my medicines, every living servant in my family, with the same propriety, may pretend to it, being all assistants to me by their manual labour. Signed—Joshua Ward.”
Soon after this, February 10-12, comes an announcement which must have filled the lady readers of the Chronicle—for ladies ever loved bargains—with anxiety and their husbands with terror. The last paragraph shows that the warehouseman knew well how to bait his trap for the unwary:-
A REAL SALE OF SILKS
AT the Coventry Cross, Chandos Street, Covent Garden. Consisting of a very great assortment of Rich brocades, Tissues, flowered and plain Sattins, Tabbies, Ducapes, black Armozeens, Rasdumores, Mantuas, &c. Being purchased of the executors of an eminent weaver and factor, deceased, and of another left off trade.
Merchants, &c., may be supplied with rich Silks fit for exportation, fresh and fine patterns, greatly under prime cost, for ready money only, the price marked on each piece.
It is hoped Ladies will not be offended that they cannot possibly be waited on at their own Houses.
Within a very short period, little more than a week, we come across an advertisement which we admit fairly puzzles us. We are certainly far more able to believe that the precious balsam does all that is promised for it, than we are to understand the reason for its having but one title. It runs thus:—
WARHAM’S Apoplectic Balsam, so well known as an excellent remedy against Fits, Convulsions, &c., cures Deafness, bad Humours in the Eyes, inward Bruises, dissolves hard Lumps