in silence, ‘Sir Thomas Bullford (said he), I am much obliged to you for all your favours, and some of them I have endeavoured to repay in your own coin.’ ‘Give me thy hand (cried the baronet); thou hast indeed payed me Scot and lot; and even left a balance in my hands, for which, in presence of this company, I promise to be accountable.’—So saying, he laughed very heartily, and even seemed to enjoy the retaliation which had been exacted at his own expence; but lady Bullford looked very grave; and in all probability thought the lieutenant had carried his resentment too far, considering that her husband was valetudinary—but, according to the proverb, he that will play at bowls must expect to meet with rubbers. I have seen a tame bear, very diverting when properly managed, become a very dangerous wild beast when teized for the entertainment of the spectators.—As for Lismahago, he seemed to think the fright and the cold bath would have a good effect upon his patient’s constitution: but the doctor hinted some apprehension that the gouty matter might, by such a sudden shock, be repelled from the extremities and thrown upon some of the more vital parts of the machine.—I should be very sorry to see this prognostic verified upon our facetious landlord, who told Mrs Tabitha at parting, that he hoped she would remember him in the distribution of the bride’s favours, as he had taken so much pains to put the captain’s parts and mettle to the proof.—After all, I am afraid our squire will appear to be the greatest sufferer by the baronet’s wit; for his constitution is by no means calculated for night-alarms. He has yawned and shivered all day, and gone to bed without supper; so that, as we have got into good quarters, I imagine we shall make a halt to-morrow; in which case, you will have at least one day’s respite from the persecution of

J. MELFORD Oct. 3.