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tionate; the mirth which is natural to youth was pensive and restrained; they avoided causing the slightest sound, and walked softly by the threshold of the sufferer.

At last all expectation, all hope, of his recovery expired. We were informed of his situation, and admitted to the room where he lay. Oh! Menedemus ! if you had witnessed with me that feverish countenance, those vain efforts to express by words some wish that we could not hear or gratify, and, last of all, the faint struggles of departing animation,—you would not be surprised when I say,

that more wisdom is to be learned from the contemplation of a death-bed than from the precepts of another Socrates. ,

He endeavoured to take leave of us, and he could not speak; we spoke to him, and he could not hear ; he strove to look round upon those who wept about him, and agony had weighed down his eyelids ; his sister was sitting by his bedside, and he was unconscious of her presence: every faculty of his mind, every nerve of his body, seemed to be powerless ; he was awake to no sensation but that of pain. As we gazed upon his face, dark and clammy with fever,--as we beheld his motionless and emaciated hand, his closed eyes, his distorted lips ;-—what dreadfùl ideas came over us ! We felt that Death was in the chamber, and looked round upon each other, as if doubting which of us was to be the next victim of the destroying power! Oh! my friend, if, as Plato has taught us, the soul is really immortal; if, in bliss or in woe, it survives the frail vesture of clay in which it is shrouded, how cautious should we be in every moment of our lives; how carefully should we regulate our actions; how closely should we scrutinize our thoughts !

Cleon, who was standing next to me, touched my gown: I turned round to him. He whispered to me, “Now he is dying !" I looked back to the couch with a feeling of chilly stupor which I cannot attempt to describe: Aspasia was leaning over her brother, and kiss ing his cold lips. Suddenly she arose :-“ I have drank his last breath!” she said hysterically, and fell into the arms of her husband. In a moment the features of the youth lost all appearance of pain or distortion: they resumed their usual mildness of expression; they lay composed in the beautiful serenity of death. Poor Crito! his memory will long be treasured up

in the hearts of those who loved him; his virtues are often the subject of conversation among us: some of us preserve with the fondest assiduity the little presents which they may have received from him; others have locks of his hair entwined in rings and lockets. Plato, whose pupil he was, has written some beautiful poetry, to be inscribed upon his tomb.

*

*

ON THE PROPOSED ESTABLISHMENT OF A

PUBLIC LIBRARY AT ETON.

We are very glad to be able to announce, that, after the Easter Holidays, a Public Library for the use of the School will be established by Subscription, at Mr. Williams's. We are very glad of it, not for our own sake, for before it shall rise to any degree of importance, we shall be inhabitants of this spot no longer; our very names will be forgotten among its more recent inmates. But we hail with joy this Institution, for the sake of the School we love and reverence, to which we hope it will prove, at some future period, a valuable addition.

The plan admits of 100 Subscribers ; viz. the 100 Senior Members of the School. If any of these decline to become Members, the option will descend to the next in gradation. The Subscription for the first year will be

. 10s. 6d. after the Easter, Election, and Christmas Holidays; in future 10s. 6d. will be paid after the two latter Vacations only. The Library will consist of the Classics, History, &c.; and Subscribers will be allowed, under certain regulations, to take books from the room. Of course a thing of this kind has not been set on foot without the concurrence of the Higher Powers; and the Head Master has assisted the promoters of it by his approbation, as well as by liberality of another description. We trust that Eton will not long continue to experience the want of an advantage which, many other Public Schools enjoy.

We had intended to send the foregoing loose remarks to press, in order to request as many of our schoolfellows in the Upper Division, as are willing to become Subscribers, to leave their names with Mr. Williams, at whose house the Library will be established. But'as we were preparing to send off the manuscript, an old gentleman, for whom we have a great respect, called in, and looked over our shoulder. He then took a chair, and observed to us, 66 This will never do !” He took off his spectacles—wiped them, put them on again, and repeated—“ This will never do!”

“ “ I, Sir, was an Etonian in the year 17–, and, being a bit of a speculator in those days, had a mind to do what you are now dreaming of doing. I addressed myself forth with to various friends, all of them distinguished for rank, or talent, or influence, among their companions. I began with Sir Roger Gandy, expatiated on the sad want of books which many experienced, and asked whether he did not think a Public Library would be a very fine thing ? “A circulating one,' he said, 'Oh yes ! very! and he yawned. There was taste !

“ The next to whom I made application, was Tom Luny, the fat son of a fat merchant on Ludgate-Hill. Poor Tom ! he died last week, by-the-by, of a surfeit.

a

Well, Sir, I harangued him for some time upon the advantages of my scheme, to which he gave his cordial assent. Finally, I observed that, of course, it would not be very expensive.— Expensive !' he said, “Oh yes ! very !'-and he walked off. There was liberality!

“Next I besieged Will Wingham. I made my approaches, as before, with great caution, and at last summoned the garrison to surrender.— Books !' he exclaimed, I hav'n't one but a Greek Grammar, with all Syntax out.' 'And do you think,' I resumed, that an Etonian can do well without them ?' Do well !'he said, 'Oh yes ! very !’-and he laughed. There was a wish for improvement !

“ Now, my good Peregrine,” continued the old Gentleman, putting his feet up upon the hobs of my fire, and looking very argumentative,“ what do you say to all this?"

The old Gentleman is

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He left the room piqued, when we hurt his prejudices by replying, “ Nothing, Sir, but that the Etonians of 1821 are not, we will hope, the Etonians of 17–."

P. C.

PEREGRINE'S SCRAP-BOOK.

NO. IV.

M'urch 1. Upon looking over No V., i find that an allusion to the " London Magazine,” bears an unfeeling appearance, as connected with the unfortunate death of Mr. Scott. I trust that our friends need not be assured, that the paragraph in question was written and sent to press before the melancholy catastrophe was apprehended.

I must apologize to the author of “ Evening," for the long period during which it has been lying in

my

desk. Anit I must also apologize for the necessity which even now prevents me from giving so much space to the Poem as I could wish. It was my intention that it should have stood as a separate article; but I find myself unable to do more than to quote from it in the Scrap-Book. My first extract is the exordium of the vork.

“ The glowing orb descends; the beam of day

That crown'd the summit of meridian sky,
Sheds from the western tract a mellow'd ray,

And tints the azure with a golden dye,
Slow sinking to the ocean ;~'t is a way

That Phoebus often takes to wish good-by,'
A certain sign that he's engaged to meet his
Submarine friends, and drink his tea with Thetis.

Suppose him then loud knocking at the door,

Suppose all Neptune's household in commotion,
Tritons and Nymphs, and Nereids twenty score,

The progeny of Tethys and the Ocean ;
Suppose at last-all ceremony o'er-

Apollo seated on an easy cushion ;
Though some, who think themselves supremely knowing,
Affirm he never rests, but still keeps going.

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