tion to the affirmative renders it | tural inclination to negatives ren unnecessary for us to point out to our fair countrywomen the beauties and advantages of a word which they love as dearly as they do flattery. While we are on the subject of flattery, let us obiter advise all Etonians to say nothing but "Yes" to a lady. But as a thoughtless coquette or a haughty prude does occasionally forget the necessity and the beauty of the word we are discussing, we cannot but recommend to our fair readers to consider attentively the evils which this forgetfulness infallibly entails. Laurelia would never have been cut by her twenty-first adorer; Charlotte, with 4,000l. a-year at fifteen, would never have been an old maid at fifty; Lucy, with a good face and not a farthing, would never have refused a carriage, white liveries, and a peerage, if these unfortunate victims had studied in early youth the art of saying "Yes." Sweet-light-gay-quaint Monosyllable! Tender, obliging, inoffensive, affectionate Yes! How we delight in thy delicate sound! We love to hear the enamoured swain petitioning for his mistress's picture, till the lady, or overcome by affection, or wearied by importunity, changes the "No" of coy reluctance for the "Yes" of final approbation. We love to hear the belle of Holborn-hill supplicating for Greenwich and the one-horse chay, till her surly parent alters the shake of unconvinced obduracy for the nod of unwilling consent. We love to see the henpecked husband humbly kneeling for his Sunday coat and "the Star and Garter," till Madam, conscious that the Captain is secreted in the closet, transmutes the "No" of authoritative detention into the ders it unnecessary for us to point out to our fair countrywomen the beauties and advantages of a word which they use as constantly as their looking-glass. Nevertheless they do occasionally forget the love of opposition, which is the distinguishing ornament of their sex; and alas! they too frequently render themselves miserable by neglecting our conclusive Monosyllable. We most earnestly entreat those belles who honour with their notice the humble efforts of "The Etonian," to derive a timely warning from the examples of those ladies who have lived to regret a hasty and unthinking assent. Anna would never have been the mistress of a colonel; Martha would never have been the wife of a cornet; Lydia would never have been tied to age, ugliness, and gout, if these unfortunate victims had studied in early youth the art of saying "No." Short-strong-sharp--- quaint Monosyllable! Forcible, convincing, argumentative, indisputable No! How we delight in thy expressive sound! We love to hear the Miss of fifteen plaguing her uncle for her Christmas ball, till Squaretoes, finding vain the excuses of affection, finishes the negociation with the "No" of authority. We love to hear the enamoured swain pouring forth his raptures at the feet of an inexorable Mistress, till the lady changes her key from the quiet hint of indifference to the decided "No" of aversion. We love to hear the schoolboy supplicating a remission of his sentence, until his sable judge alters the "I can't” of sorrowful necessity, to the "No" of inflexible indignation. We love -but it is time for us to bring our "Yes" of immediate dismission. | treatise to a conclusion, and we "TWAS silence all-the glorious Sun The Moon her silver lamp had spread And, o'er each hut and lordly tower, II. No steeds in gorgeous trappings prance, No hatchet glittering in the way, III. The flames rise high-the trembling sod To spread his wings o'er Lapland's State; Can mark his son, his father, die; Of life below his Country's good. Odin-who, living, ever saw Whole armies quail beneath his nod; Dying, became a nation's awe, His Country's friend his Country's God. ODE TO DESPAIR. HENCE! Fiend of Hell, who lov'st to brood And snatch with haste, as sweetest food, And blooms in gentle youth, and blushes while 'tis May. Hence for not here the guilty soul, The conscience-stricken breast thou❜lt find, Whom Honour's pledge could never bind. While all around fell woes appear, Sharp Pain, and moody Hate, and self-avoiding Fear. To thee is sweet the lonely heart That owns no tie of love on earth, To ease it from the frequent smart Of all that once was precious here, Of all that beauty gave, or happiness made dear. To thee is sweet the madden'd breast That Fury's boiling passions tear, That knows no interval of rest From bitterest pangs the frame can bear; To thee is sweet the cold glaz'd eye That glares in hideous vacancy; To thee is sweet the gasping breath, The blood-bespatter'd hand, and agony of Death. Go, search thee out the blasted heath, Go, search thee out the wretch accursed, Of adamantine chains that wait, and penal fires. Father of Heav'n, Almighty Power! Bear-firmly bear-Misfortune's blow, And smile beneath the weight and bitterness of woe. Grant me, though doomed by thee to drain Its bitterest dreg from Sorrow's bowl, Grant me to smile beneath the pain That racks, but not subdues, my soul. Grant me the calm, though tortured mind, And let me scorn the coward's cry, Whom misery can move to "curse his God, and die." S. D. |