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Hail, modest Ignorance, thou goal and prize, Thou last, best knowledge of the simply wise! Hail, humble Doubt, when error's waves are past, How sweet to reach thy shelter'd port 'at last, And, there, by changing skies nor lur'd nor awed,

Smile at the battling winds that roar abroad.
There gentle Charity, who knows how frail
The bark of Virtue, even in summer's gale,
Sits by the nightly fire, whose beacon glows
For all who wander, whether friends or foes.

There Faith retires, and keeps her white sail furl'd,

Till call'd to spread it for a better world;
While Patience, watching on the weedy shore,
And mutely waiting till the storm be o'er,
Oft turns to Hope, who still directs her eye
To some blue spot, just breaking in the sky!

Such are the mild, the blest associates given To him who doubts, and trusts in nought but Heaven!

TWOPENNY POST-BAG.

BY THOMAS BROWN, THE YOUNGER.

Elapsæ manibus cecidère tabellæ. Ovid.

TO

STEPHEN WOOLRICHE, ESQ.

MY DEAR WOOLRICHE,

It is now about seven years since I promised (and I grieve to think it is almost as long since we met) to dedicate to you the very first Book, of whatever size or kind, I should publish. Who could have thought that so many years would elapse, without my giving the least signs of life upon the subject of this important promise? Who could have imagined that a volume of doggerel, after all, would be the first offering that Gratitude would lay upon the shrine of Friendship?

If you continue, however, to be as much interested about me and my pursuits as formerly, you will be happy to hear that doggerel is not my only occupation; but that I am preparing to throw my name to the Swans of the Temple of Immortality, leaving it, of course, to the said Swans to determine, whether they ever will take the trouble of picking it from the stream.

In the mean time, my dear Woolriche, like an orthodox Lutheran, you must judge of me rather by my faith than my works; and however trifling

1 Chère Sceptique, douce pâture de mon ame, et l'unique port de salut à une esprit qui aime le repos!"-La Mothe le Vayer.

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THE Bag, from which the following Letters are selected, was dropped by a Twopenny Postman about two months since, and picked up by an emissary of the Society for the Suppression of Vice, who, supposing it might materially assist the private researches of that Institution, immediately took it to his employers, and was rewarded handsomely for his trouble. Such a treasury of secrets was worth a whole host of informers; and accordingly, like the Cupids of the poet (if I may use so profane a simile) who "fell at odds about the sweet-bag of a bees," those venerable Suppressors almost fought with each other for the honour and delight of first ransacking the Post

2 Ariosto, canto 35.

3 Herrick.

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It happened that I had been just then seized with an ambition (having never tried the strength of my wing but in a Newspaper) to publish something or other in the shape of a Book; and it occurred to me that, the present being such a letter-writing era, a few of these Twopenny-Post Epistles, turned into easy verse, would be as light and popular a task as I could possibly select for a commencement. I did not, however, think it prudent to give too many Letters at first, and, aсcordingly have been obliged (in order to eke out a sufficient number of pages) to reprint some of those trifles, which had already appeared in the public journals. As in the battles of ancient times, the shades of the departed were sometimes seen among the combatants, so I thought I might manage to 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 how many living instances might be found, of Muses that have suffered very severely in their heads, from taking rather 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 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-pié-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.

PREFACE

TO THE FOURTEENTH EDITION.

BY A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR.

In the absence of Mr. Brown, who is at present on a tour throughI feel myself called upon, as his friend, to notice certain misconceptions and misrepresentations, to which this little volume of Trifles has given rise.

In the first place, it is not true that Mr. Brown has had any accomplices in the work. A note, indeed, which has hitherto accompanied his Preface, may very naturally have been the origin of such a supposition; but that note, which was merely the coquetry of an author, I have, in the present edition, taken upon myself to remove, and Mr. Brown must therefore be considered (like the mother of that unique production, the Centaur, μovа кaι μovov 1) as alone responsible for the whole contents of the volume.

In the next place it has been said, that in consequence of this graceless little book, a certain distinguished Personage prevailed upon another distinguished Personage to withdraw from the author that notice and kindness with which he had so long and so liberally honoured him. In this story there is not one syllable of truth. For the magnanimity of the former of these persons I would, indeed, in no case answer too rashly: but of the conduct of the latter towards my friend, I have a proud gratification in declaring, that it has never ceased to be such as he must remember with indelible gratitude;—a gratitude the more cheerfully and warmly paid, from its not being a debt incurred solely on his own account, but for kindness shared with those nearest and dearest to him.

To the charge of being an Irishman, poor Mr. Brown pleads guilty; and I believe it must also be acknowledged that he comes of a Roman Catholic family: an avowal which I am aware is decisive of his utter reprobation, in the eyes of those exclusive patentees of Christianity, so worthy to have been the followers of a certain enlightened Bishop, Donatus 2, who held “that God is in Africa and not elsewhere." But from all this it does not necessarily follow that Mr. Brown is a Papist; and, indeed, I have the strongest reasons for suspecting that they, who say so, are somewhat mistaken. | Not that I presume to have ascertained his opinions upon such subjects. All I profess to know of his orthodoxy is, that he has a Protestant wife and

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There are yet a few other mistakes and falsehoods about Mr. Brown, to which I had intended, with all becoming gravity, to advert; but I begin to think the task is quite as useless as it is tiresome. Misrepresentations and calumnies of this sort are, like the arguments and statements of Dr. Duigenan, -not at all the less vivacious or less serviceable to their fabricators, for having been refuted and disproved a thousand times over. They are brought forward again, as good as new, whenever malice or stupidity may be in want of them; and are quite as useful as the old broken lantern, in Fielding's Amelia, which the watchman always keeps ready by him, to produce, in proof of riotous conduct, against his victims. I shall therefore give up the fruitless toil of vindication, and would even draw my pen over what I have already written, had I not promised to furnish my publisher with a Preface, and know not how else I could contrive to eke it out.

