FOREWORD
A SMALL phial, I doubt not, could contain the attar of the epigrammatic literature of all time. Few of the perfumes of this diminutive form of wit and satire have survived. Pretty and scented vaporings, most of the thousands and thousands of them, that have died on the air of the foibles of their day.
Yet how the pungent ones can persist! The racy old odors, which are as new as now, that still hover about the political and amorous...
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