flattering, so that they shall neither outrage propriety, nor offend self-conceit. The Dandy shall be suited with a name which shall bear no allusion to stays, and the Coquet with one which shall in no way reflect upon rouge. In short, we have a collection of novelties adapted to both sexes, and proper for all ages. In one thing only is our stock deficient; and that, we are confident, will be supplied previous to the appearance of our Second Number. We have no doubt that some obligingly sarcastic associate will favour us with a new and an ingenious nickname for THE ETONIAN. MY BROTHER'S GRAVE. (From the Poetry of the College Magazine.) Few words, upon the rough stone 'graven, The place is silent-rarely sound To death's lone dwelling speaks of life, Nor breaks the silence, still and deep, The living eye hath never known. But when the sweet-ton'd Sabbath-chime, Of prayer, and thanks, and bended knees; And lips and hearts to God are given, And souls enjoy oblivion sweet Of earthly ills, in thoughts of Heaven; What holy hands are lifted up To bless the sacramental cup cup? ? Full well I know that rev'rend form, And if a voice could reach the dead, Those tones would reach thee, though the worm, My brother, makes thy heart his bed; That Sire, who thy existence gave, Now stands beside thy lowly grave. It is not long since thou wert wont These stones which now thy dust conceal, Those scenes, the heart can ne'er forget! My soul was then, as thine is now, Unstain'd by sin, unstung by pain; Peace smil'd on each unclouded browMine ne'er will be so calm again. How blithely then we hail'd the ray Which usher'd in the Sabbath-day! How lightly then our footsteps trod Yon pathway to the house of God! For souls, in which no dark offence Hath sullied childhood's innocence, Best meet the pure and hallow'd shrine, Which guiltier bosoms own divine. I feel not now as then I felt, The sunshine of my heart is o'er; The spirit now is chang'd which dwelt Within me, in the days before. But thou wert snatch'd, my brother, hence, In all thy guileless innocence; One Sabbath saw thee bend the knee, In reverential piety— For childish faults forgiveness crave The next beam❜'d brightly on thy grave! The crowd, of which thou late wert one, I stood not by thy fev'rish bed, The doubt-the terror-the distress- And days of mourning glided by, The well-known morn, I used to greet With boyhood's joy, at length was beaming, And thoughts of home and raptures sweet Of beating hearts and beaming eyes, I fear'd to view my native spot, I drew near to my father's gate- Grief sat upon my mother's brow; My little brothers round me prest, In gay unthinking childhood blest. Long, long that hour has past, but when The Sabbath came-with mournful pace That shrine, which when I last had view'd, I gaz'd around with fearful eye— All things reposed in sanctity. I reach'd the chancel-nought was chang❜dThe altar decently arrang’d— |