The Choice Humorous Works, Ludicrous Adventures 20
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.
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