grammarian with some half-dozen plagues, by courtesy styled pupils.

To give you an idea of our life, we rise at six, and having duly yoked ourselves to the mill-wheel of yesterday, round we go till my head is relieved from the concord of sweet sounds in my " pupil room," (I have thus named it by the bye, for the sake of "auld lang syne,”) and the anything but sweet invasion of concords, by an auburn (?) headed damsel's shrill note of intimation, that "breakfast is ready, Sir." Then, after I have satisfied the cormorant appetites for food, which reject my food for the mind as though ipecacuanha lurked in it, or as though they were being crammed with it on shipboard, back goes your wretched friend to the miseries of misrepresentation, muddling, and misconstruction, and the only relief he enjoys from the oppressive warfare carried on against common sense, is when a brief truce is proclaimed over his bread and salt.

Imagine, my dear fellow, if you can, a boy coming to me with a letter from his governor to inform me that his son was a genius! Take my word for it that governors generally tell horrid lies about their "hopefuls," and the worst of it is that the poor men lie to themselves also.

Now the genius, who, if he had been the son of Mr. Crummles would have become a "phenomenon," I must designate by the name of Tunney. It was stipulated that he was to be instructed in Virgil, and to my delight, he indulged me with some most original ideas of that mighty poet, of whom you have lately discoursed so learnedly in the pages of the Bureau.

"such

"Talia fatur" came out in the vernacular as fates"-but as the boy rejoices in a fine Northumbrian burrrr, no doubt the turmination of the second wurd caused the mistake.

"Stans celsâ in puppi," was converted into “sitting on his lofty stern," a piece of originality which I requited on the same part of the human vessel. "Auribus aëra captat,"-" He seizes the wind by the ears,"-caused me to blush for a poetic fiction on the part of Virgil, which no one but a thorough Munchausen could tolerate, so by his own elongated auriculars did I seize the offender, thus self condemned to a most appropriate punishment.

But, Momus, god of merriment, how I did laugh! How did my sides ache at his general examination! I asked if he would inform me of the names of certain sects of philosophers-and I received as an answer that that the sexes of philosophers embraced Epicurearns and Epidemics!!! "Most men are not wise," went as far as "Hominissimi," when I cut short the exercise of Arnold, and placed a delectus in his hand. In Greek his constructions did honour to his imagination no less than his research-dikatos was construed-how? think you—Why, "A white horse!!!!! and justified too, on the ground of bis having found "æquus candidus" as its equivalent in the lexicon.

Now this is one specimen out of six, and the boy who knows most was introduced to me as a backward boy by a very modest Mr. Tims.

Confusion worse confounded now strikes my ears, but thank heaven! it only wants a quarter of an hour to our early dinner, and I escape from my toil for half-an-hour to witness the demolition of a Saturday's pie of resuscicated scraps, and a lumpy pudding, which will secure Tunney a box on the ears, if, as on last Saturday, he whispers the name of stickjaw to his next neighbour.

I have given you a specimen of one day's work, do you

wonder that in a week of six such days I find little time to write? By the way, Octavius Smith, a very jolly fellow, who was at Eton a long time since, is settled here, and desires to be remembered; he says something about an "article" for you, but I do not profess to understand his intentions. Is he writing for the Bureau?

Yours, very sincerely,

Puddletown,
June 24th.

John Grimley.

SONGS OF ETON.-No. I.

1.

As we roam through this world, there are thoughts that come

o'er us,

Of the home of our youth, and the days that are past;

And the cup that now sparkles so brightly before us

Shall be hallowed the more that this bumper 's our last.

The ivy, that round yonder elm is entwining,

Will be green when decay strikes the heart of the tree,

So in life will we circle each anxious repining

With tendrils that spring, dearest Eton, from thee.

2.

Then join ev'ry hand, and each heart be united
By bonds which to us are more powerful far
Than the vows of the saint, or the oaths that are plighted
When love binds young hearts 'neath his tutelar star.

For vows may grow irksome, and love once declining,
The bird that's imprison'd will pant to be free;
But firmer the faith whose bright emblems are shining
In the cup we now quaff, dearest Eton, to thee.

3.

Ev'ry scene will crowd back on our fond recollection,
Like music that leaves but a faltering tone,

But our hearts shall re-echo each boyish affection,

And repeat their full chorus to souls like our own.
To" Montem" we'll march, though we're aged and crippled!
Again at the" old 4th of June" will we be,

And the toast we once cheered, and the wine that we tippled
Shall wake a fresh chorus, dear Eton, to thee.

THE GHOST OF HERBERT STOCKHORE.

SONG.

Place not that wreath upon thy brow,
Whose beauty dulls the flowers,
Since every grace thy features show,
Why need'st thou strip the bowers?

Thy lovely cheeks surpass the rose,
More beauteous are thine eyes
Than all which vernal hours disclose,
Or summer's hand supplies.

Then let the useless bauble rest,
For those who need its light;

Go thou, in native beauty drest,

To join the dance to-night!

NISOR.

LOVE AND SORROW.

Mourn not, sweet maid, nor fondly try
To rob me of my sorrow;

It is the only friend that I
Have left in my captivity

To bid my heart good morrow.

I would not chase him from my heart,
For he is love's own brother,

And each has learned his brother's part
So aptly, that 'tis no mean art

To know one from the other.

Thus love will fold his arms and moan,
And sigh and weep, like sorrow;
And sorrow has caught love's soft tone
And mixed his arrows with his own,
And learnt his smile to borrow.

Only one mark of difference they
Preserve, which leaves them never;
Young love has wings and flies away,
But sorrow, once received, will stay
The soul's sad guest for ever.

HENRY NEELE.

AMOR ET MOEROR.

Tu ne flere velis, quicquid agam, neu muliebriter
Coneris, Glycine, surripere hanc tristitiam mihi,
Nam captivus ego, et nil habeo, quod sit amicius.
Et quamvis comitum cetera me deseruit cohors,
Moror fidus adest, atque animo dicit Ave! meo.
Illum haud excutiam-frater enim est ille Cupidinis,
Et frater didicit fratrem agere, et fraudis eo malæ
Ventum est, ut bene sit, si varias perspiciam vices,
Nempe hic, implicitis ritè super pectore brachiis,
In suspiria, quot moror, abit flebiliter gemens;
Ille autem vafer est, quotquot Amor, blanditias loqui,
Nec ridet sua, nec per pharetram jam sat agit suam.
Sed differt aliquid-pennigero namque Cupidini
Contingit fuga, sed tu semel admissus ad intima
Eheu

mæror inops! cordibus ut lentior assides.