The toll at the Marsh Gate is ris since we last came through—it was here we were to have taken up Lavinia's friend, Mr. Smith, who has promised to go with us to Dover—but we found his servant instead of himself with a billy, to say he was sorry he could not come, because his friend, Sir John Somebody, wished him to stay and go down to Poll at Lincoln. I have no doubt that this Poll, whoever she may be, is a very respectable young woman, but mentioning her by her Christian name only in so abrupt a manner had a very unpleasant appearance at any rate. Nothing remarkable occurred till we reached the Obstacle in St. George's Fields, where our attention was arrested by those great Institutions—the school for the Indignant Blind, and the Misanthropic Society for making shoes, both of which claim the gratitude of the nation. At the bottom of the lane, leading to Peckham, I saw that they had removed the Dollygraph which used to stand upon the declivity to the right of the road—the Dollygraphs are all to be superseded by Serampores.
When we came to the Green Man at Blackheath, we had an opportunity of noticing the errors of former travellers, for the heath is green and the man is black. Mr. Fulmer endeavoured to account for this, by saying, that Mr. Colman has discovered that Moors being black, and heaths being a kind of moor, he looks upon the confusion of words as the cause of the mistake. N. B.—Mr. Colman is the itinerary surgeon, who constantly resides at St. Pancras. As we went near Woolwich, we saw at a distance the Artillery Officers on a common, a firing away in mortars like anything. At Dartford they make gunpowder—here we changed horses. At the inn we saw a most beautiful Roderick Random in a pot covered with flowers—it is the finest I ever saw, except those at Dropmore. When we got to Rochester, we went to the Crown Inn and had a cold collection—the charge was absorbant. I had often heard my poor dear husband talk of the influence of the Crown, and the Bill of Wrights, but I had no idea what it really meant, till we had to pay one.
As we passed near Chatham, I saw several Pitts, and Mr. Fulmer shewed me a great many buildings—I believe he said they were fortyfications, but I think there must have been fifty of them; he also showed me the Lines at Chatham, which I saw quite distinctly, with the clothes drying on them. Rochester was remarkable in King Charles's time, for being a very witty and dissolute place, as I have read in books.
At Canterbury, we stopped ten minutes to visit all the remarkable buildings and curiosities in it, and about its neighborhood; the church is most beautiful. When Oliver Cromwell conquered William the Third, he perverted it into a stable—the stalls are now standing. The old Virgin, who shewed us the church, wore buckskin breaches and powder—he said it was an archypiscopal sea—but I saw no sea, nor do I think it possible he could see it either, for it is at least seventeen miles off. We saw Mr. Thomas à Beckett's tomb—my poor husband was extremely intimate with the old gentleman, and one of his nephews, a very nice young man, who lives near Golden Square, dined with us twice, I think, in London. In Trinity Chapel is the monument of Eau de Cologne, just as it is now exhibiting at the Diarrhœa in the Regent's Park. It was late when we got to Dover. We walked about while our dinner was preparing, looking forward to our snug tête-à-tête of three. We went to look at the sea—so called, perhaps, from the uninterrupted view one has when upon it. It was very curious to see the locks to keep the water here, and the keys which are on each side of them, all ready, I suppose, to open them if they are wanted. We were awake with the owl next morning, and a walking away before eight, we went to see the castle,—which was built, the man told us, by Seizer, so called, I conclude, from seizing everything he could lay his hands upon. The man said moreover that he had invaded Britain and conquered it, upon which I told him, that if he repeated such a thing in my presence again, I should write to the Government about him. We saw the inn where Alexander the Autograph of all the Russians lived when he was here—and as we were going along, we met twenty or thirty dragons mounted on horses, and the ensign who commanded them was a friend of Mr. Fulmer's—he looked at Lavinia and seemed pleased with her Tooting assembly—he was quite a "sine qua non" of a man, and wore tips on his lips, like Lady Hopkins' poodle. I heard Mr. Fulmer say he was a son of Marrs; he spoke as if everybody knew his father, so I suppose he must be the son of the poor gentleman who was so barbarously murdered some years ago, near Ratcliff Highway—if he is, he is uncommon genteel. At 12 o'clock we got into a boat and rowed to the packet; it was a very fine and clear day for the season, and Mr. Fulmer said he should not dislike pulling Lavinia about all the morning—this, I believe, was a naughty-call phrase—which I did not rightly comprehend, because Mr. F. never offered to talk in that way on shore to either of us. The packet is not a parcel, as I imagined, in which we were to be made up for exportation, but a boat of very considerable size; it is called a cutter—why I do not know, and did not like to ask. It was very curious to see how it rolled about—however I felt quite mal-á-propos—and instead of exciting any of the soft sensibility of the other sex, a great unruly man, who held the handle of the ship, bid me lay hold of a companion, and when I sought his arm for protection, he introduced me to a ladder, down which I ascended into the cabin, one of the most curious places I ever beheld—where ladies and gentlemen are put upon shelves like books in a library, and where tall men are doubled up like bootjacks, before they can be put away at all. A gentleman in a heavy cap without his coat laid me perpendicular on a mattrass, with a basin by my side, and said that was my birth. I thought it would have been my death, for I never was so ill-disposed in all my life. I behaved extremely ill to a very amiable middle-aged gentleman, who had the misfortune to be attending on his wife, in a little bed under me. There was no symphony to be found among the tars (so called from their smell), for just before we went off I heard them throw a painter overboard, and directly after they called out to one another to hoist up the ensign. I was too ill to inquire what the poor young gentleman had done; but after I came up stairs, I did not see his body hanging anywhere, so I conclude they cut him down—I hope it was not young Mr. Marr, a venturing after my Lavy. I was quite shocked to find what democrats the sailors are—they seem to hate the nobility—especially the law lords. The way I discovered this apathy of theirs to the nobility, was this—the very moment we lost sight of England and were close to France, they began, one and all, to swear first at the Peer, and then at the Bar, in such gross terms as made my very blood run cold. I was quite pleased to see Lavinia sitting with Mr. Fulmer in the traveling carriage on the outside of the packet; but Lavinia afforded great proofs of her good bringing up, by commanding her feelings. It is curious what could have agitated the billy ducks of my stomach, because I took every precaution which is recommended in different books to prevent ill-disposition. I had some mutton chops at breakfast, some Scotch marmalade on bread and butter, two eggs, two cups of coffee, and three of tea, besides toast, a little fried whiting, some potted char, and a few shrimps, and after breakfast I took a glass of warm white wine negus and a few oysters, which lasted me till we got into the boat, where I began eating gingerbread nuts all the way to the packet, and there was persuaded to take a glass of bottled porter to keep everything snug and comfortable.
Adieu,
Yours truly,
Dorothea Julia Ramsbottom.
[[*]] This jeu d'esprit is attributed to Theodore Hook.
VERY BUSY.
Some one asked a lad how it was he was so short for his age? He replied, "Father keeps me so busy I haint time to grow."
JOHN BULL.
The English are a calm, reflecting people; they will give time and money when they are convinced; but they love dates, names, and certificates. In the midst of the most heart-rending narratives, Bull requires the day of the month, the year of our Lord, the name of the parish, and the countersign of three or four respectable householders. After these affecting circumstances, he can no longer hold out; but gives way to the kindness of his nature—puffs, blubbers, and subscribes!—Sydney Smith.