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PROEM.

Said Truth to the Muse, as they wander'd along,

"Prithee, Muse, spur your Pegasus into a song;

Let the subject be lively—how like you the Belles?"

Said the Muse, "he's no sportsman that kisses and tells.

But in females delighting, suppose we stop here,

And do you bid the Dames of old Eton appear;

In your mirror their merits, with candour, survey,

And I'll sing their worth in my very best Lay."

No sooner 'twas said, than agreed:—it was done,

Wing'd Mercury summon'd them every one.

MISS A***LO.

First, deck'd in the height of the fashion, a belle,

An angel, ere Chronos had tipt her with snow,

Advanced to the goddess, and said, "you may tell,

That in Eton, there's no better table, you know;"

And by Truth 'twas admitted, "her generous board

Is rich, in whatever the seasons afford."

Of ancients, a pair next presented themselves,

When in popp'd some waggish Oxonian elves,

Who spoke of times past, of short commons, and cheese,

And told tales, which did much the old ladies displease.

"Good morning," said Truth, as the dames pass'd him by:

Young stomachs, if stinted, are sure to outcry.

MRS. R******U.

On her Domine leaning came dame B******u, The oldest in college, deck'd in rich furbelow.

She curtsied around to the Oppidan band, But not one said a word, and but few gave a hand. Truth whisper'd the Muse,, who, as sly, shook her head, Saying, "where little's told, 'tis soon mended, it's said." MRS. G******E. When S******e appear'd, what a shout rent the air! The spruce widow affords the most excellent cheer; For comfort in quarters there's nothing can beat her, So up rose the lads with a welcome to greet her: The muse with true gallantry led her to place, And Truth said good humour was writ in her face. MRS. D****N. With a face (once divine), and a figure still smart, And a grace that defies even Time's fatal dart, Dame D****n advanced, made her curtsy, and smiled: Truth welcomed the fair, the grave, witty, and wild; All, all gave their votes, and some said they knew That her numbers by no measure equall'd her due. MISS S******S. "By my hopes," said the Muse, "here's a rare jolly pair, A right merry frontispiece, comely and fair, To good living and quarters." "You're right," nodded Truth. A welcome approval was mark'd in each youth. And 'twas no little praise among numbers like theirs, To meet a unanimous welcome up stairs. Miss L******d. Lavater, though sometimes in error, you'll find May be here quoted safely; the face tells the mind. Good humour and happiness live in her eye. Her motto's contentment you'll easily spy. five principal orders of eton

A chair for Miss L******d Truth placed near the Muse;

For beauty to rhyme can fresh spirit infuse.

MRS. V******Y.

V******y, in weeds led and angel along,

Accomplish'd and pretty, who blush'd at the throng.

The old dame seem'd to say, and i'faith she might well,

"Sons of Eton, when saw you a handsomer belle?"

If any intended the widow to sneer,

Miss A———won their favor, and banish'd the jeer.

Three sisters, famed for various parts,

One clerks, and one makes savoury tarts;

While t'other, bless her dinner face,

Cuts up the viands with a grace,

Advanced, and met a cheerful greeting

From all who glorify good eating.

MRS. W. H****R.

With a smile, à la confident, came Mrs. H, Whose Domine writing to Eton's sons teach: In college, the handiest man you can find For improvements of all sorts, both building and mind: He seem'd on good terms with himself, but the Muse Said, "the Dame claim'd a welcome which none could refuse." DAME A****S. Dame A****s, respected by all, made her way Through the throng that assembled at Eton that day. Old Chronos had wrinkled her forehead, 'tis true; Yet her countenance beam'd in a rich, mellow hue Of good humour and worth; 'twas a pleasure to mark How the dame was applauded by each Eton spark.

MISS b*******K.

Long and loud were the plaudits the lady to cheer,

Whom the doctor had treated somewhat cavalier:

"Too young," said the ancient, "the proverb is trite;

Age and wisdom, good doctor, not always unite."

"For prudence and worth," said Truth, "I'll be bound

She may challenge the Dames of old Eton around."

A crowd pressing forward, the day growing late,

Truth whisper'd the Muse, "we had better retreat;

For though 'mong the dames we are free from disasters,

I know not how well we may fare with the masters.

There's Carter, and Yonge, Knapp, Green, and Dupuis,*

All coming this way with their ladies, I see.

Our visit, you know, was alone to the belles;

The masters may sing, if they please, of themselves.

Truth mounted a cloud, and the Poet his nag,

And these whims sent next day by the post-office bag.

* Lower, and assistant masters, who keep boarding-houses.

Until lately this practice was not permitted; but it must be

confessed that it is a salutary arrangement, as it not only

tends to keep the youth in a better state of subjection, but

in many instances is calculated to increase their progress

in study, by enabling them to receive private instruction.

ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE

ELECTION SATURDAY.

A Peep at the Long Chambers—The Banquet—Reflections on

parting—Arrival of the Provost of King's College,

Cambridge, and the Pozers—The Captain's Oration—Busy

Monday—The Oppidan's Farewell—Examination and Election of

the Collegers who stand for King's—The aquatic Gala and

Fireworks—Oxonian Visitors—Night—Rambles in Eton—

Transformations of Signs and Names—The Feast at the

Christopher, with a View of THE OPPIDAN'S MUSEUM, AND ETON

COURT OF CLAIMS.

