COPY OF A LETTER RECEIVED BY A YOUNG LADY FROM A COUNTRY COUSIN.
"DEAR ELIZABETH,—I arrived a few months since in this over-grown metropolis—Modern Babolon I believe they call it—more properly, I should think, Gabble-on, for my head goes round like a whipping-top, being kept in rotatory motion by all the discordant sounds in the 'Enraged Musician.' Having been but a short time in town, I have not had the pleasure of seeing many of the metropolitan wonders. The following places were visited by me lately:—The British Museum, my dear girl—never saw such a collection of mutilated articles: statues, like the boroughs in schedule B in the Reform Bill; manuscripts, in languages scarcely understood, and such like curiosities. St. Paul's—a great building—I dare say the Londoners are very proud of it: a fine whispering gallery, where you may hear what is said at the most distant part: no place for kissing—worse than a friend's parlour. Guildhall: a very antique building, with two huge figures—to frighten little children, I suppose. There was a fine feast: numbers of fine folks in their Sunday clothes, whom I should suppose lived very queer at home—perhaps upon tripe, for the victuals disappeared so fast. I had almost forgot to mention the pleasures of Bartholomew Fair, a place unequalled for dirt and noise—where was to be seen horses that had run at races, though they had never been on a course; bears turned to pigged—faced ladies; play-booths, where more fun was to be seen outside than in—men dressed like baboons, and women screaming, 'Show them in, only a penny a-piece!' Oysters, ginger-beer, hot pork, hot beef-steaks, and gingerbread-nuts by the bushel. Had almost forgot, my dear girl, to apologize for not having paid you a visit since your removal to the suburbs—peaceful abode!—nothing equal to my lodgings, next door to a coppersmith, opposite to a box-maker, with a shoemaker overhead, and a good woman who takes in children to 'dry-nurse' in the parlour. Hope soon to see you, having to give you a kiss for each of your cousins, quarter cousins, friends, and acquaintances.—I remain, your's truly,
"A COUNTRY COUSIN."