I have added two or three more trifles to this edition, which I found in the Morning Chronicle, and knew to be from the pen of my friend. The rest of the volume remains in its original state. April 20. 1814.

INTERCEPTED LETTERS,

&c.

LETTER I.

FROM THE PR-NC-88 CH-RL-E OF W-L-S TO THE LADY B-RB-A ASHL-Y.2

My dear Lady Bab, you'll be shock'd, I'm afraid, When you hear the sad rumpus your Ponies have made;

1 A new reading has been suggested in the original of the Ode of Horace, freely translated by Lord Eld-n, page 166. In the line "Sive per Syrteis iter æstuosas," it is proposed, by a very trifling alteration, to read “Surtees," instead "Syrteis," which brings the Ode, it is said, more home to the noble translator, and gives a peculiar force and aptness to the epi

Since the time of horse-consuls (now long out of date),

No nags ever made such a stir in the state.
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.

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The Doctor 3, and he, the devout man of Leather 4, V-ns-tt-t, now laying their Saint-heads together,

Declare that these skittish young a-bominations Are clearly foretold in Chap. vi. RevelationsNay, they verily think they could point out the one Which the Doctor's friend Death was to canter upon. Lord H-rr-by, hoping that no one imputes To the Court any fancy to persecute brutes, Protests, on the word of himself and his cronies, That had these said creatures been Asses, not Ponies, The Court would have started no sort of objection, As Asses were, there, always sure of protection.

thet "æstuosas." I merely throw out this emendation for the learned, being unable myself to decide upon its merits.

2 This young Lady, who is a Roman Catholic, had lately made a present of some beautiful Ponies to the Pr-nc-ss. 3 Mr. Addington, so nicknamed.

4 Alluding to a tax lately laid upon leather.

"If the Pr-nc-ss will keep them (says Lord In short, until the House of Guelph

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FROM COLONEL M‘M—H—N TO G—LD FR-NC-8 Compil'd and chos'n as best you can,

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BEFORE I send this scrawl away,
I seize a moment, just to say,
There's some parts of the Turkish system
So vulgar, 'twere as well you miss'd 'em.
For instance-in Seraglio matters-
Your Turk, whom girlish fondness flatters,
Would fill his Haram (tasteless fool!)
With tittering, red-cheek'd things from school.
But here (as in that fairy land,

Where Love and Age went hand in hand; '
Where lips, till sixty, shed no honey,
And Grandams were worth any money,)
Our Sultan has much riper notions-
So, let your list of she-promotions
Include those only, plump and sage,
Who've reach'd the regulation-age;
That is, (as near as one can fix
From Peerage dates) full fifty-six.

This rule's for fav'rites-nothing more— For, as to wives, a Grand Signor, Though not decidedly without them, Need never care one curse about them.

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WE miss'd you last night at the "hoary old sinner's,"
Who gave us, as usual, the cream of good dinners;
His soups scientific-his fishes quite prime-
His pâtés superb-and his cutlets sublime!
In short, 'twas the snug sort of dinner to stir a
Stomachic orgasm in my Lord El-b-gh,
Who set to, to be sure, with miraculous force,
And exclaim'd, between mouthfuls, "a He-Cook of
course! -

"While you live-(what's there under that cover? pray, look)—

"While you live-(I'll just taste it) ne'er keep a

She-Cook.

""Tis a sound Salic Law-(a small bit of that toast)

"Which ordains that a female shall ne'er rule the

roast;

"For Cookery's a secret-(this turtle's uncom

mon)

"Like Masonry, never found out by a woman!"

The dinner, you know, was in gay celebration Of my brilliant triumph and H-nt's condemnation;

A compliment, too, to his Lordship the Judge For his Speech to the Jury-and zounds! who would grudge

Turtle soup, though it came to five guineas a bowl,

To reward such a loyal and complaisant soul? We were all in high gig-Roman Punch and Tokay

Travell'd round, till our heads travell'd just the same way;

And we car'd not for Juries or Libels-no

damme! nor

Ev'n for the threats of last Sunday's Examiner!

More good things were eaten than said-but

Tom T-rrh-t

In quoting Joe Miller, you know, has some merit;
And, hearing the sturdy Justiciary Chief
Say-sated with turtle-" I'll now try the beef”—

1 The learned Colonel must allude here to a description of the Mysterious Isle, in the History of Abdalla, Son of Hanif, where such inversions of the order of nature are said to have taken place." A score of old women and the same number of old men played here and there in the court, some at chuck-farthing, others at tip-cat or at cockles."— And

again, "There is nothing, believe me, more engaging than those lovely wrinkles," &c. &c. - See Tales of the East, vol. iii. pp. 607, 608.

2 This letter, as the reader will perceive, was written the day after a dinner given by the M-rq―s of H―d—t.

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