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reception from the public, never again to intrude myself on their attention. I will retire to my humble cell-I will indulge my visionary fancies in privacy alone--and show at least that I respect the rod which inflicts so severe, though, it may be, so deserved, a punishment.
I have here put the question, "Why should I not write?” Should some wag reply, “Why should you?” I can only repeat what a much wiser man has said before me, “ Semper. ego auditor tantùm ?” or, if that be deemed an unsatisfactory answer, acknowledge that I, among others, have been infected with the “cacoethes scribendi,” and content myself with expressing a humble hope that my mania, however much it may injure me, may be productive of some benefit, or of some amusement, to my
For the better furthering and advancing the purpose which I have set forth, I have taken to myself certain coadjutors from among
from among those around me; in selecting whom, it has been my sincere wish, and my earnest endeavour, to make application to all those who might, from their talents or acquirements, from good-will or from connexion, prove best adapted for assisting my undertaking. These I may, or may not, at some future period, as it may, or may not, appear proper, or expedient, or necessary,
have the pleasure of introducing by name to the public. In the mean time, as they will have a little of their own way, they sometimes usurp my appellation, and sometimes my power; sometimes address me as humble correspondents, sometimes personate me as real bona fide Bartholomew Bouveries.
Having now, perhaps somewhat clumsily, performed a task, '
necessary indeed, but extremely irksome to my natural modesty--that of introducing myself to the public-having likewise informed them that they may, in time, if they order me plentifully, and pay for me liberally, become acquainted with more I can only proceed to assure them, that we shall always remain their most faithful and obedient servants, from this, the period of our literary birth, to the time when the Fates shall put a close to our existence. May they avert the day! or at least grant that our life may be happy in its nature, though brief in its duration. But now
Vela traham, et terris festinem advertere proramIf
any humble efforts of ours can contribute, in the slightest degree, to add credit to the name of that foster-mother, whom we regard with affection and with reverence, let her enjoy the honour-let her receive the reward. But if our impotent attempt should recoil on ourselves, and bring disgrace on those with whom it may be supposed to have originated, then indeed on us alone rest the blame and the responsibility. If we have, like Icarus, ventured into regions in which we can neither sustain our burden, nor direct our course, let: us perish in the oblivion which we have deserved ; and let the boyish levity which was the cause, be also the excuse, of our failure. “. For those, under whose tuition and care we have passed so many happy years-years which are now fast drawing to close, and which we begin to appreciate, as we begin to lose; with regard to them, let not their care of, and solicitude for, our welfare, make them answerable for whatever childish presumption, or sudden caprice, may incite us to attempt; or bring discredit on them, if we be found unequal to the task which we have gratuitously, and perhaps foolishly, undertaken.
abilities which may hereafter shine in a far wider sphere, and to increase the innocent relaxation and enjoyment to which it should be our wish, as it is our duty, to contribute ; if these be objects of legitimate ambition-it is at these alone we aim. Fame we cannot, we dare not aspire to ; indulgence we may presume upon; and we commit our humble offering to the world, with the hope and the confidence, that those will be found both among our fellows and among the public at large, who will be so just as to praise the merits which may, and so lenient as to pardon the faults which must, be found in THE ETON MISCELLANY.
THE PARGUINOTES FAREWELL.
AND must we leave our native sands,
Our native rocks, to despot sway,
Yes ! we depart in stern disdain
The sun-set gilds our Ocean's breast
As softly as in days of yore;
Where is that soul, by which alone
We hail this calm and holy hour
Responsive to our last farewell;
When the red flow of Sunium's wave
Oh, for that spark of living fire,
Whose stirring impulse rais'd the cry, When Greece, resistless in her ire, Rush'd on to
er or to die;