Society which has struggled with, and overcome, ridicule, and contempt, and prejudice, in its birth and in its growth-that Society which has, within no very long time back, exhibited buds of very great promise within its walls-that Society, which deigns not to apologise for its merits to the multitude, and which may condemn by disapproval, or may honour by assent, this, the to them unknown attempt of their humble and unworthy vindiFrom that Society, three of the few young men now distinguished as speakers in parliament have proceeded.

cator.

To the good sense of Eton and Etonians I fearlessly commit its hopes and its prospects. Embracing subjects as various and as interesting as propriety will admit of, it bestows, I will venture to assert, an additional advantage on the store which Eton already possesses. It It may suffer through my feeble advocacy: I may lose the small estimation which it is my happiness to enjoy in its cause. That loss shall be cheerfully endured, if I have the honour of feeling that it has been caused by such an endeavour as this. I am well aware that I am going against the grain, as regards the inclinations of many of my readers. They may find here nothing witty or amusing: they may find something troublesome. But I feel and know that I am now doing a far greater, if not a more acceptable, service to my fellow-citizens, than if I yielded to their prejudices, or than when I have endeavoured to amuse their imaginations. If there is to a humble and unknown writer like myself any truly just and legitimate object of ambition, it is that of being known as one who feared not the tide of popular prejudice, or the gale of popular

displeasure; whose wish it was, to do service even to the unwilling, and to have his name connected with that of an Institution which will ever be applauded by Candour and Justice, as it has ever been calumniated by Folly and Misrepresentation.

THE SHIPWRECK.

Vainly, o'er the rippling sea,
Ye speed your course right merrily;
Vainly on th' horizon's verge,
O'er the line of dark'ning surge,
Blows the swift and stormy blast,
And howls in gloom around;
Clouds in its train their burthens cast,
And pealing thunders sound.

Behold the murky diadem !

Behold the Spirit's form!

In vain! In vain ! ye may not stem
The fury of the storm.

The thunder, pealing o'er ye then,
May never peal on you again.

Above the sea, and stormy gale,
There rose one loud and piercing wail ;
Above the howling of the blast-
Ah, me! that wailing was the last!
No pow'r of earth might hope to save
The sailor from his ocean grave!
None o'er thy cold and silent bier
Might pour the tribute of a tear.
None sooth'd thy dying agony,

'Mid the widely-swelling foam;
The tempest was a dirge for thee,
And the deep abyss a home;
And, mingled with its roaring, rise
Thy pray'rs for mercy to the skies.

Now all is hush'd and calm again,
O'er the wide earth and silent main ;
The breeze is soft, the sky is bright,
And glowing with ethereal light;
The zephyrs, o'er thy wat❜ry bed,
Hymn the soft requiem of the dead;
And many a wide and swelling sail
Spreads its broad bosom to the gale.
Yet there hath been, that sky beneath,
A scene of terror and of death;
Few fragments yet remain to tell
What hap the wretched band befel;
No sound of human voice is there,
No, not the death-shriek of despair;
No! all beneath the swelling foam,
Have found their sad, their common home.
Calm be their rest! may gentle peace
Embalm them in their dwelling place :
And, hov'ring round them, dewy sleep
Guard the cold chambers of the deep!

Yet there is one, whose tearful eye
And heaving bosom show
He was not, 'ere his flight on high,
Forgot by all below.

In him was center'd all her love,
In him her hope, her fear;

For him her plaintive accents move,

And flows her silent tear.

Full often, on the sea-beat shore

She watch'd the coming sail;
And, trembling, heard the tempest roar,
And the howling of the gale.
Around her heart froze terrors chill,

And the sickness of delay,

The rays of Hope, that cheer'd her still,

Fell silently away.

The clouds of terror and affright,

In thick'ning gloom and darkness roll;

And day on day, and night on night,
Fall sadly o'er the victim's soul.

Bloom from thy youthful cheek hath fled,
And left the paleness of the dead ; ·
And health, and grace, and beauty, fly,
And fades the lustre of thine eye :
Save that the heaving breast is there,
And lips that move in suppliant pray'r—
Else might the pitying gazer deem,

Thou hadst breath'd thy parting breath;
As, bound in wild and fleeting dream,
Thou tread'st the path of Death.
Poor child of Sorrow! Woe can fly
Swift as the breezes of the sky;
Those breezes, low and mournful, bear
The tale of anguish to thine ear.
Those clasped hands are loosen❜d then,
Those lips are mov'd no more;
That breast may never heave again,
For the strife of pain is o'er :
Yes; kindly Death hath brought relief,
And burst in twain the bonds of grief;
In his hath seal'd thy mournful doom,
And bound thee in the silent tomb.
And many a tear, of youth and maid,
Flows where thy drooping head was laid;
And bids the simple flow'ret wave

Its foliage o'er thy lowly grave.

LETTER FROM THE COUNTRY.

Barnton Park, Oct. 17, 1827.

My dear Bouverie;

I certainly do not think that

you

will much regret that

you could not accept Frederick Thornton's invitation to

accompany me hither, unless it be that you may miss the

opportunity of gaining a little information about dogs and horses. I arrived here yesterday afternoon; and, if I may judge from the commencement, I am immured in a place inhabited only by fox-hunters and barbarians. On my arrival, I found the family waiting dinner for me, which I had particularly begged them not to do; but it is one of their established maxims to think that they must know what a person likes better than he does himself. I begged them to go to dinner, but the 'squire said he was in no hurry, which was immediately re-echoed by his wife, and both agreed that it would be more comfortable for me to change every particle of my dress. They accordingly ordered dinner to be kept back; but, alas! their kind intentions were frustrated by the non-arrival of my trunks, and I was obliged to wait near an hour before I could get a mouthful of dinner, during which time I amused myself in examining the furniture of the best parlour, and in watching the motions of some silver pheasants, which were feeding on the lawn. In due time the hostess appeared, and made me many apologies for having left me so long to my own meditations. I could hardly keep my eyes open while I assured her I had been very well amused. She immediately proceeded to the weather, and observed, that the rain had been so hard, that the 'squire had been prevented from hunting. In a short time in came Frederick, and gave me a hearty welcome, and apologized for his brother's absence, who, he told me, was gone to a neighbouring estate of the 'squire's, to get a little pheasant-shooting. He desired to be remembered to you, and to all his old Eton friends; he is very much pleased with the commence