Foxcover Hall,Decr 16th.
FROM MONSEIGNEUR LE DUC DE BELL AIRE.
Madam,
Sail vous plait, I vill pay you another visit on Tuesday night, when I hope to find Mademoiselle Lucy disengaged. Mais madame, tree hundred guineas is too much to pay every time, so please to name your price.
Accept, Madam, my most perfect consideration, Le Due de Bellaire.
A Madam,
Madam Phoebe de Kissagen.
Dec 20th.
FROM HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUKE OF YORK.
Have my room and girl ready on Wednesday.
York.
FROM Dr MOONEY.
My Dear Phoebe,
I have several little physiological experiments to make, and shall require for the purpose, one full grown girl and two or three little ones. After I have finished, I shall have much pleasure in supping with you and the pretly Chloe. Tomorrow evening at ten.
Yours entirely,
F. Mooney.
Brook St, Thursday Evening.
FROM ADMIRAL LORD SODDINGTON.
Old Girl,
Ive just come off a cruise, and am hard up for a fuck, so let that great randy wench Effie know I'm going to bear down upon her, and give her a broadside.
You know I like to see a tight frigate well dressed out in bunting; so run up her colours, and rig out her topgallants, get a good supper aboard, and bear a hand you lubber.
Your old tar,
Soddington.
H. M. S. Snapdragon,
Spithead, Dec 17 th
FROM LORD HOMERTON.
Being vastly ennui here, I have resolved to come up to town for a few days till Christmas, and should like to amuse myself with two or three of your ladies.
But they must be fresh, and not too forward; I hate an impudent wench. Be good enough to see that their smocks and persons are clean. You can bring them to my house in Cavendish Square tomorrow evening at eight, and I shall be happy to see you. You know my taste, so I need not say more.
Yours faithfully,
Homerton.
Crocket Hall, Dec 19th.
FROM THE LADY EMILIA STANLEY.
My Dear Mrs Kissagen,
My husband has not been able to perform conjugal rites for this fortnight; so if you have among your young gallants a fine lusty young fellow who can serve my turn, pray put me in the way of enjoying a nights pleasure, for I am parched with thirst.
Pray write by return of post.
Your loving friend,
Emilia Stanley.
Hertford St, Mayfair.
FROM LADY POKINGHAM,
Madam,
Have the room ready on Tuesday, and the gentleman I spoke to you about will meet me there at twelve, after the opera.
Your obedient, humble servant,
H. Pokingham.
Mrs Phoebe Kissagen,
2. Leicester Fields.
FROM HIS HIGHNESS RAJAH-UN-RUM-FNCHAM-JUMJAH BAHADOOR.
If the pretty Phoebe Sahib who to me did give too moch plesur ven I pass night, and do de nicee fuckee busimess at your ous be at er ome, I sail tomor gome and seen heer, mam; so hab allde tings reedee.
I too moch plenty mooney bringee.
FROM Mr HEZEKIAH BIRCHEM.
Dear Phoebe,
The spirit moveth me to go into one of thy handmaidens, and yet, I think I should prefer thy friend Chloe, if thou wilt first stir up my evil, passions with thy birch rod. Have thy cold cream ready and anoint the dear harlot's delighful arsehole before we commence, as thou knowest the devil always tempts me that way.
Thou must also provide thyself with a dildoe, not too large and well greased, so thou canst sodomise me; as I do Chloe, do thou unto me. Please, my evil concupiscence and any money thou thinkest fit shall be paid.
From thy friend,
H. Birchem.
Threadneedle St, City 22 of 12 month.
Now I think, my lady, I have given you a pretty fair sample; and as this has been a most outrageously long letter, I will now make an end by remaining, as in duty bound, My Lady, Your ladyship's most obedient Humble servant to command,
Phoebe Kissagen.
Leicester Fields, Feby 13th.
Letter V
FROM LADY LESBIA GOWER TO PHOEBE.
I am truly rejoiced, my dear Phoebe, to find that you are settled so much to your satisfaction, and shall soon pay you a visit. In the meantime I must relate to you a most amusing adventure I have had.
I was lately on a visit to that dear cousin of mine, the pious Countess of Boston, who, I will tell you, is quite a saint in her way, and idolized by all the starched evangelical party.
No one is more prompt with their subscriptions to missionary societies, or more frequently seen at church than my Lady Boston. She is a patroness of half a dozen associations for the administration of spiritual instruction to the poor, of Sunday schools, and the like, and has frequent prayer meetings at her house for the benefit of the godly. Among her other foibles, this goodlady — who, by the bye, is a blooming widow of thirty, and of a sanguine temperament — has a peculiar sympathy for orphans, that is provided the children are handsome and pretty behaved.
Some three years ago, she adopted a little girl, whose father, a poor halfpay officer, shot himself in consequence of losing all his savings in the South Sea Bubble, which sad event caused his wife to die of a broken heart.
The little girl, then seven years old, is now ten, and one of the most graceful, sweet little creatures you ever saw in your life. She is being educated with care by her ladyship, and is altogether a child of great promise.
Lately she adopted an equally striking and beautiful boy — a little fellow of twelve, or twelve and a half years of age and I assure you they make a vastly pretty couple.
Well my dear Phoebe, this little boy is the hero of the story I am about to relate. I had not been very long in the house when I observed that there was a remarkably good understanding between these children, and I detected glances and looks which filled me with astonishment — glances full of tenderness and longing, loving looks, full of passion and desire. Heavens! said I to myself, is it possible that these very young creatures can know what love is? brought up, too, as they are, in an atmosphere of puritanism and starched grimace! If so, truly there is but one step from the spiritual to the carnal.
It was amusing to see how the little creatures turned up their eyes during prayers, and the gravity with which they sang their hymns, and performed the devotions required of them by Lady B, of whom, by the way, they seemed to stand in considerable awe.
I resolved to watch them narrowly, and if possible, see them alone when they thought no one was in the way. A few days afterwards the chance occured.
At breakfast, Lady B. announced her intention of going down to Hazeltown, a village some three miles from Roundwood Park, and she asked me if I would like to accompany her; but as it turned out that she was only going to see and pray with some poor cottagers who were ill, I declined, making an excuse that I had promised to call on Sir William and Lady Nettletbp at Headlands.
"Well then, my dear," said my cousin, "you shall have the pony chaise, for my coach is under repair."
"But," said I, "how will you get to Hazeltown then?"