I couldn’t have thought that a cabman’s life could have so improved the mind. But when we meet at the Spotted Lion--that’s our watering-house--there’s something to be heard, I can tell you. I never troubled my head with politics before I drove a cab: no, I was little better than an animal; but I should think that now I know something of the Bill of Rights, and all that, and all from the newspapers. When the nosebag’s on the old mare, don’t I read the debates in Parliament! I was going to write you a bit upon the Sugar Question, but old Lumpy--he’s our waterman--has called me for a job. So at present no more from your cousin and wellwisher, JUNIPER HEDGEHOG. LETTER II.--_To Mrs Hedgehog of New York._ MY DEAR OLD GRANDMOTHER,--Thank all your stars and two garters that you’re out of England! We’re all going to be made Catholics. It’s a settled thing. You ought henceforth never to cook a supper of sprats without looking at the gridiron, thinking of Smithfield, and being special grateful for your deliverance. Nobody can tell what’s come to half the bishops, and three parts of the clergy. Such a noise about surplices and gowns! The old story again. The old fight--as far as I can tell--about white and black: one party vowing that the real thing’s white, whilst the other will have it that the true white’s black. Yes, grandmother, it’s the old battle of black and white that, as far as my learning goes, has for hundreds of years filled this nice sort of world of ours with all kinds of trouble. Nobody can tell what’s set these ministers of peace--as they call themselves--all of a sudden in such a pucker; but I think I’ve hit upon the cause, and here it is.