I says ditto, ditto, to Mister More; why should we Hairyticks stick up for our authordoxies, or any other sich, or despise the Roming Catlicks--why, we are decanters from the holy church ourselves, just as much as the Sauceinions and the Hairyuns,[18] and the Whistlings, or any others, are from hours--can't we wusship, every one after his own fashion--look at the Quackers--there's a sex, so pyehouse, and demure, and desunt, in everything good and propper. Why, do _you_ know, Mr. B., the Quacker ladies goes down to Grinnage, and Woolidge, and Popular, and the Isle of Docks, and all them parts, to phissit the poor feemale convix, which is about to be transpirted to Von Demons Land and Bottomy bay, where the illustrus Cook first found out the Cangarews--poor gulls, I think it a pitty to send out the pretty Lassenies, they are some on 'em so juvenal. Oh, Muster B., what must their Rum and essences be when they reclects Tim past--some on 'em if they are hard working meretricious gulls, get marred as soon as they gets to the Coloony, and when they does, Mr. Fulmer tells me they play the very dooce with the Malt house system, which I spose means that they drink too much hail, and bear in proporshun. A navel sergeant goes to take care on 'em, and see as they wants for no thing--he locks them up every night, and never suffers no _Foxes paws_, but keeps them quite creckt, and they are in sich order that he has only just to talk of the lock and the key to subdoo e'm in a minuet--poor creturs, them as I seed where chairful, and not one of them was wiping, they had plenty of vitals, and spoke of the Coloony as a nice place, and called the Guvenor a Darling--but it seems wretched work--to hope for happiness there, is to follow an English Fattyus, which you know is a Will of the Whips, which is seed in the mashes. But anuff of this--rite me word what you think of the Hopra--I think Pisarowneye is a bootiful singer--I dont much like Specky, and as for Mountijelly she harn't got no vice--not what I call a sweet vice--Miss Blazes is harmonias, but I see by the bills that they have denounced an Angel and a Devil to act, which I do not think _come il pho_. I have not seen Suck Kelly, nor Bellygreeny, but I recleck Mollybrown Garshia quite well. The new ballad of Mass and Kneelo is quite splendead--there is a him to the Vergin, sung just like Tedium in a church, and Wesuewius in the rear is quite tremendos. Colonel O'Conner said he never saw a more beautiful crater in all his born days, and he is quite a jug of those matters. _Haprowpow dee Botts_--Why do you satyreyes my friends Lethbridge and Fillpott--you give a whole chapter to the Dean every Sunday which is too much, and as for calling Sir Tomass a rat, I deny the fack--at least if he _is_ a rat, the day I saw him at dinner with Lord Wenerables he must have twisted his tail into the bag behind him, for I saw none of it.