"No, sir, I—he is not at home, sir,-he is gone to Stow, sir,—and his spoons are locked up-and is purse is gone with him, sir,—and if you're come to dun him, you'd better go after him, sir,—or, if you object to the coach fare, I, as his particular friend, shall be happy to kick you there, sir."

"Sir," said the Freshman, for he it was, getting very red in the face; "I have brought this letter for Mr. Raffleton, and

"Anything to pay ?" interrupted Raffleton, coolly scrutinizing the letter, and beginning to think it might not be a bill after all. "Any. thing to pay, young man ?"

"No, sir, there is not anything to pay.-This is most extraordinary conduct, sir,—I have never been used to this sort of thing at home, and I shan't stand it here. Pray, sir, whom do you take me for ?" said the Freshman, fairly exasperated.

"You are sure of that, young man ?" said Raffleton, without manifesting the slightest attention to this last question; "you are quite sure there is nothing to pay ?"

"No, sir," said Eden; "I have told you once for all there is not, sir. It did not come by the post. I brought it."

"No bill, or any nasty thing of that sort ?" persisted Raffleton. "No, sir-it is a letter, sir-a private letter. Can you tell me where to find Mr. Raffleton, or not, sir?"

"Then, sir," rejoined his tormentor, in the most deliberate and impressive tone of voice; "then in that case, sir, I think I may venture to be Mr. Raffleton. I think, sir," continued he, taking the letter between his forefinger and thumb, and turning it over for more minute inspection," I think, sir, the appearance of this letter fully justifies me in being Mr. Raffleton. Sir," added he, having torn open the document in question, and glanced hastily at its contents, "I find I have been mistaken in your character; circumstances, sir-circumstances must excuse me. Sir, I am the victim of an unnatural persecution—the hand-handwriting, I should say, of every tradesman in Oxford is against me-they haunt my sleep-they wear the paint off my door with knocking-they disturb my reading-they ruin me in postage they upset my nervous system. Sir, I took you for one of them. Forgive me. Take some porter, sir."

Eden pleaded want of habit as an excuse for not drinking so early in the morning-an excuse, by the by, which would have been equally founded upon fact as applied to his drinking at any time of the day whatever; and Raffleton, having made up for his friend's defalcation by helping himself, resumed.

"I find, sir, by this letter, that you are an acquaintance of my friend, Mrs Myrtleby, and that you are to be an acquaintance of mine. Very good. Pleasant for both, that-as the boy said when he tied the owl on the duck's back. I enjoy the prospect amazingly.”

Had Eden been aware that the prospect which his new friend contemplated enjoying was nothing more or less than sending him home drunk in a wheelbarrow on as many evenings as he could spare out of the week, the problem which he was at present engaged in working, as to whether the pleasure of the proposed intimacy would be mutual, would have required no further solution.

"Nice woman, Mrs. Myrtleby," continued Raffleton,-" motherly, and all that-nursed me in my infancy-till I got too big." Here Raffleton tried to look pathetic, and thanks to a long practice, with a view to attract the commiseration of the examiners in the schools, succeeded. He then tossed the letter across the table for Eden's perusal, with a remark that his correspondent seemed to have some idea of taking the change out of him now, for her before-mentioned delicate little attentions vouchsafed in his infancy. The document ran as follows

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:

"Marine Parade, Dover, March, 183—. My dear Mr. Raffleton,-I write this to oblige an old friend and schoolfellow, Mrs. Eden, with whom I have resumed my intimacy, since my stay here for sea-bathing for the boys. Her son is going up to reside at Trinity College; any little attention to him, which will not interfere with your studies, will be a charity. By the by, you will be glad to hear that I have determined to send the two eldest boys, Henry Brougham and Arthur Wellington, (that was poor Mr. M.'s doing, to stand well with both parties,) to Oriel. Will you be kind enough to enter them on the College books? Also inquire if they could by any means be allowed to live in one room, (this on account of expense, entre nous; but before them I always talk of brotherly af fection;) they always slept double at school. And if you could send an old cap and gown as a pattern, I think they could be made cheaper

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at home. Believe me, my dear young friend, yours everlastingly, ELEONORA RUFFIN MYRTLEBY. "P.S. 1. If you stumble on a collar of Oxford brawn cheap, and can send it free of expense, Henry Brougham is very fond of it.

"P.S. 2. Henry Brougham, and Arthur Wellington, have both had the measles, you may tell the Provost."

Having duly perused this curious compound of friendly interest and maternal solicitude, Eden observed that he thought he must go and pay his respects to the College tutors, and rose for that purpose.

"Ah! very right," said Raffleton; "I remember I did all that sort of thing in my first term. And then, if you'll sup with me at nineI've a small party-I'll introduce you to a capital fellow of your own college, and he'll put you in the way of everything. And you'll ex

cuse what I am going to say-but what have you done with your cap and gown?"

