I was very near in a scrape on Monday. I went down to Common Garden to buy some buckets for my Popery jars, out of which I empty the Popery in summer, and put in fresh nosegays, being a great votery of Floorar--when who should be there but Mr. Hunt, and Mr. Cobbett, and Mr. Pitt, the last of which gentlemen I thought had been dead many years; indeed I should not have believed it was him, still alive, only I heard Mr. Hunt call for his Old Van, which I knew meant the President of our Anti-Comfortable Society in Tattenham-court-road, who is a Lord now, and was a friend of Mr. Pitt's before he retired from public life into the Haddlefy. Mr. Hunt told us a thing which I never knew before, which is, that the pavement of Common-garden is made of blood and prespiration, which is so curious that my two little girls and I are going down Toosday to look at it--after hearing him say that, I got away, but had my pocket picked of some nice young inions, which I had just before bought. Mr. Fulmer does not know I am riting to you, but I do rite because I think it rite to do so, to warn you not to say that Mr. Canine has gone away from what he was formerly--for I know as a fact that it was _he_ which christened his present friends "all the talons," and rote a pome in praise of them, which he would not have done had he not thought eyely of them. It is not true that he is going to make any new Pears, although his anymes says so. Mr. Russell, of Branspan, I have known all my life--he smokes more than his coles, and don't want to be a Lord at all; and as for Mr. Bearing, he is a _transit land take_ man, and cannot be a Lord here--at least so F. tells me. However, I think Sir George Warrener will be a Barren something, let what will happen elsewhere. I see, however, Mr. Canine has made both Plunkett and Carlile Lords, and given all the woods and forests to the latter. You see I begin to pick up the noose--_awnter noo_, as the French say, have you seen our village clock in St. Giles's--it is lited up by itself every heavening, at hate o'clock; and on account of its bright colour, may be red at any hour of the nite: it is, indeed, a striking object; if you should be able to get out of town, do drive down this way and look at it. Only think of these Mr. Wakefields being put into gaol for three years for marrying a young woman--I suppose there is no chance of her being confined in consequence of her going with them. Have you heard Madame Toeso? is she any relation to Miss Foote? My papa is full, and so'il hold no more, so adeu. Yours truly, DOROTHEA L. RAMSBOTTOM. P.S.--Have you read Sir Ruffian Donkey's Pumpflet about Lord Somersetshire? XV. MRS. RAMSBOTTOM ON SMOKING. TO JOHN BULL. August, 1827.