s all one to him. He only reads the
sporting announcements in the Norwich paper. So long as there is good
scent, he does not care about the state of the country. I believe the
rascal has never read my poems, much more my tragedies (for I mentioned
Pocahontas to him the other day, and the dunce thought she was a river
in Virginia); and with respect to my Latin verses, how can he understand
them when I know he can't construe Corderius? Why, this notebook lies
publicly on the little table at my corner of the fireside, and any one
may read in it who will take the trouble of lifting my spectacles off
the cover: but Miles never hath. I insert in the loose pages caricatures
of Miles: jokes against him: but he never knows nor heeds them. Only
once, in place of a neat drawing of mine, in China-ink, representing
Miles asleep after dinner, and which my friend Bunbury would not disown,
I found a rude picture of myself going over my mare Sultana's head, and
entitled "The Squire on Horseback, or Fish out of Water." And the fellow
to roar with laughter, and all the girls to titter, when I came upon the
page! My wife said she never was in such a fright as when I went to my
book: but I can bear a joke against myself, and have heard many, though
(strange to say, for one who has lived among some of the chief wits of
the age) I never heard a good one in my life. Never mind, Miles, though
thou art not a wit, I love thee none the worse (there never was any love
lost between two wits in a family); though thou hast no great beauty,
thy mother thinks thee as handsome as Apollo, or his Royal Highness the
Prince of Wales, who was born in the very same year with thee. Indeed,
she always think Coates's picture of the Prince is very like her eldest
boy, and has the print in her dressing-room to this very day.

[Note, in a female hand: "My son is not a spendthrift, nor a breaker of
women's hearts, as some gentlemen are; but that he was exceeding like
H.R.H. when they were both babies, is most certain, the Duchess of
Aneaster having herself remarked him in St. James's Park, where Gumbo
and my poor Molly used often to take him for an airing. Th. W."]

In that same year, with what different prospects! my Lord Esmond, Lord
Castlewood's son, likewise appeared to adorn the world. My Lord C. and
his humble servant had already come to a coolness at that time, and,
heaven knows! my honest Miles's godmother, at his entrance into life,
brought no gold pap-b