the anticipatory letters of the Bleater's London Correspondent, and
their falsehood and deceit will become manifest as the sun; it will
be seen that they do nothing which they stand pledged to the
Bleater's London Correspondent to do; it will be seen that they are
among the blackest parties in this black and base conspiracy. This
will become apparent, sir, not only as to their public proceedings
but as to their private affairs. The outraged Tattlesnivellian who
now drags this infamous combination into the face of day, charges
those literary persons with making away with their property,
imposing on the Income Tax Commissioners, keeping false books, and
entering into sham contracts. He accuses them on the unimpeachable
faith of the London Correspondent of the Tattlesnivel Bleater. With
whose evidence they will find it impossible to reconcile their own
account of any transaction of their lives.

The national character is degenerating under the influence of the
ramifications of this tremendous conspiracy. Forgery is committed,
constantly. A person of note--any sort of person of note--dies.
The Bleater's London Correspondent knows what his circumstances are,
what his savings are (if any), who his creditors are, all about his
children and relations, and (in general, before his body is cold)
describes his will. Is that will ever proved? Never! Some other
will is substituted; the real instrument, destroyed. And this (as
has been before observed), is England.

Who are the workmen and artificers, enrolled upon the books of this
treacherous league? From what funds are they paid, and with what
ceremonies are they sworn to secrecy? Are there none such? Observe
what follows. A little time ago the Bleater's London Correspondent
had this passage: "Boddleboy is pianoforte playing at St.