Thus a Reader, who draws off his weak conclusions, without having given time enough for the distillation of his premises, is likely to be led astray, or devillishly puzzled at the least; and like other hypercurious inquirers,

"To find no end, in endless mazes lost,"

Wishing however to extricate him from this labyrinth, if I can,-to beguile, if not appease the cravings of his curiosity, and afford him every gratification except the taking off my mask,-I will refer him for a sufficiently exact description of me, to the prologomena of those Epistles which I have already mentioned. He will there find, in a portrait, which resembles me as much as it does the person for whom it was intended, that I am " tall "and low; old and young; ignorant and learned; "an infamous scribbler and a polished writer; a "lawyer, a waiter, a trout-stream, a gentleman, and a goose. He must be the wiser for having inspected the foregoing picture; though his wisdom, like that of Socrates, may consist in the discernment of his own ignorance.

66

"*

These various and contradictory descriptions of the supposed Author of the Familiar Epistles, (a theatrical criticism addressed to Frederick Jones, Esq. the Deputy Master of the Revels,) extracted from various conjectural publications on the subject, were collected by the Author, and pleasantly enough prefixed to a second edition of his poem.

I have only to add that I am not akin to any of those Anonymi, who for two or three years have been wheeling their droning flight about this city; and can assure my English Reader,* that except our invisibility, we have no common feature: no likeness discernible by the most scrutinizing eye.

To conclude this introductory paper, which I seem to myself to have got out of with wonderful felicity; (I do not mean that such would be the judgment of an Edinburgh Review ;) having now sufficiently undiscovered who I am,-I shall reserve for future numbers a developement of my plans; and communication of what I intend to be; confining myself for the present to the mere statement of a hope, that if the functions on which I am entering, continue, I shall prove at some times an instructive, at others an entertaining, perhaps oftener a composing, but always a harmless companion at the least.

Whom I fain would gratify with a Bull.

M.

NUMBER II.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 6th, 1807.

"Cudgel thy brains no more about it."

HAMLET.

THE above advice might, without impropriety, be given to my Reader; and interpreted a caution against conjecturing who I am. And if I were accused of vanity, in supposing myself so much the object of attention, as that any prohibition of this sort could be required, I have, in the documents which I shall annex, wherewithal to answer such a charge. But the fact is, that my motto should be considered as a soliloquy; and the monition which it contains, as directed to myself.

It may be recollected, that in my first number I proposed to inform my Reader, not who, but what I am. It is certain that I adjourned the performance of this promise sine die; but no less certain that I intended to perform it without delay. But scarcely had my pen touched the fountain which supplies it, when a cloud of obstacles, unforeseen and insur

mountable, arose; and I became at once enveloped in such obscurity, that it seemed as if not my quill, but my head, was immersed in this "sable well." Nor did my imaginations emulate or resemble those of a certain prince we read of in the Arabian Tales, to whom, when he plunged his head in a vessel of water, such various scenes and adventures were displayed. I therefore intreat of my liege, the most sublime Sultan Public, to dispense for a time with the performance of an undertaking, which perhaps I shall, after all, no otherwise fulfil, than by permitting it to be collected from my papers, what I am.

I am aware that we have the authority of a lady, of high birth and fashion in her day, for alleging that "We know what we are;" although "We know not "what we may be." But in the first place, when Ophelia asserted this, it will be remembered that she was not in her right mind: secondly, I for my part am far from knowing what I am; and at least as far from guessing what I may be: except as the conjecture is included in my hope, that in addition to the characters enumerated in my last number, and in humble co-operation and concurrence with the King's Bench, I shall be found a Guardian of Innocence, Morality, and Religion: and thirdly, what I am, the paper which I am writing will declare; while as to what I shall be, this is admitted to be beyond my knowledge, by the very position which I have sup

posed to be relied upon against me.

For the pre

sent therefore, in the words of the same Clown, by whom my motto has been furnished, I would merely express my hope that I shall seldom be pronounced

a grave maker;" and my fear that the monument which I am erecting, is not ære perennius; nor likely to "last till doomsday."

This being the case, I will not longer detain the public, in the perusal of writing so transient as my own but proceed at once to lay before them the first fruits of a correspondence, which I trust will, in its maturity, prove valuable and productive.

NOTE 1.

To the Anonymous.

Take off your mask, my dear Nameless. I delight in mystery; and you have won my heart. You are really charming; and you must tell me who you are. At least have done with your squeaking; and let me hear your natural voice. Are you Lancaster, or the Moor, or the Danish Princes, or Rosborough, or Sir Charles Vernon? Was I talking to you the other night, at Mrs. Dawson's? Do call upon me; and tell me who you are. If I am not at home, leave your name.

Rutland Square.

CAMILLA WISHFORT,

P. S. I forgot you had no name to leave. Do, my love tell me what it is,