TO THE FUBLia 



A. THING*, styling ITSELF "A Subscriber to 

 die Oxford-street Institution/* in a Grub-street 

 production, entitled, " An Epistle to Mr. Profes- 

 sor Coleman," has thought proper to offer what 

 it calls Remarks on the foregoing Letter, to use 

 the elegant language of the Epi^stle, I hope I 

 shall soon jjrove how '•^preciously absurcV these 

 Remarks are ; and I have no doubt create a blush 

 of shame on -the face of those who have been iiji- 

 duced to lend their interest to a cause, requiring 

 such wretched means of support. In respect to 

 my biography — from what source this thing of an 

 author derived its information, I know not ; but 

 I beg leave to state, that there is not one word of 

 truth from the beginning to the end of it. I have, 

 indeed, been fond of " handling the ribbon," 

 from a child, and felt the greatest delight " in 

 rumpling the sarsnet ;Y* but neither of these amuse- 

 ments, in the sense my Biographer has implied, 



* I have been compelled to designate it a thing, because there is 

 no distinct species of composition by which I can form any probable 

 conjecture as to Ihe gender of the writer; the style is not sufficiently 

 impassioned for a female, and far too flimsy for my ideas of raal't? 

 c-.>mpositioh. It may wear breeches, but the cowardly mode of at- 

 tack proves it cannot be a man. 



t In the Epistle, I am called " a quondam dealer in sarsnet ribbon:?, 

 " and shoe ties ;" and said to have stept from behind a counter intu 

 iny curncle, on being appoint.-d Veterinary Surgeon to the 20th Dra- 

 go:.ns. How eight shilliugs a day was to effect this, I am at a loss lu 



