evident burlesque of the real correspondent’s style: “Flo, thou voice of my heart! How I do love you! How are you? Shall you be laid up this spring? I can see you walking with your darling. What would I give to be with you! Thanks for your last letter. I fear nothing but separation from you. You are my world, my life, my hope. Thou more than life, farewell! God bless you!” The natural effect of this was to cause an alarm to be given, and so on the following day the following was inserted in the famous private column:—
FLO.—8 9454 6454401 214 739 844 30 6307284446. 84314 51 2274 12 0214 943426 “326352 08585.” 9. 2. 8177327853. 81770.
Which drops the curtain upon “Flo” and her lover, who is more than likely not to have been her husband—and this without affecting the question as to her being married. It is translated in these words: “Flo.—I fear, dearest, our cipher is discovered. Write at once to your friend, “Indian Shawl,” P. O., Buckingham, Bucks.” So much for secret correspondences, which are not often to be seen nowadays, though when any one is found foolish enough to confide in the press under these circumstances, the comic papers almost invariably make capital out of the communications, and give to their less acute readers full information. Here is one we fell across the other day in the Telegraph. We must admit to a decided ignorance as to what it means, but perhaps the reader, profiting by the foregoing, will be able to decipher it:—
KANGAROO
revived by bones, though nearly choked by a piece of one after swallowing five hard biscuits. Troubled. Four cat two six camel five two one eight pig one boar in every way. Four nine leopard one four elephant three four seven boar. Faithful until death.
This looks like an attempt to set the cryptographists on a wrong scent, and probably means nothing.