Part 9

You know I never rot to anybody but you, although some impotent parsons have dared to call themselves the hawthurs of my lettus. There is one of them squarecap fellows belonging to the Magdalen at Hauksfut--which they say lives upon Ices--he says he rot some of them, and one at Eating College says _he_ helped me, and another, a bare blockhead whose name I never heard afore, goes about and says _he_ rot 'em for me. He had better mind his tye pigs, and adjustments, and dews and surplices, I can tell him, for all his tong runs so glebe; for I never sot eye on him, nor he on me, as I nose of--however, I am dissolved upon publishing them out and out. Mr. Golburn wants them to come out in sheets, but I dont think that quite _come ill fo_.

There is a moneyment of two old gentlemen who were my Aunt's sisters, in a church in Lincumshire, done by Mr. Ruebellyache the great Sculpture, which was admired by the late Mr. Noddlecums, whose life has been published by his Taylor, and which cuts him up, sure enough--I should like to have the view of this family Muzzleheum in the book, if I could get it done in the new fashioned style of Lithotomy, because it shoes all the harms of our family, Lions sergeants, and the Lions parsons, and the Lions ramping, with the shiverings and mullets, and argents, and oars, and sables, and gulls, and all that, which we bore ever since William the Conqueror came over with Quin Mary, of hoom, no doubt, you have read.

My Mr. Ramsbottom's family, although very good, is not connected with that of the Hempee for Winsor, which family is eyely respectable in their whey, and quite sillybratted for bruin the bear, wich is so patternized in the neighbrood. Mr. Fulmer says, my dear Mr. Ram is quite a different ramification, but he thinks if you would just reckumend us to the Biblepole (I think he calls Mr. Goulburn) he could make three volums out of my letters, what letters I have received, his own notes, and all the notes the gals has got by way of orthographs, and a dairy, which my dear Mr. Ram kept till the day before he did.

I took my two eldest unmarried, the other day, to Mr. Devil's in the Strand, to be felt--they call him Mr. De Feel, but he spells it Deville, and calls _himself_ Mr. De Huile--he is a Hoyl-man and a great proffessor of what is called _Free-knowledgey_[17]--he shewed us the head of Sterne, which wrote many books, and also that of Sir Eyes-ache Newton, the great astrologer--he says I have the largest number one he ever saw, and when I cum away he sneered, and bid me take care of number one, as if everybody didn't do that without _his_ telling.--He wanted to put a plaster on my head, and smear my face with some of his lampile, and stick squills up my nose, and take what he called a cast of my Hosfrontis--but I would not have none of his manoovers with me, and I was very well pleased when I found myself out of the shop.

Only think, Mr. B., of Lord Angelseye coming home--he is left tenant of the castle no longer. Mr. Fulmer says he is like a hair which gives up doubling when it takes to turning. I am quite sorry to think what a state he must be in. Miss Biffin, or Billy Bowldish, the corpulent gentleman who used to bump himself along the streets in a band-box, an't nothing to compare with him. His Lordship told the people of Ireland that he had left his _heart_ with _them_. Fulmer says, before he said _that_, he must have lost his _head_, and I seed one of his _legs_ buried at Whataloo--of course, after that, the only thing left for him was to pack up his _trunk_, and come home; but pollyticks I seldom tuches, only I _does_ like plain dealing.

Will you please to let me here from you, for you are a sad idol corryspondent--you promises to rite, and never dus, which is very disapinting. However, you must rite to give us leaf to print the Ramsbottom Papers, which has been redressed to you--give me your opinion about the minotaur and the muzzleum, and believe me, dear B.,

Your's, truly and sincere, LAVINIA D. RAMSBOTTOM.

All our curcle join in kind regards--we have all got colds, and guittars, and quinces, and roomatez--but we can expectorate nothing less this cold wether.

XXII.

MRS. RAMSBOTTOM'S OPINIONS ON POPERY.

TO JOHN BULL.

Gravesend, April 2, 1829.

MY DEAR B.,--I have taken a trumpery residence hear for the seeson for the health of my therd gull, which is frequently effected with a goose. I send you up a copy of the Gravesend Guide, which will explain all the booty of the place, and all its convenences; the passage in the steemboat is cheap and agreble, and we run up and down every two or three tims in the weak.

