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down his eyelids ; his sister was sitting by his bedside, and he was unconscious of her presence: every faculty of his mind, every nerve of his body, seemed to be powerless; he was awake to no sensation but that of pain. As we gazed upon his face, dark and clammy with fever,—as we beheld his motionless and emaciated hand, his closed eyes, his distorted lips;—what dreadful ideas came over us! We felt that Death was in the chamber, and looked round upon each other, as if doubting 'which of us was to be the next victim of the destroying Power! Oh! my friend, if, as Plato has taught us, the soul is really immortal; if, in bliss or in woe, it survives the frail vesture of clay in which it is shrouded, how cautious should we be in every moment of our lives; how carefully we should regulate our actions; how closely should we scrutinize our thoughts !

Cleon, who was standing next to me, touched my gown: I turned round to him. He whispered to me, “ Now he is dying!” I looked back to the couch, with a feeling of chilly stupor which I cannot attempt to describe: Aspasia was leaning over her brother, and kissing his cold lips. Suddenly she arose :- " I have drank his last breath!” she said hysterically, and fell into the arms of her husband. In a moment the features of the youth lost all appearance of pain or distortion: they resumed their usual mildness of expression; they lay composed in the beautiful serenity of death.

Poor Crito! his memory will long be treasured up in the hearts of those who loved him ; his virtues are often the subject of conversation among us: some of us preserve with the fondest assiduity the little presents which they may have received from him; others have locks of his hair entwined in rings and lockets. Plato, whose pupil he was, has written some beautiful poetry, to be inscribed

upon

his tomb.

举 *

*

ON THE PROPOSED ESTABLISHMENT OF A PUBLIC

LIBRARY AT ETON. We are very glad to be able to announce, that, after the Easter Holidays, a Public Library for the use of the School will be established by Subscription, at Mr. Williams's. We are very glad of it, not for our own sake, for before it shall rise to any degree of importance, we shall be inhabitants of this spot no longer; our very names will be forgotten among its more recent inmates. But we hail with joy this Institution, for the sake of the School we love and reverence, to which we hope it will prove, at some future period, a valuable addition.

The plan admits of 100 Subscribers; viz. the 100 Senior Members of the School: If any of these decline to become Members, the option will descend to the next in gradation. The Subscription for the first year will be 10s. 6d. after the Easter, Election, and Christmas Holidays; in future 10s. 6d. will be paid after the two latter Vacations only. The Library will consist of the Classics, History, &c.; and Subscribers will be allowed, under certain regulations, to take books from the room. Of course a thing of this kind has not been set on foot without the concurrence of the Higher Powers; and the Head Master has assisted the promoters of it by his approbation,

as well as by liberality of another description. We trust that Eton will not long continue to experience the want of an advantage which many other Public Schools enjoy.

We had intended to send the foregoing loose remarks to press, in order to request as many of our schoolfellows in the Upper Division, as are willing to become Subscribers, to leave their names with Mr. Williams, at whose house the Library will be established. But as we were preparing to send off the manuscript, an old Gentleman, for whom we have a great respect, called in, and looked over our shoulder. He then took à chair, and observed to us, * This will never do !" He took off his spectacles-wiped them, put them on again, and repeated

This will never do!

“I, Sir, was an Etonian in the year 17, and, being a bit of a speculator in those days, had a mind to do what you are now dreaming of doing. I addressed myself forthwith to various friends, all of them distinguished for rank, or talent, or influence, among their companions. I began with Sir Roger Gandy, expatiated on the sad want of books which many experienced, and asked whether he did not think a public Library would be a very fine thing? • A circulating one,' he said, Oh yes! very!'-and he yawned. There was taste!

“The next to whom I made application, was Tom Luny, the fat son of a fat merchant on Ludgate-Hill. Poor Tom! he died last week, by the bye, of a surfeit. Well, Sir, I harangued him for some time upon the advantages of my scheme, to which he gave his cordial assent. Finally, I observed that, of course, it would not be very expensive.— Expensive!' he said, 'Oh yes! very!'-and he walked off. There was liberality!

Next I besieged Will Wingham. I made my approaches, as before, with great caution, and at last summoned the garrison to surrender.- Books!' he exclaimed, “I havn't one but a Greek Grammar, with all Syntax out.' . And do you think,' I resumed, that an Etonian can do well without them?' Do

66

well!' he said, Oh yes? very!'-and he laughed. There was a wish for improvement!

Now, my good Peregrine,” continued the old Gentleman, putting his feet up upon the hobs of my fire, and looking very argumentative, “ what do you say to all this?" The old Gentleman is

“ Laudator temporis acti

Se puero.”

He left the room piqued, when we hurt his prejudices by replying, “ Nothing, Sir, but that the Etonians of 1821 are not, we will hope, the Etonians of 17—,"

P. C.

PEREGRINE'S SCRAP-BOOK.

NO. IV.

March 1.-Upon looking over No. V., I find that an allusion to the “ London Magazine,” bears an unfeeling appearance, as connected with the unfortunate death of Mr. Scott. I trust that our friends need not be assured, that the paragraph in question was written and sent to press before the melancholy catastrophe was apprehended.

