Изображения страниц

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.


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 fine 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.

[merged small][ocr errors]
[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small]

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 assentBurton with drowsiness-Oakley takes out his tablets, and appears to be working hard.)

Montgomery. “ I love to hear a clever rhymer rhyming

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

His horrid cadence, dissonant and wrong!" MONTGOMERY. “Good poetry's the noblest thing on earth!" GOLIGHTLY. “ Bad is a strong provocative to mirth ;

And, when a fool is sentimentalizing,”-
STERLING. “Order! the worthy President is rising."
COURTENAY. 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, ʼmidst our wreath of bays,
There sprout some


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,
Quité 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'tó up to Greek.””



“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

down, but


mouth is full.” • Μηνιν αειδε

“ I differ."

6. 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


[ocr errors]

“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

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,

But oh! I'm very partial to a steak !”
Perhaps you



've made a Sonnet : I'm sorry


for you !-out upon it!

* “ Silence! Hark to the signal !-fire."-Byron.

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »