ABSTRACT
On a bright April morning in the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-two,2 Mr. Alderman Bradford, with his wife and daughters, Martha and Julia, set out from Crutched-Friars for the benefit of the Bath waters.3 In our journey through life we are destined to meet with travellers of every denomination; but the most disgusting of all the various species we are created to encounter, is the opulent and ostentatious traveller. Without any motive but that of exciting attention, such a being measures the path of thorns and roses, sickening with satiety, and eternally extorting either our wonder or our pity: we wonder at the blind prodigality of Fortune, and we pity the wretch who, though revelling in her favours, seems incapable of enjoying even the shadow of felicity.
