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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.