I can add no moor at present, for the Physicking is come; and as I must give him his phee, I may as well insult him, and get all I can out of him, for now that Jacinta is better, I pomps him for the noose off the Bo mond, which these Dogturs know more off than most peepil. I will wright soon agen, and give you a hysterical account of all our proceeduns. Adoo, chair B.,
Yours, D. Ramsbottom.
XXVII.
MRS. RAMSBOTTOM'S OPINIONS ON PUBLIC EVENTS.
To John Bull.
Kaduggan Place, Sloane Street, Nov. 20, 1830.
Dear B.,—Here we are, once more in the capitol—Fulmer has hops in the Wigs to give him a plaice—he has been a fishing a long time, and has cocht nothing yet; and I fear now they have got in, the old tale of more pigs than tits will be new revived.
What do you think of Hairy Broom as Chancesellor?—Lord Crows-nest on the Wulsack—or a half-pay Captun (brevet Lefttenant Kernel) as Master of the Ordinance—or my friend Lord Drum, the coal-merchant, as Lord Privy; not to speak of Nero Denman as Attorny-General, or Newark Wilde as Solissiter—Why is all this?—Just because a parsel of lazy fellers did not like to go out in a wet night to vote for the Civil List—I'm sure the names of them as did not go to support the King, should be published, and called the uncivil list, as a disttinkshun.
Well, never was I more surprized. Here, says I, after the Revelation in France is ended, after settling the affairs of the Ditch and the Belchians, to think of a two do in London. Poor Charles Deece is almost forgotten. It is true his fort was firing his ordnance among the people, and my French sun-in-law cries "Baa les Tyriens" whenever we spike of him. He says, says he, "I don't mean nobody in party-colour, but (he rot this bit himself) Qui capit ille facit," to which my other sun-in-law, Fulmer, says, "that Charles Deece might have overcome the danger, but that he was the Capet who would not face it."
Fulmer has sent a long pistol to the Primer to ask for something; but he says of course the Greys will be beset by the Duns, and that all the hungry ones can't expect to be felled at once; besides, he doesn't expect this set to last. I'm sure such a parcel of things never was put into a Cabinet before, except to be looked at, as curosittes.
We was a rustycatting at Warmer, near Deel, on Lord Mayor's Day, but the weather has grown so much colder, I was glad to git away from old Ossian; they was all on the Key weave, in the City, that day. Sir Clod is a great genus, and always was—he was much above his calling when he was a Hatturney—he was made to ride on a wite oss afore the King.
I see somebody has sent his Majesty a pair of boots, and somebody else has sent the King and Queen a cake, which, the Lord Chambermaid rites word, was uncommon nice—is it because the Wigs won't let the Royal Family have enuff munny to live upon, that their subjex send them such things?
I wonder that Lord Angelseye should go to Hireland agin; he was a Poplar ruler when he was last there, but the case is haltered now; if he should be hill when he is out at Doubling, with the Tig Dollyroo, I suppose Sir Francis Birdhit will go to Mr. Singeing Long, and be robbed for him. Only think of that Long; I'm sewer if the New Jewry find such a Furdickt as the Old Jewry did, the Gudge ought not to suffer him to be Long in this country. I think it would be better to let him be tried by the Old Bayley, rather than by either of the Parks—only he is all for the west end of the Mephistophiles, and is supported by the Hairystockcrazy.
Your friend Fillpot is maid a Bishop, although you said he never woud be. What do you say to that? The dear Duck of Wellington thought as Fillypotty had ratified his part of the agreement he would ratify his—Filly will be near Cardinal Weld at Exeter, and his Imminence perhaps will bring Toby quite round, and get him made Pop of Rheum one of these days. It is quite rite, however, that when he gets his mitered coach he shoud give up his Stanhope—he can't want both, and at such a distance, too, from itch other.
Do you think Sir Scarlet will be Lord Chief Jester in the room of Lord Tenderdone? Fulmer tells me that Hairy Broom says he won't be Lord Chancesellor, which makes me think the thing is quite curtain that he will; he wants to be Master of the Roles he says, so has to have his fling in the House of Cummons; but the Master wont go—he likes a quiet life and no nonsense—no cabnets and wulsack wurk, but soshability and a leetel haycarty in the evenings. I honner his honner for his taste and his furmness; a good Leach always sticks fastest—besides, it spits Broom, and that is just "cum il fot," as the French says.
I dont see that Mr. A. B. C.-rombie has got anything in this scrimble-scramble. I am glad Lord Goodyrich is cum back, for a kinder-arted, more hamiable man there is not in all the whirld. Sir James Graham, as Fust Lord of the Admirability is curous, but Mr. Spring Tide as the Secretairer seems an uncommon proper apintment.
Fulmer tells me that Lord Hill has got the Blues—I am sorry his Lordship takes the change of Minsters so much to heart. I hope he will keep up his spirts, for every body has nose him, loves him.
There is a very scandallous report going about, that Lord Holland is going to keep the Duchess of Lancaster—I dont believe it for many reasons—one is, I never heard of the Lady before, unless it is your friend the Princess of Olive Serres, who has got her rites at last; but then Lord Holland would not do sich a thing as that; at least I conseeve not.
Perhaps, dear B., you will send me a billey in the coarse of the weak, and if anything good should turnip for Fulmer I will let you no—he is by no means partycolour—any place, from a Lord Precedents down to a porters, would suit him—he is equally fit for all; besides, in a squabble like this, nobody sticks at fitness.
Yours ever, dear B.,
D. L. Ramsbottom.
P.S. You never tells us nothing about the Theaters now; is your cricket dead? if he is, why don't you git anuther? Adoo! B.
XXVIII.
MRS. RAMSBOTTOM DECLARES HERSELF A CONVERT TO "REFORM."
To John Bull.
Turnham Green, April 4, 1831.
Dear B.,—It is a long time since you have heard from me,—and now I do write, you will find me somewhat haltered in my principles. I have been one over by my sun-in-law to the great caws of Reform. He talks of not stopping till we have got the Ballad and General Sufferance—as to the first, I am all for the song; but with regard to the General, I cannot say I ever heard of him before; but if he is a friend of Lord John Rustles, that is efficient—the very site of Lord John is enuff—his name is a corjil, and his figger is comefort.
I recklect the day when I satanized Lord Drum, the Lord Privy, and so did you, B.—you now you did—chiefly, as I think, because he was yellow. Did you ever read Foot, B.?—Muster Foot says, in one of his Farcies, that a good candidate, like a good oss, cannot be of a bad culler—so I say—besides, what's yellower than a jinny? I think I see you, when you read my lines, and find me alturd as I am—but I am enlightened—the peeple must have refurm—my shoemaker says so, and I know it must be so; and as Lord Drum is at the bottom of the Refurm Bile, I love him—he looks as if he had been making the bile for some time. Oh, B., he is an intersting crechur, and so good natured, it is quite unpossible to void having a puncheon for him.
I admit at first the Cabnet was in a quandary—that Polly Thomson isn't poplar amongst them. I think they are jellies of Polly, for he most certainly has talons—Fulmer says he nose he has—he is a great ventriloquist (I think they call it), which speaks