Eden replied that he had not yet procured those articles, having been equipped for chapel that morning in an old cap and gown belonging to his little scout.

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"Well," said Raffleton, taking hold of his coat collar, and surveying his costume from head to foot; now let me give you a little piece of advice. Go and get a cap and gown instantly, and never stir out without them, till you've worn out that country-built coat and trousers; for, however convenient it may be to be taken by the Proctor for a townsman, yet it isn't so pleasant to be taken for a dun by an undergraduate, as I was very near showing you when you came in. Good bye-we shall meet again at supper-as Wombwell used to say to the wild beasts an hour before feeding time—and to-morrow I'll take you to Embling's, where you can order some real trousers.”

THOUGHTS ON PATRONS, PUFFS, AND
OTHER MATTERS.

IN AN EPISTLE FROM T. M. To S. R.

WHAT, thou, my friend! a man of rhymes,
And, better still, a man of guineas,

To talk of "patrons," in these times,

When authors thrive, like spinning-jenneys.
And Arkwright's twist and Bulwer's page
Alike may laugh at patronage!

No, no,-those times are past away,

When, doom'd in upper floors to star it,

The bard inscribed to lords his lay,-
Himself, the while, my Lord Mountgarret.

No more he begs, with air dependent,

His "little bark may sail attendant"

Under some lordly skipper's steerage;

But launched triumphant in the Row,

Or ta'en by Murray's self in tow,

Cuts both Star Chamber and the Peerage.

Patrons, indeed! when scarce a sail
Is whisked from England by the gale,
But bears on board some authors, shipp'd
For foreign shores, all well equipp❜d
With proper book-making machinery,
To sketch the morals, manners, scenery,

Of all such lands as they shall see,

Or not see, as the case may be :

It being enjoined on all who go
To study first Miss M********,
And learn from her the method true,
To do one's books, and readers, too.
For so this nymph of nous and nerve
Teaches mankind "How to Observe;"
And, lest mankind at all should swerve,
Teaches them also "What to Observe."

No, no, my friend,-it can't be blink'd,-
The Patron is a race extinct;

As dead as any Megatherion
That ever Buckland built a theory on.
Instead of bartering, in this age,
Our praise for pence and patronage,
We, authors, now, more prosperous elves,
Have learned to patronise ourselves;
And since all potent Puffing's made
The life of song, the soul of trade,
More frugal of our praises grown,
Puff no one's merits but our own.

Unlike those feeble gales of praise
Which critics blew in former days,
Our modern puffs are of a kind
That truly, really raise the wind;
And since they've fairly set in blowing,
We find them the best trade-winds going.
'Stead of frequenting paths so slippy
As her old haunts near Aganippe,
The Muse, now, taking to the till,
Has opened shop on Ludgate Hill,
(Far bandier than the Hill of Pindus,
As seen from bards' back attic windows ;)
And swallowing there without cessation
Large draughts (at sight) of inspiration,
Touches the notes for each new theme,

While still fresh "change comes o'er her dream."

What Steam is on the deep,-and more,—

Is the vast power of Puff on shore;
Which jumps to glory's future tenses
Before the present ev'n commences;

And makes "immortal" and "divine" of us
Before the world has read one line of us.

In old times, when the God of Song
Drove his own two-horse team along,

Carrying inside a bard or two,

Book'd for posterity "all through ;"
Their luggage, a few close-packed rhymes,
(Like yours, my friend,) for after-times,-
So slow the pull to Fame's abode,
That folks oft slept upon the road;—
And Homer's self, sometimes, they say,
Took to his night-cap on the way.*

Ye Gods! how different is the story
With our new galloping sons of glory,
Who, scorning all such slack and slow time,
Dash to posterity in no time!
Raise but one general blast of Puff
To start your author,-that's enough.
In vain the critics, set to watch him,
Try at the starting-post to catch him;
He's off-the puffers carry it hollow-
The critics, if they please, may follow.
Ere they 've laid down their first positions,
He's fairly blown through six editions!
In vain doth Edinburgh dispense
Her blue and yellow pestilence,-
(That plague so awful in my time
To young and touchy sons of rhyme,)
The Quarterly, at three months' date,
To catch th' Unread One, comes too late;
And nonsense, littered in a hurry,
Becomes "immortal," spite of Murray.

But, bless me! while I thus keep fooling,
I hear a voice cry, "Dinner's cooling."
That postman, too, (who, truth to tell,
'Mong men of letters bears the bell,)
Keeps ringing, ringing, so infernally,
That I must stop,-

Yours sempiternally,

T. M.

* Quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus.--HORAT.