Oh, B. B., I have got a krow to plock with you--I cannot make out what makes you such a stench Protestant; poor dear Mr. Ram never could bear Poppery, but I am afraid he was a biggoat at bottom, for the mounsheer which marred my second, tells me that it is a sweat religion, and that you can always get ablution for paying for it--which is very pleasant.

I remember the riots of Hayti, when they burnt old Newgate and got to all the goals; they raised several houses to the groand, and burned Lord Mansfield's house in Bloomsbury-square, which was of brick and stone; what would they have done with his Willy up at Highgate, which is all made of Cane-wood; yet after all these I see he goes on in the Hose of Pears a speeking agin the Roming Catlicks just as if nothin had happened to him; he must be very antickated now I shoud think.

You have heard, in course, that the new Pop is erected. Mounsheer tells me that Ginger was a very good Pop as ever was--he died notwithstanding his infallowbility--all Pops go off--and that's as it should be, for as they lives infallowbill so they infallowbelly dies. Mounsheer told me that it was thought that either Carnal Fetch or Carnal Comealongo would have been erected Pop, but that Charles Deece would have put his Feeto upon Fetch, so they have erected Castellioneye--they put poor Ginger after his deth into a cistern, with his holy toes a protruding out of a grating for the people to kiss.

I should have liked to be in Room when the concave was held. Oh Mr. B. you very much mistake the Catlick Priesthood. All the stories you hear of the Carnals keeping columbines is entirely calomel--they nose better than to do such things as those--for my part, I hop to see the day when all extinction of religion is forgot, and we shall see all our halters occupied by Popish Priests. What does Mr. More, the allmyknack maker, say on this toepick--

"Shall I ask the brave soger what fites by my side, In the kaws of mankind if our creeds agree? Shall I give up the friend I have vallied and tried, If he kneel not afore the same halter with me? From the hairytick gull of my sole shall I fly, To seek somewhere's else a more authordox kiss? No--perish the harts and the laws as try, Truth, walour, and love, by a standurd like this."

I says ditto, ditto, to Mister More; why should we Hairyticks stick up for our authordoxies, or any other sich, or despise the Roming Catlicks--why, we are decanters from the holy church ourselves, just as much as the Sauceinions and the Hairyuns,[18] and the Whistlings, or any others, are from hours--can't we wusship, every one after his own fashion--look at the Quackers--there's a sex, so pyehouse, and demure, and desunt, in everything good and propper.

Why, do _you_ know, Mr. B., the Quacker ladies goes down to Grinnage, and Woolidge, and Popular, and the Isle of Docks, and all them parts, to phissit the poor feemale convix, which is about to be transpirted to Von Demons Land and Bottomy bay, where the illustrus Cook first found out the Cangarews--poor gulls, I think it a pitty to send out the pretty Lassenies, they are some on 'em so juvenal. Oh, Muster B., what must their Rum and essences be when they reclects Tim past--some on 'em if they are hard working meretricious gulls, get marred as soon as they gets to the Coloony, and when they does, Mr. Fulmer tells me they play the very dooce with the Malt house system, which I spose means that they drink too much hail, and bear in proporshun.

A navel sergeant goes to take care on 'em, and see as they wants for no thing--he locks them up every night, and never suffers no _Foxes paws_, but keeps them quite creckt, and they are in sich order that he has only just to talk of the lock and the key to subdoo e'm in a minuet--poor creturs, them as I seed where chairful, and not one of them was wiping, they had plenty of vitals, and spoke of the Coloony as a nice place, and called the Guvenor a Darling--but it seems wretched work--to hope for happiness there, is to follow an English Fattyus, which you know is a Will of the Whips, which is seed in the mashes.

