Dog, little or big, as had any hare, long or short on the scruff of his neck, mettimorfust into a Lion!

This arternoon we made a carridge incursion to a place called the Krook's Burge. After passing seven crosses, before hand, you cum to a very holy Church on the top of a hill, with the identicle flite of stares as led up to Ponshus Pilot's seat, and the drops of blud that fell from our Savior. As such its the hite of wickedness to walk up them xcept on your nees. And oh Becky what do think I would n't have had it happen to me, for pounds upon pounds, but Missis was so thoghtless as stand upon the top stare, whereby the parish clark called out quite horrifide, witch scard her so, she scuttled a full half-way down. Howsumever, it was husht up, and she got over it — but if so be it had been my case, I think my feet would often fly in my face. Besides I have sinse heard a story that made my verry blud run could. One day an Inglish lady stood on purpus on the top stare to show her unbeleaf. But a judgment fell upon her. Afore she could get back to Bon, her feet begun to ake and swell as big as elifants, and partickly the soles as had sinned the wust turned cole black and begun to mortify. All the Dockters in the place could n't stop it, and she must have died in tormints here and hereafter wen sumbody advized to go up the holy stares on her bendid nees. Accordingly witch she did, and no sooner got to the tip-top wen lo and behold her feet in a moment was as well and as sound as ever! In course she turnd Cathlick direckly, and in the gratefulness of her hart she offered up too littel moddles of feet in ivery, with the toe nails of goold. Thats wat I call a mirakel, tho sum pepel may chuse to dout. But as a party you dont know says, what 's faith? As for beleavin whats only plain and probberble, and nateral, says he, its no beleaf at all. But wen you beleave in things totaly unpossible and unconsistent and uncomprensible, and direct contrary to natur, that is real true down-rite faith, and to be sure so it is.

And now, Becky, it must never go furder, but be kep a religus secret betwixt our two selves, but ever sinse Colon Cathedrul I have been dredful unsettled in my mind with spirituous pints. It seemed as if I had a call to turn into a Roman. Besides the voice in my hone inward parts, I've been prodigusly urged and advized by the Party you don't know to be

cum a prostelyte, and decant all my errors, and throw meself into the buzzum of Rome. Cander compels to say, its a very cumfittable religun, and then such splendid Churchis and alters and grand cerimonis, and such a bewtiful musicle service, and so many mirakles and wunderful relicts besides, plain Church of England going, partickly in the country parts, do look pore and mean and pokey after it, thats the truth. To be sure theres transmigration, but even that I mite get over in time, for we can beleave any thing if really we wish to. Its a grate temptation, and provided I felt quite certin of bettering meself, I would convert meself at once. But Lord nose, praps its all the work of Satan at bottom awanting me to deny my Catkism and throw off the Minester I've set under so menny years. O, Becky, its terribel hard wurk to argufy yureself out of yure own persuasion! You may supose with such contrary scrupples and inward feelings pulling two ways at once, wat trubbles and tribbleation I go thro! The wust is my low fits and cryings cant be hid from Missis, who have questiond me very closely, but if she once thoght I was agoing to turn and alter my religun, it wood soon be, Martha, sute yureself, witch to be throne out of place in a forrin land would be very awkwurd; and as such praps would be most advizable to put off my beleaving in any thing at all, till our return to Kent. Besides, Becky, you may feel inclind, on propper talking to, to give up yure own convixions too, and in that case we can both embrace the Pope at the same time. As yet no sole suspex xcept Mr. Frank, who ketched me crossing meself by way of practis before the glass. Goodness nose what he ment, but ho, ho, Martha, says he, so you've got into the clutchis of the Proper Gander.

Besides the holy stares, theres another mirakel in the Volt under the Krooks burge Church, namely, abuv a skore of ded Munks, sum of them as old as fore hundred sentries, yet perfickly fresh and sweet. They say its the sanktimoniousness of the place that has preserved them so long, witch is like enuff. But oh, Becky, its an awful site, and will set me dreeming of Ghostesses and Could Munks for a munth to cum. Our next stop was at Poplar's Dorf, where there is a Brittish Museum full of all sorts of curiosities, such as oars from the Minors, woodin timber trees made of cole, and partickly sum peterfried frogs, witch I was told had been pelted till they

turned into stone. certin.

The poor frogs do get sadly pelted, that's

After the museum we driv home, and a rare frite and narro escape we had by the way as you may judg. It was getting rather duskish, wen all of a sudden out jumpt a very ill looking yung man from behind a tree, and begun running behind the carridge. He was drest xactly like a Banditty, such as you see in a play at Drewry Lane or Common Garden; but besides, I overherd yung Master say he suposed he was one of Shiller's gang of Robbers. A pretty hearing for us females! Howsumever, as Missis didn't screech no more did I—but you may be shure I sat and quacked all the way till we got safe into Bon.

