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Recat. o 10-25-40 DOA

FINDING it to be the wish of my Publishers that at least the earlier volumes of this collection should each be accompanied by some prefatory matter, illustrating, by a few biographical memoranda, the progress of my humble literary career, I have consented, though not, I confess, without some scruple and hesitation, to comply with their request. In no country is there so much curiosity felt respecting the interior of the lives of public men as in England; but, on the other hand, in no country is he who ventures to tell his own story so little safe from the imputation of vanity and self-display.

The whole of the poems contained in the first,

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as well as in the greater part of the second,
volume of this collection were written between
the sixteenth and the twenty-third year

the author's age.

But I had begun still earlier, not only to rhyme but to publish. A sonnet to my schoolmaster, Mr. Samuel Whyte, written in my fourteenth year, appeared at the time in a Dublin magazine, called the Anthologia, the first, and, I fear, almost only, creditable attempt in periodical" literature of which Ireland has to boast. I had even at an earlier period (1793) sent to this magazine two short pieces of verse, prefaced by a note to the editor, requesting the insertion of the “ following attempts of a youthful muse;

youthful muse;" and the fear and trembling with which I ventured upon this step were agreeably dispelled, not only by the appearance of the contributions, but still more by my finding myself, a few months after, hailed

"Our esteemed correspondent, T. M."

It was in the pages of this publication, where the whole of the poem was extracted,

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car, appeared at the

part of the secues that I first met with the Pleasures of Memory; ere written betwe and to this day, when I open the volume wenty-third year e of the Anthologia which contains it, the very I had begun sa form of the type and colour of the paper brings But to publish

. ! back vividly to my mind the delight with which Vr. Samuel Why I first read that poem.

My schoolmaster, Mr. Whyte, though amuscalled the Anthe ingly vain, was a good and kind-hearted man; almost only, credi: and, as a teacher of public reading and eloculiterature of whiction, had long enjoyed considerable reputation.

even at an earlier Nearly thirty years before I became his pupil, agazine two shor Richard Brinsley Sheridan, then about eight or note to the editor nine years of age, had been placed by Mrs.

the following Sheridan under his care* ; and, strange to say, e;" and the fear was, after about a year's trial, pronounced, both

this by tutor and parent, to be “an incorrigible not only by the dunce.” Among those who took lessons from

him as private pupils were several young ladies



is, but still more aths after, hailed

at, T. M."

Some confused notion of this fact has led the writer of a Memoir prefixed to the “ Pocket Edition” of my Poems,

publication, – printed_at Zwickau, to state that Brinsley Sheridan was my

tutor !-“ Great attention was paid to his education by his tutor, Sheridan.”

as extracted.

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