Sent never, nor the realm of Wallace old,
Dry-nurse of critics. Place me on the earth's
Far limit, where, o'er sluggish Muscovy,

The winds blow frore, and mists of ignorance dark
O'erhang the north side of the world: beneath
Some Dey's stern nod, in torrid Barbary

Place me, where books are none: yet, fearless still,
I'll sing of Emily, and, in fit strain,

Record her tuneful voice and thrilling smiles.

W.

fine

To-morrow our First Volume* is to be launched.-I remember, when I was last at Plymouth, I was present at the launch of a ship of war. It was a very sight: but our "Etonian" will be much finer, rigged out in gaudy Morocco, or odorous Russia, or unassuming calf.

Success to our weak vessel ! She has an easy voyage to run: the breeze of hope sends her briskly forward, and smiling faces shine upon her, as brightly as the sun on a July morning.

Off she goes!-Three cheers for "The Etonian!"

* In the present edition, a new arrangement of the Volumes has been adopted.

N° VI.

THE KING OF CLUBS.

SCENE-THE CLUB-ROOM.

(The President prologuizes from the Chair.)

I LOVE variety; no book

From me obtains a second look,
In which I vainly seek to find
This salt, this pepper of the mind:
And aught that savours of precision,
Of sameness, or of repetition,
With more than Editorial hate
I scorn, detest, abominate.
Ergo, whereas the Reader knows
That Number I. began in prose;
I think I'll change my note this time-
And-Number VI. begins in rhyme.
My friends, I vote him prosy quite,
Who speaks one word of prose to-night.

(Members testify astonishment. O'Connor opens his mouth wide-Musgrave shuts his close-Lozell nods with assent—Burton with drowsiness-Oakley takes out his tablets, and appears to be working hard.)

MONTGOMERY, "I love to hear a clever rhymer rhyming

GOLIGHTLY.

GOLIGHTLY.

STERLING.
COURTENAY.

In learned measure, eloquent and strong!" "I love to hear a faulty timer timing

66

His horrid cadence, dissonant and wrong!" MONTGOMERY. "Good poetry's the noblest thing on earth!" "Bad is a strong provocative to mirth; And, when a fool is sentimentalizing," "Order! the worthy President is rising." "My friends! I need not dwell upon The vast success of Volume I.; Suffice it, that its tout ensemble Has made our worst revilers tremble; That Censure owns at last she's wrong, And Scandal almost holds her tongue. Howbeit, 'midst our wreath of bays, There sprout some

BRAMBLES OF DISPRAISE;

Which, when the precious leaves we snatch,
Inflict a most delightful scratch;

Too soft to make us cry about it—

And we might go to sleep without it.
Here is a 'Senex,' cold and grave,

·

Quite puzzled by the Knight and Knave;'
And thinking that it's all a flam'

About our Publisher and Pam.
Then here's a little note from 'Jessy,'
Who 'can't abide that sober Essay!
'A Fourth-form' thinks 't is best by far
To stick to the vernacular;

Our Muse goes limping on a patten,
Whene'er she's running after Latin.
'Amicus' is in monstrous pique
Because he isn't up to Greek.""

O'CONNOR.

"As Gerard said, the other day,
Och! sure it's very clear, oh!
Non intelligibilia

Sed intellectum fero."

"Order! order! a bull! a bull!"

"I'd knock you down, but my mouth is full."

CHORUS.
O'CONNOR.

SWINBURNE.

4 Μηνιν αειδε

OAKLEY.

NESBIT.

CHORUS.

COURTENAY.

66

"I differ."

"Some beer."
"Silence! hark to the Chairman!" —(Hear!)*
My head feels a sort of a dizziness,

I've written and spoke till it aches;
So before we proceed to our business,—
We'll finish this dish of

ROWLEY.

BEEF STEAKS.

"I love a steak!-proudly it sweeps along;
Whether the kitchen broileth it or frieth,
And punsters tell that oftentimes it crieth,
Chaucer, oh! Chaucer!'-He was Lord of
song

In Britain! Wrapp'd in doublet and in rhyme,
He walk'd the dear Metropolis, and tasted
Of meats multigenous, baked, broil'd, and
basted;

The pride of taverns in that ancient time.
I wish that I could rhyme like him of old,

I wish that I could eat the food he ate ;-
But stop, Thalia, for you want a whet;
The reader's tired-the steaks are getting
cold!

Stop! for my own, and for the reader's,

sake;

But oh! I'm very partial to a steak! 66 Perhaps you think you I've made a Sonnet : I'm sorry for you!-out upon it!

* "Silence! Hark to the signal !-fire."-BYRON.

BELLAMY.