ice; then she told him of Richard
Bassett's last act, and showed him her retort.

He knitted his brows at first over it; but said he thought her
proclamation could do no harm.

"As a rule," said he, "I object to flicking with a lady's whip when I
am going to crush, but--yes--it is able, and gives you a good excuse
for keeping out of the way of annoyances till we strike the blow. And
now I have something to consult you upon. May I read you some extracts
from your husband's letters to me?"

"Oh, yes."

"Forgive a novelist; but this is a new situation, reading a husband's
letters to his wife. However, I have a motive, and so I had in
soliciting the correspondence with Sir Charles." He then read her the
letters that are already before the reader, and also the following
extracts:

"Mr. Johnson, a broken tradesman, has some imagination, though not of a
poetic kind; he is imbued with trade, and, in the daytime, exercises
several, especially a butcher's. When he sees any of us coming, he
whips before the nearest door or gate, and sells meat. He sells it very
cheap; the reason is, his friends allow him only a shilling or two in
coppers, and as every madman is the center of the universe, he thinks
that the prices of all commodities are regulated by the amount of
specie in his pocket. This is his style, 'Come, buy, buy, choice mutton
three farthings the carcass. Retail shop next door, ma'am. Jack, serve
the lady. Bill, tell him he can send me home those twenty bullocks, at
three half-pence each--' and so on. But at night he subsides into an
auctioneer, and, with knocking down lots while others are conversing,
gets removed occasionally to a padded room. Sometimes we humor him, and
he sells us the furniture after a spirited competition, and debits the
amounts, for cash is not abundant here. The other night, heated with
business, he went on from the articles of furniture to the company, and
put us all up in succession.

"Having a good many dislikes, he sometimes forgot the auctioneer in the
man, and depreciated some lots so severely that they had to be passed;
but he set Miss Wieland in a chair, and descanted on her beauty, good
temper, and other gifts, in terms florid enough for Robins, or any
other poet. Sold for eighteen pounds, and to a lady. This lady had
formed a violent attachment to Miss W.; so next week they will be at
daggers drawn. My turn came, and the auctioneer did me the honor to
describe me as 'the lot of