me to determine what nobody else seems to know; I have been told of several boys very high in the school being concerned in it, but when I have ventured to say any thing of the kind, I have always been contradicted by those who are much more likely to know than myself, so I have given up troubling myself about him I have ordered it to be sent down according to your desires, and I thought Ingalton, the publisher, might know who he was, so I ventured to ask; and the answer I received was, that it was Mr. Bouverie, of Eton College, who wrote the Miscellany;' but I am quite certain there is no one of that name now here. You may tell Papa that he must rub up his old Greek and Latin if he wishes to understand it; and, as for you and my sisters, I will answer for it, you will not be able to understand one half of it. I am afraid it will be a very long time before I shall be able to write any thing half so clever; but I am determined to try my best, if it is continued till I am high enough in the school. Give my love to all at home. "I remain, dear Mamma, "Your dutiful Son,

"B. D."

"WILLIAM MORLEY."

Mr. Bouverie ;

;

I am a very respectable bachelor, studying in the Temple, and should, I believe, be very happy, were it not for the constant intrusions of an importunate young fellow, who, having the misfortune to have nothing to do, and liking my company (which is rather more than I do

his), is always interrupting my studies. If I am aloné, he considers himself fortunate; if I am engaged, he presumes that it is nothing private, and that, consequently, his company is not unacceptable. I think, Mr. Bouverie, you adverted in a former paper to a “cacoethes scribendi.” Now, Sir, this fellow is not exactly possessed with that mania. By-the-bye he once sent me a composition of his own for my correction, before it went to the press; but it was so full of bad spelling, that I had some difficulty in understanding it, and upon my hinting that fault to him, he told me that (like the man in the Spectator), he spelt like a gentleman, and not like a scholar. I have not, however, been often troubled with these compositions; it is a kind of a "cacoethes loquendi" that I have particularly to find fault with. Having a good fortune, he considers himself qualified to talk on every subject, and that his money must give weight to his opinion. But here I would wish to observe on a peculiarly ingenious method he has of getting out of any difficulty into which a wrong calculation or unfortunate ignorance might lead him; should he happen to be in such a dilemma (which is frequently the case), he can confidently assert that he had it from the best authority, and can establish his assertions by such apparently wellauthenticated evidence, as to remove from the mind of any impartial hearer every doubt. I have often been, owing to this, in very uncomfortable situations: indeed the other day, when I happened to make some remark on Dr. Johnson's Rambler, I was assailed by the most unqualified sarcasms, and received the most unaccountable pity for my ignorance in not knowing that Addison wrote

the Rambler; and upon my still venturing to doubt, he told me that Dr. Johnson was a most intimate friend of his grandfather's, who had expressly told him upon Dr. Johnson's authority that Addison was the author.-Indeed so greatly was I confounded by this overpowering evidence, and so satisfactory did it appear to the company, that they looked upon me with astonishment, and I myself began to entertain some doubts as to the author. Now, Mr. Bouverie, if you will only have the kindness. to hint that unsubstantiated authorities are no proof, and falsehood no argument, you will greatly oblige

Your humble Servant,

J. PLEADWELL.

An Epilogue,

IN QUINDECASYLLABICS,*

SPOKEN BY

DAVID AP RICE, ESQUIRE,

In appropriate costume: a large leek in his hat; a lump on his head, unhappily occasioned by a tumble from the top of Plinlimmon; the arms of the Principality engraved on one huge seal, and those of the Rices on another, appended to his watch-chain' by a ring made in the year of the World III.

A descendant of Cadwallader, and skill'd in Modred's lore,
I come upon the stage, my friends, to publish Number Four;
Mr. Bouverie is tired, and Mr. Heaviside is dumb,

Mr. Jermyn's gone to Tattersall's-so here I come!

"A very pretty substitute," some roguish wag may cry,
"With the leek that's in his hat, and the leer that's in his eye:"

I throw my martial gauntlet down, and dare the grinning band,
To show an older family in all this merry land :

Mr. Rice is notoriously irregular in his metres, therefore the reader must not be alarmed at the occasional deficiency of a syllable or two.

Ten hundred hundred years before your father Adam came,
The Rice's stock was flourishing, it flourish'd on the same.
This coat was once a jerkin, and was worn by bold Glendower,
When with many a drop of English blood he ting'd his native shore;
This hat belong'd to Mrs. G., his spouse; for hats were then
Made use of as they ought to be, by women, not by men ;
The shoes my uncle Merlin bought, he bought this very pair,
And left them in his family to hand from heir to heir.
Perhaps you may expect that I should make a humble bow,
But 'tis forbidden to my family to bend their heads so low:
This neck was never flexible! 'tis firm as any bull's,
When fastened to the stake he roars, and shakes himself and pulls;
And till Plinlimmon hearkens to another Modred's song,
No Rice may bend his haughty head before yon motley throng.
I lay upon a mountain once, I dream'd a golden dream;
I dipt my feet in Helicon, and drank the sacred stream;
And the sighing maid, Melpomene, had grasp'd me by the hand,
And straight was I encircled by the fair Pierian band;
Thalia brought a leek, and Polyhymnia some cheese-
"I'd rather have it toasted, madam-toasted, if you please."
Thalia brought the laurel, and Melpomene the bays,

And "Sacred be to us," they cried, "O David Rice, your lays :
"For we are Welch; in Wales, too, our Pegasus was bred;
"And Jove is Welch, and Neptune Welch ; and he that rules the dead;
"And when old Chaos was, where now are fields and hills and dales,
"They'd sun, and moon, and pedigrees, and toasted cheese in Wales!"
Yes, and I found my limbs were drench'd, in waking from my
dream;

But ah! 'twas not in Helicon, but in a mountain stream;

For cruel Fate had roll'd me to the roaring torrent's bed,

And the weeds that grew around it were the wreaths that crown'd my

head;

The Muses were some mountain maids, that long had tried in vain, To rouse me from my lethargy, and make me wake again.

"Twas thus I slept-and fellow-feeling seems to make you sleep, For many an eye begins to wink, but none, ah! none to weep; None mov'd with pity hear the sad recital of my woes;

But a fortnight more will give my limbs some quiet and repose: Then hail! all hail! my friends around, may all in gladness thrive, Till Bouverie appears again-to publish Number Five.

[Curtain falls.

THE

ETON MISCELLANY,

No. V.

INTRODUCTION.

HAVING already, in my former Numbers, presented to the public a sketch of the characters of three of my coadjutors, I shall proceed to delineate a fourth; who, though he has taken no very active part in the furtherance of my work, is held in considerable estimation amongst us. There are few who possess the singular propensities and inclinations of Mr. Frederick Willoughby. He is one of those peculiar persons who, having a good understanding, can prefer the society and approbation of a few to the most enticing popularity. From this singularity of habit and inclination, he has never been induced to mingle in the popular pursuits at Eton, and takes more interest in the leading article of a newspaper than in feathering an oar, or handling a bat. The principal thing which occupies his attention, and affords him amusement, is politics: the speeches of Pitt and Fox are much better understood by him than Homer or Virgil. He knows the arguments pro and con upon most bills that have been passed from the time of Sir Robert Walpole to the present day. His memory is the most

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