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bad pun.-He and Gerard were discussing the faces of rival Beauties.-" Why, my dear Hodgson,” quoth Gerard, “ Laura is 80 tonish."_“Yes," quoth the Secretary, “but her two sisters as-tonish.”_Couldn't smile for the life of me.

Called at my tailor's.- Inquired whose coat he was making ;"Mr. Peregrine Courtenay's.”_" Why, Mr. Reeves ! ” I exclaimed, “ I can never get into such a coat as this.”—“ You! says the man,“ you're not Peregrine Courtenay!” Shakspeare's "Go to ! you are not Cassius !” burlesqued by another Brute.This is abominable.--I begin to doubt my own existence.

Nov. 26.—Heard of the death of poor Morton.--If ever man died of love it was Edward Morton.-The Lady to whom he became early attached was married to another ;-Morton was present at the marriage, and was never seen to smile afterwards.The Lady, it is said,

was unhappy in her union, and did not survive it many years.-Morton died some time ago at Corfu.-A portrait of the Lady was found in his portfolio, wrapped up in the following lines :

I saw thee wedded—thou didst go

Within the sacred aisle,
Thy young cheek in a blushing glow,

Betwixt a tear and smile.
Thy heart was glad in mai glee,
But he it lov'd so fervently

Was faithless all the while;
I hate him for the vow he spoke
I hate him for the vow he broke.


I hid the love that could not die,

Its doubts, and hopes, and fears,
And buried all my misery

In secrecy and tears;
And days pass'd on, and thou didst prove
The pang of unrequited love,

E'en in thine early years ;
And thou didst die, so fair and good!
In silence and in solitude !

While thou wert living, I did hide

Affection's secret pains ;
I'd not have shock'd thy modest pride

For all the world contains;.

But thou hast perish'd, and the fire
That, often check’d, could ne'er expire,

Again unhidden reigns :
It is no crime to speak my vow,
For ah! thou canst not hear it now.

Thou sleepest 'neath thy lowly stone,

That dark and dreamless sleep;
And he, thy lov'd and chosen one-

Why goes he not to weep?
He does not kneel where I have knelt,
He cannot feel what I have felt,

The anguish, still, and deep,
The painful thoughts of what has been,
The canker-worm that is not seen.

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But I-as o'er the dark blue wave

Unconsciously I ride,
My thoughts are hovering o'er thy grave,

My soul is by thy side.
There is one voice that wails thee yet,
One heart that cannot e'er forget

The visions that have died;
And aye thy form is buried there-

A doubt,--an anguish,-a despair! Nov. 27.--Held a drawing-room this day. Gerard wrote the following invitation for the occasion; but the deuce a Deity attended. Gerard wanted to bring down some Goddesses from Drury-lane, but Martin Sterling was against it. After all, we had so many Christian Goddesses, that the Heathen ones were not missed.

Hither haste, ye Gods and Goddesses,
In your sprucest robes and bodices !
From Olympus' and from Ide,
And from every spot beside,
Where you drive aërial dillies
Over marigolds and lilies,
Hither on this jocund day,
To the levee haste away.

Bacchus, come and bring with thee
Merry topers frank and free, *
Pholus, with his pimpled head,
Bitias with his nose of red,
Hilaris, that toasts the lasses,
In champagne and half-pint glasses :

* This related to the dinner which followed.-W. ROWLEY.

Leave behind that roaring fellow,
Comus, ever mad and mellow;
If you bring that thirsty elf,
Deuce a drop you'll get yourself,

Momus come! and convoy down,
From thy fav’rite hau

the town,
While the morn is bright and sunny;
All that's gay and all that's funny;
Convoy calculating cits,
Would-be bucks, and would-be wits ;
Aged dames, with rouge and dress,
Imitating loveliness;
Ruby nose, and wrinkled chin,
Eyes that stare, and mouths that grin; *
But thou need’st not bring to us
Ever-punning Asinus,
If that lively blockhead's jest
Gives its sharp and pungent zest
To our meat and to our wine,
Momus! none will laugh at thine,

Venus, queen of darts and flames,
Bring with thee thy fairest dames;
Lydia, beautifully shy,
Chloe, with her roguish eye,
Caroline, whose auburn tresses
Zephyr wantonly caresses,
Laura, with her neck of snow,
Ellen, playful as the roe;
Bring mine own enchanting fair,
Grace and passion in her air,-
Bring her with theel-I forget thee!

