off mine
on the dresser.

Our agreement was, that I (being remarkabble for my style of riting)
should cretasize the languidge, whilst he should take up with the plot
of the play; and the candied reader will parding me for having holtered
the original address of my letter, and directed it to Sir Edward
himself; and for having incopperated Smith's remarks in the midst of my
own:--

MAYFAIR, Nov. 30, 1839. Midnite.

HONRABBLE BARNET!--Retired from the littery world a year or moar, I
didn't think anythink would injuice me to come forrards again: for I
was content with my share of reputation, and propoas'd to add nothink to
those immortial wux which have rendered this Magaseen so sallybrated.

Shall I tell you the reazn of my re-appearants?--a desire for the
benefick of my fellow-creatures? Fiddlestick! A mighty truth with which
my busm labored, and which I must bring forth or die? Nonsince--stuff:
money's the secret, my dear Barnet,--money--l'argong, gelt, spicunia.
Here's quarter-day coming, and I'm blest if I can pay my landlud, unless
I can ad hartificially to my inkum.

This is, however, betwigst you and me. There's no need to blacard the
streets with it, or to tell the British public that Fitzroy Y-ll-wpl-sh
is short of money, or that the sallybrated hauthor of the Y--- Papers is
in peskewniary difficklties, or is fiteagued by his superhuman littery
labors, or by his famly suckmstansies, or by any other pusnal matter:
my maxim, dear B, is on these pints to be as quiet as posbile. What
the juice does the public care for you or me? Why must we always, in
prefizzes and what not, be a-talking about ourselves and our igstrodnary
merrats, woas, and injaries? It is on this subjick that I porpies, my
dear Barnet, to speak to you in a frendly way; and praps you'll find my
advise tolrabbly holesum.

Well, then,--if you care about the apinions, fur good or evil, of us
poor suvvants, I tell you, in the most candied way, I like you, Barnet.
I've had my fling at you in my day (for, entry nou, that last stoary I
roat about you and Larnder was as big a bownsir as ever was)--I've had
my fling at you; but I like you. One may objeck to an immense deal of
your writings, which, betwigst you and me, contain more sham scentiment,
sham morallaty, sham poatry, than you'd like to own; but, in spite of
this, there's the STUFF in you: you've a kind and loyal heart in you,
Barnet--a trifle deboshed, perhaps; a kean i, igspecially for what