I am a-going to
offer you the general miscellaneous lot, her own book, never read by
anybody else but me, added to and completed by me after her first reading
of it, eight-and-forty printed pages, six-and-ninety columns, Whiting's
own work, Beaufort House to wit, thrown off by the steam-ingine, best of
paper, beautiful green wrapper, folded like clean linen come home from
the clear-starcher's, and so exquisitely stitched that, regarded as a
piece of needlework alone, it's better than the sampler of a seamstress
undergoing a Competitive examination for Starvation before the Civil
Service Commissioners--and I offer the lot for what? For eight pound?
Not so much. For six pound? Less. For four pound. Why, I hardly
expect you to believe me, but that's the sum. Four pound! The stitching
alone cost half as much again. Here's forty-eight original pages, ninety-
six original columns, for four pound. You want more for the money? Take
it. Three whole pages of advertisements of thrilling interest thrown in
for nothing. Read 'em and believe 'em. More? My best of wishes for
your merry Christmases and your happy New Years, your long lives and your
true prosperities. Worth twenty pound good if they are delivered as I
send them. Remember! Here's a final prescription added, "To be taken
for life," which will tell you how the cart broke down, and where the
journey ended.
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