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(however trifling) to a great Writer whom I love and honour. But alas !
- nullum Saeva Caput Proserpina fugit:
and Fate, that cannot kill a Noble Work, is absolute over him who gives it Birth. I am reminded, not the less, that there are still written, for our unthinking Moderns, Pages in which it is not difficult to trace some softer Relation to that pure and unaffected Pathos, that keen yet kindly Satire. I presume therefore to offer this little Volume to Mr. Thackeray's Daughter.
Your obedient Servant,