like Petrarch in the good old days of the revival of literature, when he received, in the same day, a letter from the king of France and another from the king of Naples, both requesting him to confer on them the inexpressible honour of receiving a laurel crown from their hands in their dominions, so my unworthy self has this morning received a letter from the Labrador Association, for the purpose of republicanizing the Esquimaux; and another from the Burrampooter Imperialists, who have already brought to maturity (of course this is entre nous) a plan for restoring the Great Mogul to his hereditary throne ! I do not mention this out of vanity, but merely to shew you it is from no deficiency of friends, but from a sincere affection for Eton, that I address myself to you on this delicate subject. Believe me,

Your's, very truly,

CHRISTOPHER CHRONICLE.

My dear Public, what can I do with Christopher Chronicle, how can I tell him civilly that I sadly suspect him of being a hoaxer? (there is a more melodious. dissyllable in the language, but 'tis not one half so civil!) How can I tell him, should he abjure the Munchausen school, that no "one but an Etonian" can be admitted: as an honorary member of a Society, which we feel happy in being able to acquaint Mr. Quidnunc, has existed here for sixteen years?

.

THE

ETON MISCELLANY,

No. IV.

INTRODUCTION.

HAVING, after the fashion of the most approved stage-players, made a low bow to the public, in an engaging attitude, and with a graceful demeanor, in return for the plaudits which we will suppose to have greeted, and at this present moment to be greeting, my fourth appearance on the Eton boards, I must confess, though the Galleries hoot, and the Pit frown, and the Boxes alone hold out an encouraging aspect, that I am grievously deficient in my part, and stand in great need of a prompter. A prompter! the Gods have heard my ejaculation, and have immediately furnished me with one, yclept GRATitude. Gratitude shall supply me with abundant matter wherewith to meet the public expectation and satiate the greediness with which, I doubt not, they open this Number. "Thanks for past favours"... "undeserved patronage" hope to merit continuance"... "unremitting assiduity" "grateful acknowledgments"-all, and more than these phrases tumultuously rush upward to get possession of my tongue, and to find utterance by my mouth. No wonder, then, if my enunciatory organ be overwhelmed by such a weight and such a multitude of expressions, as to leave me absolutely speechless in the very face of my friends. Wherefore, since all imaginable modes of

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acknowledging obligation have already been pre-occupied -since they are as old as hackney coaches, and have been used as vehicles by as many and as various descriptions of people—and since I wish to find for myself paths to public estimation which are

I will content myself with showing my afore-mentioned prompter, or promptress, to the public; and, having so done, despatch her behind the scenes, till another occasion (which I hope may soon arrive) shall make me require her assistance again: in the mean time, she may remain ready with a few phrases culled from the huge mass which she carries about with her for sale, in order to help me on in case my "torrens dicendi copia" should desert me.

I think myself bound, as in my Second Number I informed the public, that I had been, and should continue till further notice, entirely ETONIAN, to let them know that now, for the first time, I have admitted two compositions, selected from a great number with which I have been favoured, which are the work of those who, although my contemporaries, are not at present to be designated as "Eton boys." I mean those headed "Discovery of Madeira," and "Stanzas."

But, as I believe my character for veracity has never been impeached, and I can make an asseveration, with some chance of being believed-I take this opportunity of declaring, that it is not weakness or deficiency here, that has occasioned my taking this step. The fact is, that I, a most extraordinary being, am composed of as many and

of as refractory limbs as the body in the fable, of which my old friend Menenius Agrippa made so exemplary an use. The case is exactly parallel, and I only hope the application may have as good an effect as it is said (credat Judæus Apella) to have had then. In short, my legs, occasionally, will not walk; my hand throws down the pen in disgust; and even my head, though I hope it never deserts me, frequently complains of being muddled, or addled, or something to that effect. My eyes cannot endure the sight of a proof-sheet; and my ears are grievously startled when the footstep of my right trusty and well-beloved publisher is heard approaching my room-door. Now, all will be aware that besides the general utility of having more than one string to one's bow, it will, in my circumstances, be peculiarly convenient to have a corps de reserve of contributors; as, by following the maxim

"Divide et impera"

I shall probably be able to play one set of them against another, and thus keep all in good condition and due subordination.

Inability! Bartholomew rejects the idea with scorn: he will remain game: he will fight till his last drop of blood, and write till his last bottle of ink, be expended. Though Mr. Rice should abscond, thereby removing from me no inconsiderable portion of my physical powers, and should wrap his head in impenetrable clouds→→→ though Mr. Heaviside should march off with one of my legs-though Mr. Jermyn, partaking abundantly of the irritability of his species, should claim to himself the other still, though cruelly mutilated and miserably

mangled, I will follow the glorious example of the hero of Chevy Chase

"For when his legs were smitten off

He fought upon his stumps."

When, indeed, my pen (made of the best patent metal, warranted to last for six months) is worn down to the stump, and my sword survives only in its handle; when I, being now stout, portly, and healthful, am worn to a skeleton, or battered into a mummy, then, indeed, I will quit the scene of contest.

But this is a state to which I hope I shall never be reduced: when the general voice cries, "Mr. Bartholomew, we have had enough of you," I shall, as in duty bound, put an end to my existence, even though thereby I may run some risk of a verdict of felo de se, with some such epitaph as this over me

Here lieth Bartle Bouverie :

A merry soul and a quaint was he ;
He lived for gain, he wrote for pelf,
Then took his pen, and stabb'd himself.

My readers will perhaps say, that the fate of any one will be miserable indeed who is doomed to have such an execrable inscription graven on his tomb-stone-nor can I deny it—but, as it is to the public that I owe my existence, it would be by no means fair in me to endeavour to protract it, when they had shown a wish for my dissolution. Till then, I shall strain every nerve to afford satisfaction to my readers and as long as my aforesaid worthy publisher's shop is crowded with customers on my mornings of publication, so long shall I endeavour to work all my limbs in unison for the production of some