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