"In proof of this assertion I need only say that on the _very day
after_ our first meeting, I received the following letter:--
"'PRICELESS AND ADORABLE PET,--How _are_ your little
tootsy-wootsicums? _Did_ they get wet in conducting me home after
that _delicious_ interview? If so, and you were to catch cold in your
precious head, I should never forgive myself. Oh, come and see me
_soon!_ Your Own, till Death, ANGELINA.'
"Possibly I may be blamed for publishing this letter. I do it for
_her_ sake, not for mine. Even now I believe that, were I left alone
with her for an hour, with none of her relatives nor a policeman near,
I could persuade her to retract her calumnious statement about the
poker. I conclude by saying that it is my belief that her relatives,
who are all of them powerful mesmerists, have _hypnotised her!_"
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
_My Face is My Fortune_, by Messrs. PHILIPS and FENDALL. Why don't
they agree to spell both names with an "F," and make it FILLIPS and
FENDALL. I fancy that FENDALL couldn't do without the sensational
fillips. This story excites curiosity throughout the first volume,
and then, in the other volume, satisfies it in so disappointing and
commonplace a fashion as to suggest the idea that one of the authors,
becoming weary of his share in the work, suddenly chucked it up,
and said, "Oh, bother! let's finish anyhow;" and then the other
_collaborateur_, whichever it was, did finish it as best and as
quickly as he could.
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