People on whom the hand of disease permanently mayhap to rest, as in my own case, are not unapt to be cloudy. However this may be as a general thing with others, I am not so. I heartily despise serious confabs. You may reckon it strange, my friend, but the nearer death am I, the more cheerful are my feelings. God is good.... But what have we here?
Set me down as one of small knowledge in things matrimonial. When I happen to stumble over any difficulty in that line, enacting by man and wife, down goes the cap before two crossed-eyes, my heels imitating, at the same instant, a pair of crane’s wings. When very young a picture of “Washing Day,” in the toy book, where the wife laid her good man sprawling by a well-directed blow from a water-ladle, was to me a source of much amusement; but bachelorship and sad health, have contributed to render the reality of that picture painful.
Here allow me to take breath and remark, that if perchance any good individuals, having eyed our peregrinations thus far, should happen to begrudge the expenditure of this purchase, and sigh for the luxury of repossessing it again, let them forthwith repair to my sick-room, at No.—Dey street, and the talismanic sixpence shall be refunded. But, my good friends, and my evil friends, be sure of this much; that however kindly or reprovingly you may view the present visionary intrusion of my little thought-messenger, this is the only time it will trouble you, without your own especial command.... And now, peradventure, if “The Letter” be so fortunate as to meet with one welcoming smile, I pray the sainted lady or gentleman to drop in a line at the Post Office, directed “Editor of the Letter,” commanding its regular visits. And I do also earnestly entreat of such, to enclose me any effusion of their’s which they deem worthy of publication, and if worthy it be, I promise that “The Letter” shall go out to the wavy multitude, freighted and enriched with their own ideas. Lend me your countenance and your mind’s treasures, and I will hold up to human gaze a casket more sparkling than eye hath yet beheld, and it shall gladden and glorify you.... Turn from this to the attractive narration of the Pig-Stealer, commencing the next page.
It is high time that this mind-monotony be tied to a post, and the eddy-whirl of community accidents and interests attacked with a skimmer. Perforce, to chouse government out of letter-postage, we sail in the wake of the common newspapers. And if any avaricious limb of the post-office undertake to extort the postage of a letter for the mail-carriage of “The Unexpected Letter,” pay it not, my friend, but expostulate with him that we are a newspaper, regularly published and miscellaneous not only, but news-mongering in particular. None of his business what our guise may be.
Wanted immediately—Five active, able-bodied jokers. Apply to me. None need come without a bag full. Fat folks preferred.... Large newspapers are on the decline. Old fashioned murders are getting scarce. Letters are merchandise—a quantity for sale at this office—only six cents a-piece! Something makes me spiteful. Trade fluctuates once in a while!... Short farewells are ominous. I can’t be with you all the time, my dear one, but, if we meet no more the fault will be your own! I will write to you periodically, with the patent assistance of types and steam—never forgetting your important aid—sixpence! Very Cheap! isn’t it. If you would say anything to me, write it down, mark “The Unexpected Letter,” on the back, and then cram it into that “hole in the wall” at the post office. Send me a pile of rich jokes, or if you have nothing original in that line, cheese and hoe-cake will not be refused.... All things must have an end—even I! Adieu! Number Two will pass along in about ten days—not voluntarily though—but if you want it send word! Rare dough in the bake. Don’t miss it.