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By this the silver Moon had drawn her horn in,
Till, while he pored and doubted, the cock crew, And at the sound, before the breath of Morning, Back to their haunts, the three mad Spirits flew, Leaving, in rather an unusual place,
The Prince and Princess lying face to face.
The spells fell from their eyelids, and together
Which of the two the blissful silence broke-
Of course the thing in matrimony ended;
In high good-humour, on the wedding-day; And brought fine gifts from Fairyland, and shed All sorts of blessings on the Nuptial Bed.
"Now strike your sails, ye jolly Mariners,"
I've used some freedom with the characters,
The rambling nonsense of a heedless Muse.
PEREGRINE COURTENAY TO THE PUBLIC.
MY DEAR PUBLIC,
How rejoiced I feel in being able to rid myself of all weighty affairs, for a few minutes, and sit down to a little private conversation with you: I am going,. as usual, to be very silly, and very talkative, and I have so much to say that I hardly know where to begin.
Allow me to congratulate you upon the flourishing state of your affairs. There has been a Coronation, and you have had lighting of lamps, and drinking of ale, and breaking of heads, to your heart's content; and there are two new Novels coming from Sir Walter; and the King is going to Ireland; and Mr. Kean is come from America; and-here is No X. of "The Etonian!" How happy you must be !
But you will have to pay an extra shilling for it. I hope you will not be angry. The fact is, that the approaching conclusion of our Work has put into our Contributors such a spirit of good-will and exertion, that we found it quite impossible to comprise their benefactions within our usual limits, although I myself gave up to them many of my own pages, and burned several first
rate articles, especially one "On the Digamma," which would have had a surprising effect. For, to parody the Poet,
"Those write now, who never wrote before,
And those who always wrote, now write the more."
And you will be satisfied, I think, with the augmentation of bulk, and of price, when you consider what you would have lost if such a step had not been adopted. Perhaps you might not have had "The Bride of the Cave;" perhaps you might not have had "The Hall of my Fathers;" perhaps you might not have had-Oh, yes! you certainly should have had "Maimoune," though it had filled our whole Number. But you would not have had "Primy vate Correspondence," which I should have regretted extremely, although my modesty hints to me that you would not have cared a rush about the matter.
I used to promise, you will remember, that in all and in each of our Numbers, twenty pages only should be devoted to our Foreign Correspondents. This resolution was, I believe, rigidly adhered to during the existence of "the Saltbearer;" but since his exit I have grown more idle and less scrupulous. In our present Number you will find a much greater proportion of matter from the Universities. I tell you so fearlessly, because you are, in no small degree, a gainer by the fraud.
When I look back on my life, my dear Public, I cannot help thinking what a life of impudence,-what a life of hoaxing,-what a life of singularity, I have led. If all the Brass I have shown in my writings could be transferred to my Monument, my memory would be immortal. I have told, in print, more lies than ever Munchausen did; and, in the sphere of my existence, have been guilty of as much deceit as the Fortunate Youth. As for the "Letter to the King," however, I can't, for the life of me, see a grain of impertinence in its composition; all I wonder at is, that it did not pro
cure a Holiday for Eton, nor Knighthood for Sir Thomas, nor a thousand a-year for myself. Nevertheless, in spite of the mortifying silence with which my communication was received, I am happy to observe that our Etonians continue very loyal. On the night of the Coronation, when the Mob said "Queen!" the Boys said "King!" and many, forthwith, risked their own crowns in behalf of his Majesty's. But whether this proceeded from the love of Loyalty, or the love of Blows, must remain a question.
Howbeit, I am not naturally addicted to impudence, or hoaxing, or singularity. To convince you of this, I had at one time an intention of drawing up a Memoir of my own Life, containing an accurate detail of my thoughts, and words, and actions, during the whole period which my memory comprehends. I found it very difficult to settle the title of my Book. Should it be the stately "Life of Peregrine Courtenay, Esq. of the College of Eton, Foolscap Octavo ?" or should it be the quaint "Notice of a Gentleman who has left Long Chamber?" or should it be the concise and attractive "Peregriniana ?" It was a weighty affair; and I abandoned the design before I could settle the point. For I at last began to believe, my Public, that this is all of which you ought to be informed,-that I have lived long at Eton, and that I have edited "The Etonian ;" that I am now bidding farewell to the first, and writing the Epilogue of the other.
I leave Eton at a peculiarly auspicious time. Her Cricket is very good this year! (I wish we could have had a meeting with Harrow, but Diis aliter visum est,) and her Boats are unusually well manned, and there are in her ranks more youths of five-feet-ten, than I have seen for a long time. She has also just effected the establishment of a Public Library; which has been so spiritedly supported by our Alumni themselves, and by the Friends of the School, that it is already rising into importance. And, thanks to the exertions of many who have been our
Friends, and a few of our Correspondents, she maintains a high ground at the Universities, I am bound for Cambridge myself; but this is nothing at all to concern you, inasmuch as I do not mean to Edite a Cantab."
I resign my office too at a propitious moment, before time has quelled the enthusiasm with which it was entered upon,--before warmth and impetuosity have yielded to weariness and disgust. My spirits are still unabated, my Friends are still untired, and you, my Public, are still kind! I might have waited to experience the sinking of the first, the anger of the second, and alas! the fickleness of the third. It is well that I stop in time.
I have two drawers of my bureau filled, almost to bursting, with divers Manuscripts; I am afraid to open either of them, lest somebody passionate, or somebody stupid, or somebody wearisome, should stare me in the face. Of these compositions, my pages witness against me that I have promised insertion to many, and my conscience witnesses against me that I ought to have given insertion to many more. I don't know what to do with them. I have some thoughts of sending them to my Publisher's in a lump, or bequeathing them as a Legacy to my successors. I believe, however, my better plan may be to put them up to Auction. Amongst the numerous Authors, great and small, good and bad, who are at the present day wasting their pen, ink, paper, and time, in “doing honour to Eton," I cannot but think that some of my Literary Treasures would fetch a pretty good price. There are all the articles, of which we have at various times given notice; some of which I know our Readers are dying to see. But these form but a trifling part of the heap; I will subjoin a few specimens of my wares, but Catalogues shall, of course, be printed previous to the Sale.
Several "Reminiscences"-very useful for writers who wish to recollect what never occurred.
A few "Visions," "Musings," "Odes," &c.-a great