Papers are the extreme reverse of Lady L.’s celebrated Autographs, which were all written by the proprietor. No. I.--_From Master_ RICHARD PUGSLEY, _to Master_ ROBERT ROGERS, _at Number 132, Barbican_. DEAR BOB, Huzza!--Here I am in Lincolnshire! It’s good-bye to Wellingtons and Cossacks, Ladies’ double channels, Gentlemen’s stout calf, and ditto ditto. They’ve all been sold off under prime cost, and the old Shoe Mart is disposed of, goodwill and fixtures for ever and ever. Father has been made a rich Squire of by will, and we’ve got a house and fields, and trees of our own. Such a garden, Bob!--It beats White Conduit. Now, Bob, I’ll tell you what I want. I want you to come down here for the holidays. Don’t be afraid. Ask your Sister to ask your Mother to ask your Father to let you come. It’s only ninety mile. If you’re out of pocket money, you can walk, and beg a lift now and then, or swing by the dickies. Put on cordroys, and don’t care for cut behind. The two prentices, George and Will, are here to be made farmers of, and brother Nick is took home from school to help in agriculture. We like farming very much, it’s capital fun. Us four have got a gun, and go out shooting: it’s a famous good un, and sure to go off if you don’t full cock it. Tiger is to be our shooting dog, as soon as he has left off killing the sheep. He’s a real savage, and worries cats beautiful. Before Father comes down, we mean to bait our bull with him. There’s plenty of New Rivers about, and we’re going a fishing as soon as we have mended our top joint. We’ve killed one of our sheep on the sly to get gentles. We’ve a pony, too, to ride upon when we can catch him, but he’s loose in the paddock, and has neither mane nor tail to signify to lay hold of. Isn’t it prime, Bob? You must come. If your Mother won’t give your Father leave to allow you,--run away. Remember, you turn up Goswell Street to go to Lincolnshire, and ask for Middlefen Hall. There’s a pond full of frogs, but we won’t pelt them till you come, but let it be before Sunday, as there’s our own orchard to rob, and the fruit’s to be gathered on Monday. If you like sucking raw eggs, we know where the hens lay, and mother don’t; and I’m bound there’s lots of birds’ nests. Do come, Bob, and I’ll show you the wasps’ nest, and everything that can make you comfortable. I dare say you could borrow your father’s volunteer musket of him without his knowing of it; but be sure anyhow to bring the ramrod, as we have mislaid ours by firing it off. Don’t forget some bird-lime, Bob--and some fish-hooks--and some different sorts of shot--and some gut and some gunpowder and a gentle box, and some flints,--some May flies, and a powder horn,--and a landing net and a dog-whistle--and some porcupine quills, and a bullet mould--and a trolling-winch, and a shot-belt and a tin can. You pay for ’em, Bob, and I’ll owe it you.