As for paintings there is no end to them in Room--Mr. Raffles's Transmigration is I think the finest--much better than his Harpoons:--there are several done by Hannah Bell Scratchy,[11] which are beautiful; I dare say she must be related to Lady Bell, who is a very clever painter, you know, in London. The Delapidation of St. John by George Honey[12] is very fine, besides several categorical paintings, which pleased me very much. The shops abound with Cammyhoes and Tallyhoes--which last always reminded me of the sports of the field at home, and the cunning of sly Reynolds a getting away from the dogs. They also make Scally holies at Rome, and what they call obscure chairs--but, oh Mr. B. what a cemetry there is in the figure of Venus of Medicine, which belongs to the Duke of Tusk and eye--her contortions are perfect. We walked about in the Viccissitude, and hired a maccaroni, or as the French, alluding to the difficulty of satisfying the English, call them, a "lucky to please," and, of course, exploded the Arch of Tightas and the Baths of Diapason. Every day exposes something new there, to the lovers of what they call the belly arty, who have made a great many evacuations in the Forum. Poor Lavy, whom I told you was fond of silly quizzing, fell down on the Tarpaulin Rock, in one of her revelries--Mr. Fulmer said it would make a capital story when she got home, but I never heard another syllabub about it. One thing surprised me, the Poop (who wears three crowns together, which are so heavy that they call his cap, a tirer) is always talked of as Paw-paw, which seems very improper, his Oleness was ill the last day we went to the Chapel at the Choir and all, having taken something delirious the day before at dinner; he was afterwards confined with romantic gout; but we saw enough of him after, and it was curious to observe the Carnals prostituting themselves successfully before him--he is like the German corn plaster which Mr. Ram used to use--quite unavailable. However, Mr. B., the best part of all, I think, was our coming home--I was so afraid of the pandittis, who were all in trimbush with arquebasades and Bagnets that I had no peace all the time we were on root--but I must say I liked Friskhearty; and Tiffaly pleased me, and so did Miss Senis's Villa and the Casket Alley; however home is home, be it never so homely, and here we are, thank our stars. We have a great deal to tell you, if you will but call upon us--Lavy has not been at the halter yet, nor do I know when she will, because of the mourning for poor Mr. Ram--indeed I have suffered a great deal of shag green on account of his disease, and above all have not been able to have a party on Twelfth Night. Yours truly, DOROTHEA RAMSBOTTOM. Pray write, dear Mr. B. X. MRS. RAMSBOTTOM OBJECTS TO BEING PUT IN A PLAY. Elysium Row, Fulham, July 8, 1825.