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_."
However one accident happened--somethink always does happen wherever
we go. My second was beautifully dressed--all after one of the
Magaseens, and quite unlike any body else--and somehow or other--I
dont know whether it was the whet or what--but part of her close
tumbled off; however the Bows which was about thought it was one of
her sleeves, and nobody cared except her husband Mounsheer, who was
quite in a bustle at loosing anything, and _would_ make her tell
him all about it, because he was terrified at seeing her so very
much reduced in figger in so short a space of time--Mounsheer got it
back from one of the Artillery Bumbardeers which was in the garden
to watch the river for fear it should get dry--howsoever there was
plenty of water this time.
Well, B., after we had eat in four places, and tried for the fifth,
but could get nothing but the bottoms of Hams, which Fulmer twisted
into "Hamsbottoms," and made it rhyme to my name, we went out just
for a minuet, thinking the rein had sopsided; but we had scarce
got out of the heating place when down it come agin, and we was
obliged to run for it--(I don't run very expedishus at any time,
much less after what I had eat)--and got into what is called the
committee-room, a place as dark as pitch, and smelling like a seed
shop; indeed I never seed such a place in my life; and there was the
Tyrrelease Pheasants, and sich a silly gull a asking them all manner
of foolish questions about their singeing their Tyrrellease kitches
or whatever they are. This warn't lost upon Fulmer--and I have
preserved that virse--
"God save the King was the best of the shew for us,
And it was greeted with loyalty's roar;
But when they sang the words 'Long to _rain_ over us,'
Nature herself seemed to call an _encore_.
'Twas in the committee room,
Dark as a city room,
By no means a pretty room,
Close to the gate;
Amongst the complainers,
Thus warbled the Rainers,
Most apt entertainers,
For Saturday's _Fete_."
Well, B., and after that, I am sorry to say when it got to hold up
for a minuet again, the Bows, which I thought had been a carrion
the Shimpain and the vitals to the ladies, shewed by their conduct
that they had only got the things in the names of the fair sects,
and as Fulmer said had added to the frauds of the neutral flags,
by taking to themselves, under false pretences, what was shipped
for other people--they was quite inhebriated, and played very
improper pranks--Fulmer said, that he himself saw one lady play
_Merry tricks_, but if so, I dare say she'll try _new tricks_ before
she comes there again--however, the conduct of the men was quite
obstropolous, and one of them spoke to my seckond as if he had been
introdeuced, and when he asked her name, and she said Ramsbottom, he
behaved more imperently than he had done before, and said that he
had noed us all long ago. I'm sure he never noed me, nor none of my
daughters, and so I told him, and I begged Mr. Fulmer to find out
the Secrethairy, Mr. Sabine, to come and speak to the imperent poppy;
but Fulmer told me that we had better go away as fast as we could,
for that when men were in _that_ state none of the Sabines would be
safe; so of course I would not go to hinger a respectable family,
and we got over our uncles to the gate, where we found our servant
Jenkins in the custardy of the offisers, for nocking down a beetle
belonging to the gardner, which would not let him poke his knows in
to look for us. So Fulmer did, (what, considering the weather, was
quite necessary,) gave his curd to the pelisseman, and baled out the
footman.
But I must say a Jew, and I cannot help thinkin how surprized Fulmer
will be when he sees your pepper in the mornun. Lavy has been in bed
ever since the Feet; our cousin Kate has got a swelled face; the
Hauls have both got bad coughs, and Mounsheer and his wife have been
takin teasannes every nite and morning; however, I hope we shall soon
get about, and if what I have saved out of the phier is of any use,
you are welkum.--Yours, dear B., always,
DOROTHEA L. RAMSBOTTOM.
XXV.
A LETTER FROM WALMER
TO JOHN BULL.
Warmer, near Deal, Oct. 13, 1829.
MY DEAR B.,--I only right you a short Billy do, to tell you we are
all combing to the Mephistophiles on Twosday. Some of us travails by
the Dover onion, an uncommon good stag, and Lavy and her spouse in
their broach.
What I have cheefly to say is, that I have been purveiled upon to
publish my Original Letters to you in a serious--Fulmer is kind enuff
to say he will do notes to them, and write a biggraphical scratch of
my life, and have my head in a plate for a fruntispece--I beleive I
am to be lithotomized, which is cheaper than copper.
You have my premishon to hannounce my work, which I should like
to call the Book of the Breakfast Parlor, but Fulmer thinks the
"Ramsbottom Papers" better.
Yours ever,
D. L. RAMSBOTTOM.
L.S.--What do you think of poor Mam Hood, the Great Signior of the
Turkies--he is humbled--and to an Irish usurper; for so I conclood
Nicholas the Autograph of the Rushes to be, seeing that his name
of Nick is only a nick name, and that he calls himself Paddy
Shaw--surely he ought to know beast.
L.S. (2)--I comb to town with an Aikin art; the wotchmen are beat off
their beats, and we shall never see their lantarns nor heer their
"agreable rattles," as the play-book says, henny more. I wish Muster
Peel had not ordered his new blue pelisse till the Spring, for in the
dark nights, when the Fox of Lunnun is in the streets, I do love to
lisson to the our a bean cried, while we are all coucheying in our
lees.
Adoo, wunsmore.
* * * * *
We submit this letter as we have received it; and our readers will,
like ourselves, gather from it, that our esteemed correspondent, like
other great ladies, has resolved to appear in print. We have since
ascertained that the work will appear shortly, in one volume, with
the promised notes and illustrations.
XXVI.
A PECK OF TROUBLES.
TO JOHN BULL.
March, 1830.
DEAR B.,--It is a long while since I wrote to you, but I have been
in a pick of trubbles about my famlie. Lavv's youngest has been
vascillated, and the various matter did not take a feckt--so that she
tuck the small pock natrally, and I fear will be very much pitied
when she comes to grow up--however, I must right you a short letter.
You remember my lemontations about the removal of the Wochmen--I have
quite changed my mind, and am all for the new blue Pelesse. More
specially since what I see they are going to do, to keep them always
ready to put out fires--they rehearsed their revolutions one day last
week, and, according to the noosepapers, beat Mounsheer Shabby out
and out--but they does it by wearing Ass-beastos jackets,--by which
means they minds fires no more than that young woman we read of, who
lived a hundred years in a Fir-nest--I mean Sally Mander.
What a nice man Mr. Main must be, who is one of the heads of the
Pelisse, to take such care to distinguish the fires--I have often
seen his name up agin the walls, and never knew what it meant, with
F. P. before it--where it says "Westminster _Main_--always charged."
I am sure we hoe a grate deal to Mr. Peal--Sir Richard Burney never
put out no fires that I ever heard of, nor any body, except the Fire
Indians, who do it with a wetness to it.
My poor grand-child has been so bad, that I have not been able to
see our new Moll Pomona at Common Garden, but I hear she overflows
the house with people and with tiers--I could not stir out and leave
little Jacinta, she has had nothing to eat or drink for these three
weeks, but some tappyochre and a glass of white wine delighted with
water.
Only think of the Argand Rooms being burned down, and the English
Uproar House in the Strand--I hope this last will be bult up
agin, for I think English talons should be encurridged, and I do
love our native wobblers, they are so much more tuching than the
Hightalians--as for the French hactors, Potter and Clup and those,
they are very funey in their whey, but not to compare with our hone
Thisbeans in Common Garden or Dreary Lane.
Oh, Law! what do you think of Lady Edinborough? is not her's a curous
tail, to think of leaving such a handsome man as her husband for a
foraying prince? I suppose my Lord will get marred again, to keep the
title in the right line--he has no hair apparent now, I believe.
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.