Must I, my dear, call such a creature your brother?--I believe I must--
Because he is your father's son. There is no harm, I hope, in saying
that.

I am concerned, that you ever wrote at all to him. It was taking too
much notice of him: it was adding to his self-significance; and a call
upon him to treat you with insolence. A call which you might have been
assured he would not fail to answer.

But such a pretty master as this, to run riot against such a man as
Lovelace; who had taught him to put his sword into his scabbard, when he
had pulled it out by accident!--These in-door insolents, who, turning
themselves into bugbears, frighten women, children, and servants, are
generally cravens among men. Were he to come fairly across me, and say
to my face some of the free things which I am told he has said of me
behind my back, or that (as by your account) he has said of our sex, I
would take upon myself to ask him two or three questions; although he
were to send me a challenge likewise.

I repeat, you know that I will speak my mind, and write it too. He is
not my brother. Can you say, he is yours?--So, for your life, if you are
just, you can't be angry with me: For would you side with a false brother
against a true friend? A brother may not be a friend: but a friend will
always be a brother--mind that, as your uncle Tony says!

I cannot descend so low, as to take very particular notice of the
epistles of these poor souls, whom you call uncles. Yet I love to divert
myself with such grotesque characters too. But I know them and love you;
and so cannot make the jest of them which their absurdities call for.