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“Madam,—Had nature formed me a bugbear to the sight, and inspired me with a soul as vicious as my body was detestable, perhaps I might have enjoyed particular marks of your affection and applause; seeing you have persecuted me with such unnatural aversion, for no other visible reason than that of my differing so widely in shape as well as disposition from that deformed urchin who is the object of your tenderness and care. If these be the terms on which alone I can obtain your favour, I pray God you may never cease to hate,—Madam, your much-injured son, “Peregrine Pickle.”

This letter, which nothing, but his passion and inexperience could excuse, had such an effect upon his mother as may be easily conceived. She was enraged to a degree of frenzy against the writer; though, at the same time, she considered the whole as the production of Mrs. Trunnion's particular pique, and represented it to her husband as an insult that he was bound in honour to resent, by breaking off all correspondence with the commodore and his family. This was a bitter pill to Gamaliel, who, through a long course of years, was so habituated to Trunnion's company, that he could as easily have parted with a limb as have relinquished the club all at once. He therefore ventured to represent his own incapacity to follow her advice, and begged that he might, at least, be allowed to drop the connection gradually, protesting that he would do his endeavour to give her all manner of satisfaction.

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