Aaron said,--
"Sandstone and limestone you mean, Anna."
"Oh, no,--granite. I mean the Axtells."
"I'm glad you've found anything comprehensible enough to call a sermon
in them," he answered. "Ill, dying, and in affliction, they are
impenetrable to me." And Aaron turned away and went in.
LEAMINGTON SPA.
MY DEAR EDITOR,--
You can hardly have expected to hear from me again, (unless by
invitation to the field of honor,) after those cruel and terrible
notes upon my harmless article in the July Number. How could you find
it in your heart (a soft one, as I have hitherto supposed) to treat
an old friend and liege contributor in that unheard-of way? Not that
I should care a fig for any amount of vituperation, if you had only
let my article come before the public as I wrote it, instead of
suppressing precisely the passages--with which I had taken most
pains, and which I flattered myself were most cleverly done. The
interview with the President, for example: it would have been a
treasure to the future historian; and I hold you responsible to
posterity for thrusting it into the fire. However, I cannot lose so
good an opportunity of showing the world the placability and
sweetness that adorn my character, and therefore send you another
article, in which, I trust, you will find nothing to strike
out,--unless, peradventure, you think that I may disturb the
tranquillity of nations by my plan of annexing Great Britain, or my
attempted adumbration of a fat English dowager!
Truly, yours,
A PEACEABLE MAN.
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