Odd, […] very odd. Though, else my magery is worthless, we shall see odder yet, for these be odd times.
In this same letter to Ballard, he [sc. Blackmore] refers to “that miserable book, the most absurd and hideous thing ever seen[…]Sprawling into prose my most highly finished rhythm—much of which is in strophe and antistrophe, as not a blessed soul has had the perception to discover[…]After sending me proofs in proper lines, according to my manuscript[…]I think this was a little cool. Without a word to me Messrs Burrows Brothers[…]broke it all up into splatterdash.”
At noon ſome noddies came ſo near to us, that one of them was caught by hand. This bird was about the ſize of a ſmall pigeon. I divided it, with its entrails, into 18 portions, and by a well-known method at ſea, of, Who ſhall have this? it was diſtributed, with the allowance of bread and water for dinner, and eat up bones and all, with ſalt water for ſauce.
I do not consider myself either a twitcher or an expert. Neither am I anti twitching.
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