L. She screams aloud!—is this a man beside her? To fly and yet the face is not so bad.. much wider, She thought she'd take one peep at him, and bent LI. Upon her delicate brow the dark hair braided, Upon the sleeping boy; that gleam pervaded LII. Thus (as 'tis said), Italian Beauty hung LIII. But there's one trifling difference between My Princess and the Dame who seem'd to ape her; That Milton's Beauty chose not to be seen, And scarce declar'd her passion e'en on paper: All her objections to a ring were over, LIV. And she began to find it poor employment Of love, and chaste endearments ne'er to cloy meant; At first by gentle kisses, and fond taps With her small fingers, then by ruder slaps. LV. 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? LVI. Now by mine eyes, fair Bridegroom, 'tis not right Sacred to love, and harmony, and bliss? LVII. Aid me, ye Gods, this odious sleep to drive hence; LVIII. "Still sleep'st thou dearest? some malignant Demon LIX. "Thou lov'st me not; dost thou suspect my My parents, Sir, are noble as thine own; My Aunt Haiatelnefous was a Dame fame? As chaste, and coy, as ever wore a gown: 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, And soon, in order to assuage her pain, LXII. By this the silver Moon had drawn her horn in, 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. LXIII. The spells fell from their eyelids, and together Which of the two the blissful silence broke— 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. LXV. "Now strike your sails, ye jolly Mariners," To make it aptly to my purpose bend, The rambling nonsense of a heedless Muse. G. M. Private Correspondence. V. 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 |