Envy, Venus! will not let thee! Nov. 28.-Read over Hodgson's report of yesterday's proceedings; approved of it, and sent it to press. N. B. Mr. H. is apt to be facetious, and puts puns in the mouths of his fellow-members, of which they were never guilty. He might derive a useful lesson or two from Oakley's “ Objections to other Men's Wit."

Mem.—To publish them the first opportunity. Talked politics with Sir Francis.-Had a letter from Burton--the following is an


“Miss Anne Parsons was married last Monday. The papers say she is very accomplished. Thereby hangs a tale. I was introduced to her some weeks ago, and my friend informed me that the lady was a great poetess, a great musician, and understood all modern languages except one. Now, you know, Courtenay, I only speak one language, and I suppose that is the one with which Anne is unacquainted.”

*“ Thoughts that breathe and words that burn."

Mem.-Martin must write a paper recommending the study of English to all accomplished ladies.

Received a few rhymes from Patrick O'Connor. Extracted one stanza for the sake of the pun. I did not suspect Pat of any thing so classical.


Come, whate'er may be thy form,

Bring thy leaves, or stem, or root,
Come, my shiv'ring palate warm,

Leave the shrine of Lundy Foot!
Come thou choicest, primest thing !

Io! Bacche! let me sing ! Four o'clock till five.-Sat in my elbow-chair, something between sleeping and waking. Meditated on No. I. No. II. No. III. and No. IV.-Scribbled the following

Epilogue to No. XXI.
Fellow Etonians! all who view
With kindness Numbers One and Two;
Belles who have called “Godiva" rash,
Or wept upon the “Lines to
Look partially on No. III.,
The latest labour of P. C.;
Let merry laugh and cheering smile
Our voluntary taste beguile.

While you behold with partial praise
The efforts of our early days,
Glad in your smile, the Monarch's Muse
Laughs at the threats of cold Reviews,
Shakes off the rules of place and time,
And puns in prose,

and puns in rhyme,
And shakes her Club, in humour skittish,
At all the thunders of the British."

* I hear sad reports of the intended severities of Mr. R****ts, the Editor of the British. If the said reports are groundless, I beg it may be thought that the British” is only introduced“ Metri Gratia." If Mr. R****ts really means to í spiteful, all I can say is, “ Fye, Mr. R****ts !”



N. IV.

The King of Clubs.


Saturni, 27° die Januari, 1821. Before I detail to you, beneficent Readers, the proceedings of our first meeting since the Holidays,- or, to speak more correctly, the Recess, -allow me, in my own person (for I am a bit of an egotist), to make to you a few remarks which Mr. Courtenay's modesty bath omitted.

Firstly, have you read our first three Numbers? If not, betake yourself forthwith to Mr. Warren's, and buy copies, if they are to be bought, for, like honest men, they are becoming scarce. How should it be otherwise, when we are patronized alike by peerage and people, -when Mr. Hill, the barrister, calls us the best thing going,"-when Miss Lely, the coquette, allows that, after Tom Moore, and scandal, and flirtation, we are really pretty well,”—when Professor Von Masterlich has analyzed us in the German, and Father Confu Ching Chau has translated us in the Chinese,—when, finally, in common with every thing that has the welfare of Eton for its object, we have been noticed by the Princess Augusta ?

But perhaps you have read the above-mentioned three Numbers ; why then look for a moment at the effects they have produced : Flint's has been crowded with tenfold custom ever since it was the scene of “ Lover's Vows;" Lord Byron has withheld his continuation of Don Juan, from fear of competing with “Godiva;" Gerard's Remarks on Wordsworth have been closely followed by a new Edition of the Excursion; the Microcosm, and the Miniature, which were falling into a venerable, but I am afraid forgotten, old age, have attained as it were a second youth (vide Wrapper), and burst again upon public admiration as the real monarchs of early literature, who see in & The King of Clubs” the most respectful, though the most unworthy of

their vassals.

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