her Paps (or should have been so Nurtured, for
too many of our Fashionable Fine Dames are given to the cruelly
Pernicious Practice of sending their Infants to Nurse almost the very
next Week after they are Born, thus Divorcing themselves from the Joys
of Tender Affection, and drying up the very Source and Fontinel of
Natural Endearments; from which I draw the cause of many of the harsh
cold Humours and Uncivil Vapours that do reign between the Great and
their children). You may cry Haro upon me for a Cynic or Doggish
Philosopher; but I relate my Experiences, and the Things that have
stricken my Mind and Sense. I do know Ladies of Quality that hate their
Daughters, and would willingly Whip them, did they dare do so, Grown
Women as they are, for Spite. I do know Fathers, Men of Parts and Rank,
forsooth, jealous of their Sons, and that have kept the Youngsters in
the Background, and even striven to Obscure their Minds that they might
not cross the Paternal Orbit. And has it not almost passed into a
proverb, that my Lord Duke's Natural and most Inveterate Enemy is my
Lord Marquis, who is his Heir? But not to the World of Gold and Purple
are these Jealousies and Evil Feelings confined. You shall find them to
the full as Venomous in hovels, where pewter Platters are on the
shelves, and where Fustian and Homespun are the only wear. Down in the
West of England, where a worthy Friend of mine has an Estate, I know a
Shepherd tending his flocks from sunrise--ay, and before the Sun gets
up--until sundown. The honest man has but half-a-dozen shillings a week,
and has begotten Fourteen Children. He is old now, and feeble, and is
despised by his Progeny. He leads at Home the sorriest of Lives. They
take his wages from him, and, were it not for a lump of fat Bacon which
my friend's Servants give him now and again for Charity's sake, he would
have nothing better to eat from Week's End to Week's End than the hunch
of Bread and the morsel of Cheese that are doled forth to him every
morning when he goes to his labour. Only the other day, his sixth
daughter, a comely Piece enough, was Married. The poor old Shepherd begs
a Holiday, granted to him easily enough, and goes home at Midday instead
of Even, thinking to have some part in the Wedding Rejoicings, the which
his last week's wages have gone some way to furnish forth. I promise you
that 'tis a fine Family Feast that he comes across. What but ribs of
Beef and Strong Ale--none of your Harve