Faithful to his Grumkow, to his Seckendorf--to his pair of
sheep-stealers, poor dog. But if trouble rise;--oh, at least do
not hang me, ye incomparable pair!"--


THE HOTHAM DESPATCHES.

Slave Nosti's terrors, could he see behind the scenes, are without
foundation! the tremendous Hotham Negotiation, all ablaze at that
Charlottenburg Dinner, is sunk low enough into the smoking state,
threatening to go out altogether. Smoke there may still be,
perceptible vestiges of smoke; which indeed, for a long time,
fitfully continued: but, at the time while Nosti, quaking in every
joint of him, writes these terrors, Hotham perceives that his
errand is vain; that properly there has as good as extinction
supervened. April 3d was the flame-point; which lasted in its
brightness only for a few days or hours. April is not gone, or
half gone, when flaming has quite ceased, and the use of bellows,
never so judicious, is becoming desperate: and long before the end
of May, no red is to be seen in the affair at all, and the very
bellows are laid down.

Here--are the epochs: riddled out of such a mass of extinct
rubbish as human nature seldom had to deal with;--here are certain
extracts in a greatly condensed state, from the authentic
voluminous Hotham Despatches and Responses;--which may
conveniently interrupt the Nosti Babblement at this point.


TO MY LORD TOWNSHEND AT LONDON: