which, as being very difficult to countermine, may necessitate the
organisation of a new conspiracy. One of his masterly letters,
lately, disclosed the adoption of this style--which was remarked
with profound sensation throughout Tattlesnivel--in the following
passage: "Mentioning literary small talk, I may tell you that some
new and extraordinary rumours are afloat concerning the
conversations I have previously mentioned, alleged to have taken
place in the first floor front (situated over the street door), of
Mr. X. Ameter (the poet so well known to your readers), in which, X.
Ameter's great uncle, his second son, his butcher, and a corpulent
gentleman with one eye universally respected at Kensington, are said
not to have been on the most friendly footing; I forbear, however,
to pursue the subject further, this week, my informant not being
able to supply me with exact particulars."

But, enough, sir. The inhabitant of Tattlesnivel who has taken pen
in hand to expose this odious association of unprincipled men
against a shining (local) character, turns from it with disgust and
contempt. Let him in few words strip the remaining flimsy covering
from the nude object of the conspirators, and his loathsome task is
ended.

Sir, that object, he contends, is evidently twofold. First, to
exhibit the London Correspondent of the Tattlesnivel Bleater in the
light of a mischievous Blockhead who, by hiring himself out to tell
what he cannot possibly know, is as great a public nuisance as a
Blockhead in a corner can be. Second, to suggest to the men of
Tattlesnivel that it does not improve their town to have so much Dry
Rubbish shot there.