'
A visible impression was produced upon the auditors by this
part of the learned Serjeant's address. Drawing forth two very
small scraps of paper, he proceeded--
'And now, gentlemen, but one word more. Two letters have
passed between these parties, letters which are admitted to be in
the handwriting of the defendant, and which speak volumes,
indeed. The letters, too, bespeak the character of the man. They
are not open, fervent, eloquent epistles, breathing nothing but
the language of affectionate attachment. They are covert, sly,
underhanded communications, but, fortunately, far more conclusive
than if couched in the most glowing language and the
most poetic imagery--letters that must be viewed with a cautious
and suspicious eye--letters that were evidently intended at the
time, by Pickwick, to mislead and delude any third parties into
whose hands they might fall. Let me read the first: "Garraways,
twelve o'clock. Dear Mrs. B.--Chops and tomato sauce. Yours,
PICKWICK." Gentlemen, what does this mean? Chops and tomato
sauce. Yours, Pickwick! Chops! Gracious heavens! and tomato
sauce! Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and confiding
female to be trifled away, by such shallow artifices as these? The
next has no date whatever, which is in itself suspicious.
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