But anuff of this--rite me word what you think of the Hopra--I think Pisarowneye is a bootiful singer--I dont much like Specky, and as for Mountijelly she harn't got no vice--not what I call a sweet vice--Miss Blazes is harmonias, but I see by the bills that they have denounced an Angel and a Devil to act, which I do not think _come il pho_. I have not seen Suck Kelly, nor Bellygreeny, but I recleck Mollybrown Garshia quite well. The new ballad of Mass and Kneelo is quite splendead--there is a him to the Vergin, sung just like Tedium in a church, and Wesuewius in the rear is quite tremendos. Colonel O'Conner said he never saw a more beautiful crater in all his born days, and he is quite a jug of those matters.

_Haprowpow dee Botts_--Why do you satyreyes my friends Lethbridge and Fillpott--you give a whole chapter to the Dean every Sunday which is too much, and as for calling Sir Tomass a rat, I deny the fack--at least if he _is_ a rat, the day I saw him at dinner with Lord Wenerables he must have twisted his tail into the bag behind him, for I saw none of it.

I have no noose, except that we all wish you would come and explode these parts--perhaps you will, after you have red the guide. The passage is short and iconumical, only two shillings by the steam bot, or as the French call it, the _pack bot avec peur_. Do come--we all unite in best regards.

Yours, truly, LAVINIA DOROTHEA RAMSBOTTOM.

XXIII.

MRS. RAMSBOTTOM AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY.

May, 1829.

DEAR B.,--As you haven't given any count of the Summerset House expedition, which opened as weasal, the fust Monday in May, I thoght perhaps a few loose remarks of mine and Lavy's would be exceptable, therefore I rite to give you an int of what _we_ think.

Oh, that Precedent, Sir Tummas Larrence--I never seed such pitchers as his--but I need not talk of those, because you nose his merits--what I want is, to bring to your notice some of the young uns.

Well, B., away we went Wensday, and paid our munney at the dore, and the man gave us a chick, and we bought our catlog, and then another man tuck away my parisot, which never happened to me before, the many ears I have seen in that place--he told me if I gave him my one, he would give me a number--which deseived me, so I let him have it, and he gave me a curd--this was just at the bottom of the great Achilles with the fir knees wich is kept in a bird cage, to prevent the people hurting his back--well, up we went--such a stare case--so hot was I--however, at last up we got.

The fust pitcher I seed was Adam and Heve expulsed from Paradise, by Debuffe. In buff I think--I never seed such a thing in all my days, and no reason for it, because it was after the date of the fig leaves--no matter--I turned away my eyes to Doctor Gobbleston, the Bishop of Llandaff, and a plainer creatur I never set my eyes on--his face looks for all the world as if he had been a rat hunting up a chimley. I couldn't look at him long. The next I saw was "I. Strutt, Esqueer, and his sister." I'm sure that is a likeness; and the next is called "a Gentleman," which I am sure can_not_ be a likeness.

Lord Caravan, with a sword on, is a fine work, and so is a big picture of a Hero going to Philander in the Tower; and near that is one of a Gull with a Guttar, with sich funny pudsy fingers, which made Lavy laugh so as I was quite ashammed of her. Then there is one by Mr. Willes of a Dream, where "Puck takes away an asses head from bottom,"--it is so in the catlog, and I wonder at it--but no matter--I'm sure I felt quite in jeffery when I read such a thing in a book--and Mr. Newton, my favourite, what drawed the Disconsolate Lady in white satan, which hided her head in her hankycher, at the British Gallary, has got the pitcher of a Lady in a Coach-horse Dress, uncommon pretty; and Mr. Picksgill has got Sir Jeffery Dunstan with his gray locks a dangling just as I remember him when he was Mare of Garret, only bigger.

An artist of the name of Bedstead has a picture of two whole Snips, and also of two Jack Snips--which is meant for birds, but I never heard of sich afore. There is also Sir Roger de Coverlee and the Gypsums, and a picture of Lord Drum, (Lampton as was,) by Larrence, like as to phechurs, but not his compleckshun. I wish my Lord had sot to Turner, he would have done him betterer.

Mr. Barraud has a pitcher of his own painting, which he calls the Study of an Ass--how funny!--and there is Miss Phillips of Drury-lane, with a long waste, and no more like her pretty face than I am like her--instead of Dawe after this pitcher they should have put Dawb. Mr. Landseer has got a picture of a dead oh dear, and there is a pitcher of Colonel Johnson, who is called the Cove of Mustcat.

