The Expedition of Humphry Clinker

THE EXPEDITION OF HUMPHRY CLINKER 191
To Sir WATKIN PHILLIPS, Bart. of Jesus college, Oxon.
DEAR PHILLIPS,
IN my last I treated you with a high flavoured dish, in the charac-
ter of the Scotch lieutenant, and I must present him once more for
your entertainment. It was our fortune to feed upon him the best
part of three days; and I do not doubt that he will start again in our
way before we shall have finished our northern excursion. The day
after our meeting with him at Durham proved so tempestuous that
we did not choose to proceed on our journey; and my uncle per-
suaded him to stay till the weather should clear up, giving him, at
the same time, a general invitation to our mess. The man has
certainly gathered a whole budget of shrewd observations, but he
brings them forth in such an ungracious manner as would be
extremely disgusting, if it was not marked by that characteristic
oddity which never fails to attract the attention—He and Mr.
Bramble discoursed, and even disputed, on different subjects in
war, policy, the belles lettres, law, and metaphysics; and some-
times they were warmed into such altercation as seemed to threaten
an abrupt dissolution of their society; but Mr. Bramble set a guard
over his own irascibility, the more vigilantly as the officer was his
guest; and when, in spite of all his efforts, he began to wax warm,
the other prudently cooled in the same proportion.
Mrs. Tabitha chancing to accost her brother by the familiar
diminutive of Matt, ‘Pray, sir, (said the lieutenant) is your name
Matthias?’ You must know, it is one of our uncle’s foibles to be
ashamed of his name Matthew, because it is puritanical; and this
question chagrined him so much, that he answered,’ ‘No, by
G—d!’ in a very abrupt tone of displeasure.—The Scot took
umbrage at the manner of his reply, and bristling up, ‘If I had
known (said he) that you did not care to tell your name, I should
not have asked the question—The leddy called you Matt, and I
naturally thought it was Matthias:—perhaps, it may be Methuse-
lah, or Metrodorus, or Metellus, or Mathurinus, or Malthinnus,
or Matamorus, or—’ ‘No, (cried my uncle laughing) it is neither of
those, captain:—my name is Matthew Bramble, at your service.—
The truth is, I have a foolish pique at the name of Matthew, be-
cause it savours of those canting hypocrites, who, in Cromwell’s
time, christened all their children by names taken from the