The British Press; or, Morning Literary Advertiser.
London, England, 1820-06-14 00:00:00

iDEA77I it' THB•PUT,

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WOOS "Blaelareara Sillaburgh itersTisci •
LETTER FROM AN RUMAT ORNTLIIIV4sMaII TO
MR. cIIRISTOPIng MORTIS.
MT DEAN MR. NORTH—I much fear 'het this is
the Ism letter you will ever receive from* your old
friend. " I'm WeUriil' ewe, Kit ! to the land o' the
Inl !" and that, too, under the influence of a COM.
plication of disorders, which hove been tenderloin.
ing my constitution (originally a sound and stout
one) for upwards of half a century. Look to your.
self, my much-respected lad,'said think co mama of
your rheumatism. That. believe me. is * mere
trifle ; bet think of what you have been doing since
the peace of 1763 (in that year were you born), 'in
the eating and dunking way, and tremble. I know,
my dear Kit, that you never were a gormandizer,
nor sot ; neither surely was I—but it matters
not—the most abstemious of us all have gone
through fearful trials. and I have not skill in
figures to cast up the poisonous content, of my
hapless stomach for nearly three-score years. You
would not know me now; I had not the slightest
suspicious of myself in the looking-glass this morn-
ing. Such a face !so wan and wo-hegour! NO
such person drew Prism's curtains at dead sit night,
or could have told him half. his Troy was bunged.
Well, hear me come to the point. I remember
now, perfect[' well, that I have been out of sorts
all my life-time; and the causes of my continual
illness have this day been led to me. May
my melancholy fate be a warning to you, and all
your dear contributors, a art of men whom the
world could ill spare at this crisis! Mr. Editor,
i HAVE BEEN poISoNEM!,
You must know that I became personally ac-
quainted, a few weeks ago, quite accidentally. with
that distinguished chemist, well known its our me-
tropolis by the name of "Death in the Pot*."
He volunteered a visit to meat breakfast lest Thurs-
day, and I accepted him. Just as I had poured
out the 6r.t cup of tie, and was extending it gra-
cioos.ly toward. him, he looked at me, and with a
low, hoarse, husky voice, like Mr. Kean's, ?eked toe
if 1 were Hot excessively ill ? I had not had the loot
suspici tttt of hoeing so, but there was a terrible
something in " Death in the Pot's" face which told
me I war a dead woman'. I immediately got gir—
-1 mean strove to get up, to ring the bell fora clergy-
man, hoot I fainted away. On awaking trout my
swoon, I beheld " Death in the Pot" still staring
with his fateful eyes, and croaking oat, half in soli-
loquy, boffin tete•a tefe, "'There is not a life in
London worth ten years' purchase." I
implored
him to speak plainly, and for God's sake not to
look at ode so malagengotoubly. and plainly enough
he then did speak to be sure—" Mrs. TROLLOPS,
YOU ARE POISONED!"

" Who," cried I out convulsively, " who has
perpetrated the foul deed ? On whose guiliy bead
will lie my innocent blood ? Has it beat from
Motives of private revenge ? Speck. Mr. Amstar!'
—speak ! Have you any proofs of • conspiracy ?"
" Yes, Madam, I have roar—damning proofs..—
Your wine.merchaut, your brewer. your baker,
your confectioner. your grocer. aye. your very
butcher, are in league against you; mud, Mrs.
Trollope, YOU ang POIsONED !"..."Whea—.Oh
*ben was the fatal doe stiministered ? Woultl au
emetic be of no avail? Could you tint yet admi-
nister a-- ?" But here my voice was choked,
and nothing was audible. Mr. North, but the sighs
and sobs of your poor Trollope.
At last I became more composed—and Mr. Ac.
cum asked me what was in general the first thing I
did on rising from my bed in the morning. Alas !
I felt that it was no time for delicacy, and I told
him at once. that it was to take off • bas ,per of
brandy for a complaint in my stomach. He asked
to look at the bottle. I brought it forth from the
press in my own number. that tall square tower-
like bottle, Mr. North, St) greets to the eye and
smooth to the grasp. You know the bottle well—
it belonged to my mother before me. He put
it to his nose—he poured out • driblet into •
tea-spoon as cautiously as if it had been the
black-drop—he tasted it—and again repeated
these terrible words, " Mrs. Trollve. you ore
poise:wed ! It hos." he continued, " a peculiar
disagreeable smell like the breath of hsbitual
drunkards." Oh ! thought I, has it come to
this! The steell ever seemed to my unsuspecting
soul most fragrant anal delicious." Death in the
Pot then told me, that the liquid I had been
innocently drinking every morn for thirty years
vas not brandy at all, but a vile distillation
of British molasses over wine lees. rectifi-
ed over quicklime, and mixed with saw-dust.
And this a sad solitary uosuspecting spinster hail
been imbibing as brandy for so many years ! A
gleam of comfort now shot across my brain—l told
Mr. Amnon that I hold, during my sidinle life, beets
bele habit of taking a smallish glass of Holland.
before going to bed, winch I fain looped might have
lite effect of counteracting the bad effects of the for-
=hat had been committed against me. I pro-
the bottle—the white globular one, you know.
Death is the Pot tried *ad tatted—and. alas ! instead
of Holland., hr pinotiouncedit vile British malt spi-
rit. hued by a solution of sub-accetrte of lead. and
then • solution sf date—bud strengthened with
grains of parsdiset Guinea pepper, capsicum, and
other acrid mid aromatic substances. These are
learned worrio.-but they made • terrible impres.
sion upon my memory. Mr. Aecum is r most Gioia.
ble man. 1 well believe—but he is a stranger to
pity. " Mrs. Trollop', You HAS'S 1111111 raison.
✓e,' was all he would utter. Had the twomay aid
Halloo& been gassing there would have been no
harsse.--bet they were ialitatissii awl " YOU XIS
meow eh."
Feeling myself very faint. I asked, naturally
enough for a woman in my sitastiiso. for a Ow of
• It was brought—but Mr. ACC.= was at hand
to match the timidly draught from try lip*. He
tasted whet used to be rolled my genuine old port
And is She semi of Menu his face
Grew bleb as low was siva*. •
" Its spoiled elder wits—reudetrol sobingost by
malt-woad. mio•dita4 sod ilia buoka ilbaria.—
lead and amok. Madam. are--.." but my oars
giggled and I beard no mare. I cossfasood to ths
assismat of six glasses a day or this hellish liquor...
m es
d:cosey that ouch bad been my al.
for litany years. My this was mow Weise.
6 Preilbis Arcata. tleatailmtbrollita ha
Dry* Is the Pa.

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