exertion is too much for me.


A parcel was brought in for Mr Listless; it had been sent express.
Fatout was summoned to unpack it; and it proved to contain a new
novel, and a new poem, both of which had long been anxiously expected
by the whole host of fashionable readers; and the last number of a
popular Review, of which the editor and his coadjutors were in high
favour at court, and enjoyed ample pensions[5] for their services to
church and state. As Fatout left the room, Mr Flosky entered, and
curiously inspected the literary arrivals.


MR FLOSKY

(_Turning over the leaves._) 'Devilman, a novel.' Hm. Hatred--revenge--
misanthropy--and quotations from the Bible. Hm. This is the morbid
anatomy of black bile.--'Paul Jones, a poem.' Hm. I see how it is.
Paul Jones, an amiable enthusiast--disappointed in his affections--
turns pirate from ennui and magnanimity--cuts various masculine
throats, wins various feminine hearts--is hanged at the yard-arm! The
catastrophe is very awkward, and very unpoetical.--'The Downing Street
Review.' Hm. First article--An Ode to the Red Book, by Roderick
Sackbut, Esquire. Hm. His own poem reviewed by himself. Hm--m--m.


(_Mr Flosky proceeded in silence to look over the other articles
of the review; Marionetta inspected the novel, and Mr Listless the
poem._)