Oh! for the pen of Ariosto to rehearse, in epic, the scolding of that momentous eve, — or rather, let me invoke the shade of Dante to inspire me, for none but the author of the Inferno could properly preside over such an attempt. But, perhaps, where the pen might fail, the pencil would succeed. What a group! — Mrs. B. the principal figure; you cramming your ears with cotton, as the only antidote to total deafness; Mrs. — — in vain endeavouring to mitigate the wrath of the lioness robbed of her whelp; and last, though not least, Elizabeth and
Wousky
, — wonderful to relate! — both deprived of their parts of speech, and bringing up the rear in mute astonishment. How did S. B. receive the intelligence? How many
puns
did he utter on so
facetious
an event? In your next inform me on this point, and what excuse you made to A. You are probably, by this time, tired of deciphering this hieroglyphical letter; — like Tony Lumpkin, you will pronounce mine to be "a damned up and down hand." All Southwell, without doubt, is involved in amazement.
Apropos
, how does my blue-eyed nun, the fair ——? Is she
"robed in sable garb of woe?"