The family is all in their ordnary way. Master as yusual talks of dying tho without goin off-but human natur will cling to this wurld like a pudden wen you have n't butterd the dish. If any thing Missis takes on rather less than she used to about her poor dear late: and as for Mr. Frank, he's so harty he's quite a picter. Wishing you the same, and with luv to all enquiering frends, I remane, dear Becky, your luving frend till deth, MARTHA PENNY.

But

P. S. The fair sects have a hard place in Garmany. I forgot to say in our incursion we saw plenty of wimmin, a toilin and moilin at mens labers in the roads and fields. thats not the wust, theyre made beasts of. Wat do you think, Becky, of a grate hulkin feller, a lolluping and smoking in his boat on the Rind, with his pore Wife a pullyhawling him along by a rope, like a towin horse on the banks of the Tems!

TO GERARD BROOKE, ESQ.

MY DEAR Gerard,

After the postscript of my last letter, you will not be surprised to hear, that a longer stay at Bonn was strongly objected to by my uncle, who, having "not many days to live," sets a peculiar value on his nights. Like myself, he had been annoyed by the nocturnal rattling and singing, — and indeed he declared in the morning that he would as lief reside "next door to Vauxhall."

The arrival of the first steamboat was therefore the signal for our departure; and bidding adieu to Bonn with an emphatic "Peace be with you," we embarked in the Prince William. It had brought a tolerable assortment of tourists from Cologne, and amongst the rest our old acquaintance the Redfaced man. For some reason he fought particularly shy of my uncle, but with myself he was as communicative and complaining as usual. He gave me to understand that he had been prodigiously disgusted by the high Catholic mummeries at Cologne, and still more annoyed by the companionship of the "Yellow-faced Yankee," who of course, to plague him, had taken up his quarters at the same hotel. "Renounce me," said he, "if I could get rid of him, for as we two were the only persons that spoke English in the house, he would converse with me, whether I answered or not. Consume his yellow body! he stuck to me like a mustard-plaster, and kept drawing my feelings into blisters; however, I've got a good start of him, for he talked of staying a whole week at Cologne." But alas! for the pleasant anticipations of Mr. John Bowker! He had barely uttered them, when the tumeric-colored American appeared running at full speed towards the steamboat, followed by a leash of porters! "Say I told you so!" exclaimed the petrified citizen, "he'll haunt me up to Schaffhausen, he will, by all that's detestable; yes, there he comes on board;" and even as he spoke, the abhorred personage sprang into the vessel, followed by his three attendants. The Red-face could not smother a grunt of dissatisfaction at the sight; but what was his horror, when, after a few words with the conducteur, his old enemy walked straight up

to him, and puffed a whiff of tobacco-smoke into his very face! "It's an unpleasant sort of a fix," said he, "and in course only a mistake, but you've walked off with all my traps and notions instead of your own." "I've what?" gobbled the Red-face, its crimson instantly becoming shot with blue. "You've got my luggage, I guess," replied the Yellow-face, "and if it's all the same to you I'll just take it ashore." The perplexed Bowker was too much agitated to speak; but hurrying off to the huge pile of bags and boxes, in front of the funnel, began eagerly hunting for his baggage. To his unutterable dismay, he could not recognize a single article as his own. In the mean time the American appeared to enjoy the confusion, and in a dry way began to "poke his fun" at the unfortunate traveller. "Mister Broker, is that ere your leather trunk?" “No,” growled the other. "In that case it's mine, I reckon." "Mister Broker, is that ere your carpet-bag?" and in the same provoking style he went through nine or ten packages seriatim. "And where where the devil is my luggage then?" asked the bewildered Bowker. "The last time I see it," said the Yellow-face, "it was in the passage of the Mainzer Hof; and there it's still, I calculate, provided it has n't been shipped downwards to Rotterdam." "To Rotterdam!" shouted the Red-face, literally dancing with excitement. "Gracious powers! what shall I do?" and then hastily turning round to appeal to the nearest bystander, who happened to be my aunt, "Renounce me, madam, if I have even got a clean shirt!" "It's all right," said the American, as the porters shouldered the last of his properties; "it's an ugly job, that's the truth; but it might have been a considerable deal worse, and so I wish you a regular pleasant voyage up the rest of the Rhine."

"Say I told you so!" repeated the discomfited Bowker, after a long hyena-like grin at the receding object of his aversion, it was all as true as gospel: he is my evil genius, and nothing else! If it had n't been for his yellow face, (here, you sir, in the green apron, a glass of brandy and water, hot, and sweet, and strong!)—if it had n't been for his infernal yellow face, I say, I should have looked after my luggage! But he's my evil genius, sir, I know it: renounce me if I don't believe he's the Devil himself! Why else don't his jaundice kill him, I should like to know that, why don't