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She screams aloud is this a man beside her?

A Husband ?-Gracious! is her Father mad ? She is resolv’d, whatever may betide her,

To fly—and yet the face is not so bad.
She has seen worse complexions,-mouths much wider,

In fact the fellow is a pretty lad;
She thought she'd take one peep at him, and bent
Silently o'er his face in wonderment.

Upon her delicate brow the dark hair braided,

Cloudlike hung o'er the starbeams of her eyes ;
Which, by that darkness soften’d and o'ershaded,

Fell in a gleam of tenderest ecstasies
Upon the sleeping boy; that gleam pervaded

His cheek still glowing from his late surprise ;
And touch'd his brow, which in that radiance shone
With loveliness far brighter than its own.

Thus (as 'tis said), Italian Beauty hung

Over the sleeping Milton, as at noon
Reclin'd he lay the forest trees among,

His thoughts to some unutterable tune
Of Heavenly Music wandering, till they sprung

Into his deep-flush'd countenance, and soon
Kindled within that gazer's breast the flame
Which Woman, who best feels it, dares not name.

But there's one trifling difference between
My Princess and the Dame who seem'd to ape

her ri That Milton's Beauty chose not to be seen,

And scarce declar'd her passion e'en on paper :
Whereas Badoura thought it would be mean

To let so delicate a Youth escape her;
All her objections to a ring were over,
Since Fate had sent her such a handsome lover.

And she began to find it poor employment

To gaze so long upon a sleeping spouse,
And long'd for the more rational enjoyment

Of conversation, and exchanging vows
Of love, and chaste endearments ne'er to cloy meant ;

And so she strove the sleeper to arouse,.,
At first by gentle kisses, and fond taps
With her small fingers,-then by ruder slaps.


He only slept the sounder, so she tried

At last the sweet allurement of her tongue; “ Sweet Prince !-Dear Husband !-am I not thy Bride?

Am I not chaste, and beautiful, and young ? Have I not air, and shape, and grace beside ?

Is not my voice the sweetest that e'er sung?
Why Husband! Husband! Husband !-Sir! Sir! Sir!
Good Lord ! will nothing make this Blockhead stir ?

Now by mine eyes, fair Bridegroom, 'tis not right

To sleep so sound at such an hour as this;
Pray tell me, is it not our bridal night,

Sacred to love, and harmony, and bliss ? I've a great mind to quarrel with you quite,

Discourteous Sir—now by this rapturous kiss, (Which I must steal, since you will not bestow,) I never could have borne to slight you so.

Aid me, ye Gods, this odious sleep to drive hence;

Sir, you've carous'd too freely at the wine-
No !--no: I now perceive the whole contrivance,

'Tis all a trick, my kind Papa, of thine. I wonder at my Nurse's base connivance ;

But oh! he looks so radiantly divine,
And smiles, in slumber, with a smile so sweet,
I can't believe him guilty of deceit.

LVIII. “ Still sleep'st thou dearest? some malignant Demon

Hath o'er thy spirit cast this baneful spell; Else never couldst thou in this fashion dream on,

Nor against Love and Hymen so rebel,
As not to let those eyes of beauty beam on

The gentle Lady who loves thee so well :
By Heav'n thou smil'st-I know it's all a sham;
Heav'n grant me patience !—what a wretch I am!

“ Thou lov'st me not; dost thou suspect my fame?

My parents, Sir, are noble as thine own;
My Aunt Haiatelnefous was a Dame

As chaste, and coy, as ever wore a gown :
Ne'er have I felt, -till now, Love's pleasing flame;

My Father shall defend his Child's renown.
Do as you please, Sir--you shall shortly know
That I'll have vengeance if you use me so.

LX. "By the hot tears which I am shedding o'er thee;

By my poor heart which doth so fondly ache;
By these most chaste embraces ; I implore thee,

My Husband, if thou sleepest, to awake.
Oh didst thou know how madly I adore thee,

Thou wouldst not thus persist my heart to break.
Oh! hear the plaint my wounded Spirit pours,
And heal my sorrow !- Lord, how loud he snores!"

LXI. She spoke; the tears fell fast, as she was speaking,

Yet did they yield her anguish small relief; And (what was shocking), in her flight from Pekin,

She'd dropp'd her muslin pocket-handkerchief, So that she could'nt stop her eyes from leaking,

Maimoune felt much pity for her grief,
And soon, in order to assuage her pain,
Sent Magic slumber to those eyes again.

By this the silver Moon had drawn her horn in,

While Cupid still more undecided grew;
And puzzled on, unmindful of the warning,

Till, while he posed 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

These two fond lovers from their dreams awoke, And met each other's eyes-'twas long ere either

(Lost as they were in love and wonder) spoke. I don't know (and it matters not a feather),

Which of the two the blissful silence broke-
'Twas a strange introduction-I'm afraid,
The breakfast hour that morning was delay'd.

Of course the thing in matrimony ended;

The Kings were much astonish'd at the way
In which the Fairies had their schemes befriended,

Though how it happen'd not a soul could say. Maimoune and her Lover both attended,

In high good humour, on the wedding day, And brought fine gifts from Fairy-land, and shed All sorts of blessings on the Nuptial Bed.

“ Now strike your sails, ye jolly Mariners,"

For I have come unto my story's end,
With a few alterations, worthy Sirs,

To make it aptly to my purpose bend,
I've used some freedom with the characters,

But hope the Reader 'll kindly condescend
To recollect my hurry-and excuse
The rambling nonsense of a heedless Muse.

G. M.

Private Correspondence.



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 hearts' 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 where 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 goodwill 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 Firstrate 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



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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

my “Private 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

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 procure 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

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