I cannot ev'n in death resign Του αυτού, εις τον αυτον. Ευδείς εν φθιμενοισιν, Ανακρέον, εσθλα ποιησας ένδει και Σμέρδις, το Ποθών εαρ, συ μελίσδων βαρβιτ', ανεκρούου νεκταρ εναρμόνιον. ηΐθεου γαρ Έρωτος εφυς σκοπος· ες δε σε μουνον τόξα τε και σκολιας ειχεν ἑκηβολιας. Ar length thy golden hours have wing'd their flight, And drowsy death that eyelid steepeth; Thy harp, that whisper'd through each lingering night She too, for whom that harp profusely shed She, the young spring of thy desires, has fled, Farewell! thou hadst a pulse for every dart I might remedy the thinness of my ranks, by conjuring up a few dead and forgotten ephemerons to fill them. Such are the motives and accidents that led to the present publication; and as this is the first time my Muse has ever ventured out of the go-cart of a Newspaper, though I feel all a parent's delight at seeing little Miss go alone, I am also not without a parent's anxiety, lest an unlucky fall should be the consequence of the experiment; and I need not point out the many living instances there are, of Muses that have suffered severely in their heads, from taking too early and rashly to their feet. Besides, a Book is so very different a thing from a Newspaper!-in the former, your doggerel, without either company or shelter, must stand shivering in the middle of a bleak white page by itself; whereas, in the latter, it is comfortably backed by advertisements, and has sometimes even a speech of Mr St-ph-n's, or something equally warm, for a chauffe-pie; so that, in general, the very reverse of " laudatur et alget" is its destiny. Ambition, however, must run some risks, and I shall be very well satisfied if the reception of these few Letters should have the effect of sending me to the Post-Bag for more. LETTER I. FROM THE PR-NC-SS CHE OF WS TO THE LADY My dear Lady Bab, you'll be shock'd, I'm afraid, Lord Eld-n first heard-and as instantly pray'd he To God and his King-that a Popish young lady (For though you've bright eyes and twelve thousand a year, It is still but too true you're a Papist, my dear) Had insidiously sent, by a tall Irish groom, Two priest-ridden ponies, just landed from Rome, And so full, little rogues, of pontifical tricks, That the dome of St Paul's was scarce safe from their kicks Off at once to papa, in a flurry, he flies- For papa always does what these statesmen advise, On condition that they'll be, in turn, so polite As, in no case whate'er, to advise him too right- 66 Pretty doings are here, Sir (he angrily cries, While by dint of dark eyebrows he strives to look wise), ""Tis a scheme of the Romanists, This young lady, who is a Roman Catholic, has lately made a present of some beautiful ponies to the Pr-nc-ss To ride over your most Royal Highness roughshod- "If the Pr-nc-ss will keep them (says Lord C-stl-r--gh)- If they've any bad Irish blood lurking about, This (he knew by experience) would soon draw it out." A pretty contrivance, made out of old chains, Which appears to indulge, while it doubly restrains; Which, however high-mettled, their gamesomeness checks (Adds his Lordship humanely), or else breaks their necks!" This proposal receiv'd pretty general applause From the statesmen around-and the neck-breaking clause Had a vigour about it, which soon reconcil'd Even Eld-n himself to a measure so mild. So the snaffles, my dear, were agreed to nem. con. I shall drive to your door in these Vetos some day, |