“I have yours with the news of Walter’s rattle-traps, which are abominably extravagant. But there is no help for it but submission. The things seem all such as cannot well be wanted. How the devil they mount them to such a price the tailors best know. They say it takes nine tailors to make a man—apparently one is sufficient to ruin him. We shall rub through here well enough, though James is rather glumpy and dumpy—chiefly, I believe, because his child is unwell. If you can make any more money for me in London, good and well. I have no spare cash till Ivanhoe comes forth.—Yours truly,
—P.S. Enclosed are sundry letters of introduction for the ci-devant Laird of Gilnockie.”