No. 241 is a pitcher of Zebuses and Quaggas, so like you cannot think; and another of the Bishop of Rochester--such a dandy--smirking and smooth faced, with a fancy wig--not a bit of the regelation cut about it--but no matter--he was only the Bishop of Soda the other day--Family made the Mann, and ratting made the Bishop.

There is a french pitcher of crowning a dead body, and a gentleman what is a King, with white stays and a blue walking-stick, a watching on it; and there is a Mr. Luck, secretairer to the London Institution, which is either a piece of bad luck or a bad likeness. In the Antick Acadamme there are two pitchers which are worth looking at--one, _Baron Carl Ashating von Triggum_, and the other _Major Von de Roggery Sue Peppercorn_. I loves 'em for their names. Mr. Smith exhibits some specie of Cactus from natur, which of course I did not look at--and No. 576 is the portrait of a Colonel, so like a horse, that if you was not told it was a military officer you never would find it out.

I cannot go all through the catlog--in the model-room, there is the head of a Rabbit, so like an old closeman that I never should have taken it for the little hannimal what hops about; and a buteful busk of Lady Elizabeth Gower, which was the only thing I saw I should like to have had--unless, indeed, it was the great Chanticleer which hangs in the top room, which the King gave the Acadammee; however, I should have staid longer, but a poor gentleman, a stout lustful man, slipped down the stares just as we was looking about, and broke his leg, so bad that we heard he suffered an imputation the same night--this quite shocked Lavy, who has a feline disposition, and can't bear to see any thing hurt--so we came home; but I shall go again, and perhaps rite you some more of my observashuns.--Yours ever,

D. L. RAMSBOTTOM.

XXIV.

MRS. RAMSBOTTOM AT THE "CHISWICK FÊTE."

TO JOHN BULL.

July, 1829.

MY DEAR B.,--We was all at the wet feet at Chissick on Saturday; Lavy and Fulmer, and Mounsheer, my second, and the two "june dimiselles," as Mounsheer calls them; and sich a site as that for a breakfast, never did I clap my too eyes on--furst of all, we went off in Fulmer's broach and Mounsheer's brisket--all in the poring rein--two cargoes of us, and we was literally socked through and through afore we got there, and there was a great poodle under the place where I sot; however, we had paid our jennies, and we was determined to have a reseat in fool.

But now I must tell you before I begin, that when we got home, Fulmer sot down just like Swalter Scott, or Milton, or Pop, or any one of the potes, and rot a whole account of it in verse, every bit of it as true as if it warn't pottery at all, and then he sung it to us, Lavy playing the Pein forte accompaniment; and when I asked him to give it me for you, he tore it all to hattams. But I matched him there, as I had done afore. As soon as he was gone out of the room I picked up the pieces (which, if I had not a watched him, I think he would have gone and done himself); and so I stuck the paper together as well as I cood, but some of the virses is still missing: however, wherever there is a ole in the ballad I will supply the place with my pros, so as to make it a jint produxion just like Bowman and Flesher, or Merton and Reinholds, or Mathews and Yates.

Fulmer begins thus, to your favourite toon of "Hunting the Hair:"--

"Go tell Jenkins to order the horses, The clouds are all breaking, the sky's looking blue; At half after one let us muster our forces, And order the carriage at half after two. Tell Emma and Susan To put their thick shoes on, And get Parabous on, And send up for Kate; Put the Halls in the rumble, (I'm sure they can't grumble,) With Bob and your humble, They'll just make us eight.

"'Where are ye going to?' cries Mrs. Dickenson, 'What can you do such a very damp day?' 'Comfort ourselves with champagne and cold chickens soon, See the big cherries, and hear Littolf play, Iceing or prawning, (It's all under awning) Or lounging the lawn in, The crowd will be great; So come, Mrs. Dickenson, Folks will drop thick in soon, Mud you shan't stick in soon, Come to the _Fete_.

