I to follow the bent of my humour I should certainly assume the favour of an Incognito,—“ parcequ'il y a quelque chose de joli d'être auteur sans y être connu;"--but even this gratification, my love of candour at once repels, even though my risk in literary fame becomes "doubly hazardous," when I reflect 66 that, Quand on lit un ouvrage sans nom, on se trouve suspendu entre la crainte de mépriser un auteur celebre, et celle d'admirer un Ecrivain mediocre ;— on a recours a son pis aller, et ne pouvant pas juger par prevention, on est forcé de decider par son gout, discernement." et par 66 When BURTON first published his celebrated Anatomy of Melancholy," under the signature of Democritus Junior, he thus cautioned the more cu rious part of his Readers. "Seek not after that which is hid-if the contents please thee, and be for thy use, suppose the man in the moon, or whom thou wilt, to be the author. I would not willingly be known. If I be pressed, I will as readily reply, as that Egyptian in PLUTARCH, when a curious fellow would needs know what he had in his basket. Quum vides velatam, cur inquiris in rem absconditam?"Far from adopting disguise or seeking concealment, 1 cordially invite my kind and indulgent readers, to assure themselves of my identity, by honoring me with a visit at Sibyl Lodge; where they shall, at all times, be most cordially received by Their's and the Public's Faithfully devoted (Though not humble) Servant, PETER QUINCE, Sibyl Lodge, Cheltenham, June 4th, 1820. the Younger. N. B. It is necessary to premise, that I am by no means responsible for the connection, order, or dates of the respective Letters, having left their arrangement solely to the fancy of my printer. THE CHELTENHAM MAIL BAG. LETTER I. FROM C-L-L M-L-D OF CKS, TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD P―F―T. MY DEAR LORD, Ch-lle, near Cheltenham, Oct. 1819. ALTHOUGH yesterday's post brought you word Of my spirits and health, yet, my ever dear Lord! I'm sure will rejoice at my pledged re-assurance Of my keen native ardor's unbated endurance, Since there's nothing on earth that appears to my mind B And to furnish the heart and the memory both With germs of true sentiment's national growth; My dear Lord!-and with heart ever grateful, sincere, -Last week how we missed you!—you cannot con ceive How our hearts for your absence were destined to grieve! We'd a little" to do,”—a few hundred or so, And oh, such a Lion! 'tis all entre nous— |