“MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. Others who have done, have found you false. . Wood dandled his little charge to and fro, after the most approved nursery fashion, essaying at the same time the soothing influence of an infantine melody proper to the occasion; but, failing in his design, he soon lost all patience, and being, as we have before hinted, rather irritable, though extremely well-meaning, he lifted the unhappy bantling in the air, and shook him with so much good will, that he had well-nigh silenced him most effectually. So now I will say nothing more to you, and you will please to say nothing more to me, for I do not reply. Don’t stand gawping, man. There was a photo of her that looked exactly like you. Everyone has gone away again, so that I can do so all alone.
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