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more subdued spirit than those which were inserted in the Scrap-Book, No. I.

Feb. 27.-The King of Clubs has too much vanity to 'withhold from the world Miss Harrison's Valentine, although the habits of procrastination in which the fair Authoress indulges (habits by the way in which his Majesty occasionally participates) have caused it to reach him much after its day. The time I am sure is not far distant, when to the names of a Baillie, an Edgeworth, an Inchbald, and a Morgan, Criticism will add that of Fanny Harrison.

MISS HARRISON'S VALENTINE.

"Nec sum adeo informis."-Virg.

Hail to his Majesty of Clubs!-all hail
His manly figure, and his motley robe.
Hail to his face-although it's much too pale;
Hail to his faulchion, and his belted globe!
I love his look, where fascinations rove;

I love his crown, whatever ills betide it;
I love the club that Fate hath fix'd beside it,
Like Robur squatting by the side of Jove;

I love his thin straight wig, and much I prize

His great black eyebrows, and his small white nose,
His stunted beard, the buckles in his shoes,

His round mustachios, and his pointed eyes.

I love his tout ensemble-e'en his crimes,

His puns, his punch, his reasonings, and his rhymes!

Feb. 28.-Gerard gave us, from a Cambridge correspondent, the following whimsical imitation, or rather parody, of Horace :

"&c.-HOR.

"Integer vitæ scelerisque purus,"

The man, my GERARD, arm'd with native strength,

And of his own worth conscious,needs no aid

Of venal critic, or ephemeral puff

Prelusive, or satiric quiver stored

With poison'd shafts defensive: fearless he

Sends forth his work, essay, or ode, or note,
On crabb❜d Greek play, or squib political.

Him nor the fierce Eclectic's foaming page

Aught troubles, nor the uncourteous Times, nor yet
The Journal, which, misnamed of Classics, deals
Its three-months' errors out. For me of late

In Johnian walks sole wandering, while the thoughts
Of Emily beyond my wonted bounds

Drew me excursive, a reviewer stern

Encount'ring, with kind words of courtesy
Accosted bland, and me, though ill prepared
For critic fight, assail'd not; scribe, like whom
Oak-crown'd Germania from her warlike shore

Sent never, nor the realm of Wallace old,
Dry-nurse of critics. Place me on the earth's
Far limit, where, o'er sluggish Muscovy,

The winds blow frore, and mists of ignorance dark
O'erhang the north side of the world: beneath
Some Dey's stern nod, in torrid Barbary

Place me, where books are none: yet, fearless still,
I'll sing of Emily, and, in fit strain,

Record her tuneful voice and thrilling smiles.

W.

To-morrow our First Volume* is to be launched.-I remember, when I was last at Plymouth, I was present at the launch of a ship of war. It was a very fine sight but our "Etonian" will be much finer, rigged out in gaudy Morocco, or odorous Russia, or unassuming calf.

Success to our weak vessel! She has an easy voyage to run: the breeze of hope sends her briskly forward, and smiling faces shine upon her, as brightly as the sun on a July morning.

Off she goes!-Three cheers for "The Etonian !"

*In the present edition, a new arrangement of the Volumes has been adopted.

N° VI.

THE KING OF CLUBS.

SCENE-THE CLUB-ROOM.

(The President prologuizes from the Chair.)

I LOVE Variety; no book
From me obtains a second look,

In which I vainly seek to find
This salt, this pepper of the mind:
And aught that savours of precision,
Of sameness, or of repetition,
With more than Editorial hate
I scorn, detest, abominate.
Ergo, whereas the Reader knows
That Number I. began in prose;
I think I'll change my note this time—
And-Number VI. begins in rhyme.
My friends, I vote him prosy quite,
Who speaks one word of prose to-night.