It is the vocabulary without the key; it is
the lamp without the flame. Let the respected reader look or think over
some old love-letters that he (or she) has had and forgotten, and try
them over again. How blank and meaningless they seem! What glamour of
infatuation was it which made that nonsense beautiful? One wonders that
such puling and trash could ever have made one happy. And yet there were
dates when you kissed those silly letters with rapture--lived upon six
absurd lines for a week, and until the reactionary period came, when you
were restless and miserable until you got a fresh supply of folly.
That is why we decline to publish any of the letters and verses which Mr.
Pen wrote at this period of his life, out of mere regard for the young
fellow's character. They are too spooney and wild. Young ladies ought not
to be called upon to read them in cold blood. Bide your time, young
women; perhaps you will get and write them on your own account soon.
Meanwhile we will respect Mr. Pen's first outpourings, and keep them tied
up in the newspapers with Miss Fotheringay's string, and sealed with
Captain Costigan's great silver seal.
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