"'The people are clever who get up this festival, Men who sit toiling in science for weeks, Hold councils on cabbages, and (which is best of all) Speak upon salads and lecture on leeks; Who sit (without raillery), Vote upon celery, Clear out their gallery After debate-- Men who can grapple With onion or apple, And tell if the sap will Rise early or late.'

"Off we started, the rain was just mizzling, Crack went the whips, and we rattled through Town; At Kensington coach-stand it faster was drizzling, At Kensington church, it began to come down; The post-boys were whipping, The post-horses slipping, The Halls were quite dripping At Hammersmith Gate; On we went dashing, And squashing and splashing, Till after this fashion We got to the _Fete_."

Then there's a verse wanton, which of course I can't remember; but the Bow-street officers were all round the dore, and they looked to me as little like Bows as they did like officers; however, there was a large poodle to get over, and I heard them bid me wait till they sent for a Plank, which turned out to be a humane cretur, the head of the Pelisse. We had no umberellars, only our parisoles; but we got into a long tent, and there Fulmer told me I had better make my election to stay, because I was favoured both by the canvas and the pole; which I do not understand, but he put it all in rhyme about a "hujus encampment," something you know, I don't quite remember, to "keep off the damp meant;" and then he praised the bootiful cretures what was a setting in the mud under the yawning, which cood not get out, and called them the most elegant flowers and fruits of the day.

It was no good a stopping ther however, for we was a mile a'most from the feeding place which Mr. Grunter had prepared for his fellow-creturs; so I determined wet or dry, nolus bolus, over I would go--it was uncommon squashy, and poor Lavy had a touch of the Room attics in her head before we come out, however it warnt no use complaining, so the two Hauls, which was phissitors of ours, and I, ondertook to cross over the plot--of that, Fulmer says--

"Cross the _green_ ocean amongst the carousers there, Oh! what a squabble, what pushing, what thumps; Dandies appropriately drest in _duck_ trowsers, were Making their way through the water in pumps. To see them a tripping, And sliding and slipping, With cold meat and dripping"----

Here there is another ole, and I think it must be a herror of the arthurs, because "cold meat and dripping" is nonsense; however, no matter, we got over, and _there_, if you'll believe me, was a matter of a kipple of thousand humane creturs, just like pigs with their noses in the troffs, agin the wall, a heating and a heating, and a grunting and a grumbling, over their uncles in gravelly mud.

I heard one man ask for a kennel of chicken, and another wanted a blanket of veel; but the master cock pot his head out of a French marqui, and said there warnt nothing shew (which, as you know, means hot, in the language of the Galls); so I squeedged out three young youths and two gulls which was a making themselves sick with eating isis, and made rheum for myself, and sot too to make up my jennys worth; but if you'll believe me, dear B. (I didn't care for the muck I was a standing in, for I had a cork soul,) but presently I felt drip, drip, drip, something a dripping into my neck behind, which I was so ot a crossing the grace plot I didn't feel at first, but which was the rein a coming through the callyko top of the yawning; and what was uncommon surprising to me, although the clouts above were so black, yet the rein which fell, cum down quite blue. I had a glass of Bucephalus, three big glasses of celery Shimpain (which shews the advantage of the garden, for it was just as good as any made from grapes) and a small glass of O. D. V., which the master cock in his white nite cap sent out to me. Fulmer called the people who got under cover, the _con-tents_, and them as could not, the _non con-tents_.

But if you had seen the way in which the genteelmen run about to fetch vitals for the ladies--it was quite charming. "I want a wing for a lady," says one--"I want a couple of legs for my ant, who can't walk," says another--"A thick slice of beef for Miss Angelina," and so on. Oh! it was quite delightful, only I don't think so double refined as I expected for a jenny. Fulmer says, in a verse about the company--

"There were the Thompsons, the Greens, and the Nevensons, Two Miss Barkers, and twelve Mr. Smiths; Three Miss Wilsons, Miss White, and the Stephensons, Pretty Miss Hawkins, and four of the Friths, The Walkers and Bartons, The Simpsons and Martins, The Stubbs's and Parton's, And old Mrs. Tate. With Hopkins and Higgins, And thin Mrs. Figgins, And fat Mr. Wiggins, The Elite of the _Fete_."