I must apologize to the author of “ Evening," for the long period during which it has been lying in my desk. And I must also apologize for the necessity which even now prevents me from giving so much space to the Poem as I could wish. It was my intention that it should have stood as a separate article ; but I find myself unable to do more than to quote from it in the Scrap-Book. My first extract is the exordium of the work :

The glowing orb descends ; the beam of day

That crowned the summit of meridan sky,
Sheds from the western tract a mellow'd ray,

And tints the azure with a golden dye,
Slow sinking to the ocean ;-'tis a way

That Phoebus often takes to wish good bye,'
A certain sign that he's engaged to meet his
Submarine friends, and drink his tea with Thetis.

Suppose him then loud knocking at the door,

Suppose all Neptune's bousehold in commotion,
Tritons, and Nymphs, and Nereids twenty score,

The progeny of Tethys and the Ocean;
Suppose at last-all ceremony o'er-

Apollo seated on an easy cushion ;-
Though some, who think themselves supremely knowing,
Affirm he never rests, but still keeps going.

“ And when, upon the bright horizon gleaming,

He pours his parted radiance o'er the sea,
They'll tell you gravely that it's all a seeming,

He does not really venture in, not he!
And when he does go down, he is not dreaming

Of chairs and tables, coffee-pots and tea,
Nor will bis weary limbs on couch or tripod ease,

But gallops off, and visits the Antipodes.

“ Well! be that as it may!” The author proceeds to give a humorous prospectus of his intended work, after which he thus resumes the thread of his description :

“ Phoebus has gone down,
Still glows that vivid radiance soon to fade;
And still those dazzling clouds, that form'd a throne

To the descending monarch, are arrayed
In bues of splendor, and, tho' destin'd soon

To darken in the night's triumphant shade,
Linger awhile, clad in their golden dye,

The last bright beam of parted majesty.
“ And fainter now is that effulgence proud,

And heavier now, o'er Ocean's purple tide,
Spreads the thick gloom, and darker now the shroud

That hangs upon the distant mountain's side;
And deeper blushes streak the western cloud,

And cooler zephyrs o'er the ripple glide;
And calmer now, in this still hour of rest,

Are the dark feelings of a troubled breast.
“ I'm not describing now, you may suppose,

Things that re ipsâ stand before my eyes ;
One Evening is a deal too short, Heav'n kuows,

To write two hundred verses for a prize!
But yet I have beheld some evenings close,

As fair as warmest fancy can devise;
Two, in particular, I now remember,

One was last August-tother in September." The first of the said Evenings the Poet describes as having been witnessed at Salisbury; but I must only allow myself the pleasure of transcribing the second :

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* Here you must know this is the subject set

At Cambridge by Vice-Chancellor and Co.;
And all must write on it that want to get

A medal !-- but this metre will not do
I'm much afraid, but I'm not certain yet

Whether to send my Poem in or no;
Though, to be sure, I have not found a precedent,+

But then I've certainly not long been resident.-- Author's note. + And to be sure you nade not say that now, for an't I coming up to Cambridge next year, and wont í give you a precedent, by writing in the same metre myself

P. O'Connor.

« The other was at Plymouth, as I said,

Or rather pear it, as shall soon be shown;
And that I shall remember till I'm dead,

For while I watch'd the Sun, I'll fairly own,
I rather trembled at the baste he made ;

And though he looked so charming going down,
I'd reasons then (no reasons could be stronger)

To wish he'd keep above a little longer.
“ For at the time that he was beaming reddest on

The distant confines of the western ocean,
I was half-way 'twixt Plymouth and the Eddystone-

How far that's out at sea I've no clear notion :
It is the most ingenious fabric made o' stone;

But I shall ne'er again be so Boeotian
As to go out to see it, solus ipse,

At least, with but two boatmen—and one tipsy.
And now I could describe, in colours glowing,

Our fears, our trouble, and our piteous plight;
And how the boatmen soon grew tir'd of rowing,

And how we'd an enormous appetite;
And how we wisely had neglected stowing

Provisions,—but these matters would invite
Me to a long digression from my subject,

Which to avoid has always been my object.
“And yet, considering our little crew,

The boat was managed wonderfully well ;
She was got safely in with much ado,

Although there chanc'd to be a heavy swell :
The many dangers we had then pass’d through,

Believe me, I am quite afraid to tell;
When I got home I wrote a pretty Sonnet,

Just now I havn't time to dwell upon it.” The Poet then eulogizes the Moon; makes mention of her appearance in the Covent-Garden Pantomime; sports the usual digressions on the Lover, the flute, the nightingale, the villagebell, and the old gray tower. He next, by way of a lick at the times, notices, with severe reprehension, the prevailing custom of dining late in the Evening; and threatens us with a serious Article upon the subject, (which I hope to see soon.) He draws a delightful contrast between the purity of ancient, and the depravity of modern times; averring that

“ Not thus in good old times it us’d to be,

When honest people were all drunk by Three!” He then reverts to the descriptive, and gives an inimitable enumeration of the heavenly bodies :

And now the stars shine brightly; the great Bear,

The little Do., not to say the Pleiades,
Andromeda, Cassiopeia's chair,

Orion, and Arcturus, and the Hyades;
The Pole-star too,” &c.

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