them, which might, perhaps, have been useful to their surrounding companions, had not stern Fate irrevocably determined thus to check the overflow of genius, and drain off the deluge of literature.

Thus it is, Mr. Bouverie; metam properamus ad unam. With regard to my own case, I know not whether I am destined to find a Lethe for myself in one of the corners of your bureau, or whether it may be my lot to figure in the pages of your Miscellany: that, it would be treason to doubt, would be an effectual preservative, and would give me the right of making for myself a "Jamque opus exegi.". Really however, Sir, considering the nature of the air I inhaled in the lower regions, I think it is wonderful that I have contrived to enlighten you with so much of what I perceived there, and have escaped uninfected by the contagion of forgetfulness.

Not having been myself an author. till the present time, I looked on the scene before me with interest, yet without partiality; but now, Mr. Bouverie, I too having, like others, a reputation to guard, I shall watch most narrowly the perennial shower, lest I should allow a Number of the "Eton Miscellany," containing my production in it, to slip by unperceived.

Believe me, honoured Sir,

Your sincere, though oblivious, admirer,
MANDRAGORAS.

It is scarcely necessary to inform the Reader, that I received this composition by the same channel as those of

my former ones which contained Subterranean News. It was "Favoured by Mr. Mercury," who contrives to

all communications from that quarter clandestinely into Mr. Ingalton's pocket, as he, good man, silent and pensive, hurries along the street, buried in reflections concerning the probable loss of reputation which he will sustain by having become the publisher of "The Eton Miscellany.". B. B.

LINES,

To a Young Lady who acted Helen, in a Charade.

May Fancy's art for thee, my fair,

Her brightest wreaths entwine,
And may no lighter step be there,
No lighter heart than thine.

When yielding all around delight,
Amid the festive scene,

As Helen fair, as Helen bright,
You personate the queen.

Then let no gem or gaud, my fair,
Destroy the classic spell,

Wreathe myrtle in that dark-brown hair,
Which suits a Helen well.

This is, perhaps, the last subject of all others upon which I should have ventured to address you, had I not felt convinced, that there is not a subject more misunderstood, nor a maxim more perverted at our public schools and colleges, than the one to which I allude. I will, in the first place, endeavour to prove the truth of my assertion, and in the second, to show that this maxim is too often departed from, and that, were it held in greater repute, much inconvenience, much pain, much ill-feeling, which are inevitably produced by it, would subside. Those, for instance, who form the majority in our community look down with contempt upon the more retired avocations of those whom different habits of thinking and of acting have led to take up different pursuits, and to be as much interested in them as their companions are in theirs; they frequently bestow undeserved abuse and calumny upon that minority, forgetting that by far the better course to adopt would be, to allow these little animosities to subside, and to prevent any pursuit from interfering with another; for it is idle to suppose that there is any irreconcileable difference between them, and that they cannot easily chime in with each other. On the other hand, I confess, my dear Sir, that I by no means think the conduct of the minority to which I have adverted (those, I mean, whose retired habits may have kept, them aloof from

more popular avocations or enterprising pursuits) entirely unexceptionable in the line of conduct which they pursue. They also, in their turn, are too much in the habit of treating with a kind of reserved and implied contempt, those who are not of the same tastes and habits as themselves; and whilst they are too much in the habit of arrogating the infallibility of their own judgments, they call in question' the utility of those other pursuits, which they do not follow, and affect to ridicule those other occupations, simply either because they do not understand, or take no interest in them. There are, indeed, a few, but very few, who steer safely between the two extremes, and thereby conciliate the good will and favourable opinion of both, which is no easy task. I would, for all these reasons, recommend, as it were, a cessation of hostilities, and that an end should be put to those injurious and useless distinctions between the different classes of our fellow-citizens which tend only to exasperate one against the other, and discredit both. But there are those who, in their endeavours to ingratiate themselves with all parties, forfeit the esteem and good-will of both take, for instance, C. How unenviable is his lot, and how unpopular his character! he takes delight in prying into every one's affairs, in giving his advice, which, though at all times bad, is then, perhaps, particularly unseasonable; he obtrudes himself upon your time, when you are most deeply engaged, and is as loth to take his departure as he is happy to torment you (though he does it unconsciously) by his frequent visits; his conversation, though'

shallow and unsubstantial, has, at least, the merit, or rather demerit, of being incessant, and he leaves you apparently satisfied that he has produced a favourable. impression upon your mind; he knows enough of the different pursuits of his companions, to imagine that he is well qualified to become their most intimate and valued friend; and yet, in reality, he knows too little to be the intimate or valued friend of any this, perhaps, is the very worst of all characters. Let us turn for a moment to the character of Mr. Theophilus Headstrong, the leading features of whose character are, activity, obstinacy, and ignorance. His mind, being of the mostenlightened kind, naturally soars above all vulgar prejudices that books or book-learning are in any way desirable; it embraces nothing but field-sports, for the manliness of which, and for the folly, inexpediency, and slavishness, of following any other avocations, he is a most ignorant, obstinate, and furious, stickler.

My friend, Lorenzo Languish, falls into the opposite extreme he terms cricket nothing more than the knocking of balls about, and whilst he broods sulkily over what he daily sees passing before his eyes, for his part,: he cannot help expressing his unfeigned surprise, that any one should think it worth while to give himself so much unnecessary trouble in a rowing-match, or heat, himself so violently in any bodily exercises.

There is also another class, who look down upon all; who are of opinion, that games, reading, and every other avocation, are entirely beneath them; whose powers of conversation are extremely small; who can converse