Now from the schools pour forth a num'rous train,

Light-hearted, buoyant as the summer breeze,

To deck thy bosom, Eton: now each face

Anticipation brightens with delight,

While many a fancied bliss floats gaily

O'er the ardent mind, chaste as the Nautilus,

Spreading her pearly spangles to the sun:

The joyous welcome of parental love,

The heart-inspiring kiss a sister yields,

A brother's greeting, and the cheering smiles

Of relatives and friends, and aged domestics,

Time-honor'd for their probity and zeal,

Whose silvery locks recall to mem'ry's view

Some playful scene of earliest childhood,

When frolic, mirth, and gambol led the way,

Ere reason gave sobriety of thought.-

Now bear the busy Cads the new-lopt bough Of beech-tree to the dormitories, While active Collegers the foliage raise Against the chamber walls. A classic grove Springs as by magic art, cool and refreshing, A luxury by nature's self supply'd, Delicious shelter from the dog-star's ray. In thought profound the studious Sextile mark In learned converse with some ancient sage, Whose aid he seeks to meet the dread Provost. The captain fearless seeks the ancient stand, Where old Etona's sons, beneath time's altar-piece,* Have immemorial welcomed Granta's chief. In College-hall the merry cook prepares The choicest viands for the master's banquet: A graceful, healthy throng surround the board, And temp'rance, love, and harmony, prevail. Now busy dames are in high bustle caught, Preparing for each oppidan's departure; And servants, like wing'd Mercury, must fly O'er Windsor bridge to hail the London coach. Adieus on ev'ry side, farewell, farewell, Rings in each passing ear; yet, nor regret Nor sorrow marks the face, but all elate With cheerful tongue and brighten'd eye, unite To hail with joy Etona's holiday. Now comes the trial of who stands for King's, Examinations difficult and deep The Provost and his pozers to o'ercome. To this succeeds the grand aquatic gala, A spectacle of most imposing import, Where, robed in every costume of the world, The gay youth direct the glittering prow; A fleet of well-trimm'd barks upon the bosom Of old father Thames, glide on to pleasure's note:

The expert victors are received with cheers,

And the dark canopy of night's illumin'd

With a grand display of brilliant fires.

* Shortly after the arrival of the Provost, he proceeds

through the cloisters, where he is met by the captain, or

head boy of the school, who speaks a long Latin oration

before him, standing under the clock.

To an old Etonian the last week in July brings with it recollections of delight that time and circumstances can never wholly efface. If, beneath the broad umbrage of the refreshing grove, he seeks relief from care and sultry heat, memory recalls to his imagination the scenes of his boyhood, the ever pleasing recollections of infancy, when he reclined upon the flowery bosom of old father Thames, or sought amusement in the healthful exercise of bathing, or calmly listened to the murmuring ripple of the waters, or joined the merry group in gently plying of the splashing oar. With what eager delight are these reminiscences of youth dwelt on! With what mingled sensations of hope, fear, and regret, do we revert to the happy period of life when, like the favorite flower of the month, our minds and actions rivalled the lily in her purity! Who, that has ever tasted of the inspiring delight which springs from associations of scholastic friendships and amusements, but would eagerly quit the bustle of the great world to indulge in the enjoyment of the pure and unalloyed felicity which is yet to be found among the alumni of Eton?—Election Saturday—the very sound reverberates the echo of pleasure, and in a moment places me (in imagination) in the centre of the long chambers of Eton, walking beneath the grateful foliage of the beech-tree, with which those dormitories are always decorated previous to election Saturday. I can almost fancy that I hear the rattle of the carriage wheels, and see the four horses smoking beneath the lodge-window of Eton college, that conveys the provost of King's to attend examination and election. Then too I can figure the classic band who wait to receive him; the dignified little doctor leading the way, followed by the steady, calm-visaged lower master, Carter; then comes benedict Yonge, and after him a space intervenes, where one should have been of rare qualities, but he is absent; then follows good-humoured Heath, and Knapp, who loves the rattle of a coach, and pleasant, clever Hawtry, and careful Okes, and that shrewd sapper, Green, followed by medium Dupuis, and the intelligent Chapman: these form his classic escort to the cloisters. But who shall paint the captain's envied feelings, the proud triumph of his assiduity and skill? To him the honourable office of public orator is assigned; with modest reverence he speaks the Latin oration, standing, as is the custom from time immemorial, under the clock. There too he receives the bright reward, the approbation of the Provost of King's college, and the procession moves forward to the College-hall to partake of the generous banquet. On Sunday the Provost of King's remains a guest with his compeer of Eton. But busy Monday arrives, and hundreds of Oxonians and Cantabs pour in to witness the speeches of the boys, and pay a tribute of respect to their former masters. The exhibition this day takes place in the upper school, and consists of sixth form oppidans and collegers. How well can I remember the animated picture Eton presents on such occasions: shoals of juvenile oppidans, who are not yet of an age to have been elected of any particular school-party, marching forth from their dames' houses, linked arm in arm, parading down the street with an air and gaiety that implies some newly acquired consequence, or liberty of conduct. Every where a holiday face presents itself, and good humour lisps upon every tongue. Here may be seen a youthful group, all anxiety and bustle, trudging after some well-known Cad, who creeps along towards the Windsor coach-office, loaded with portmanteaus, carpet bags, and boxes, like a Norfolk caravan at Christmas time; while the youthful proprietors of the bulky stock, all anxiety and desire to reach their relatives and friends, are hurrying him on, and do not fail to spur the elephant with many a cutting gibe, at his slow progression. Within doors the dames are all bustle, collecting, arranging, and packing up the wardrobes of their respective boarders; servants flying from the hall to the attic, and endangering their necks in their passage down again, from anxiety to meet the breathless impetuosity of their parting guests. Books of all classes, huddled into a heap, may be seen in the corner of each bedroom, making sock for the mice till the return of their purveyors with lots of plum-cake and savoury tarts. The more mature are now busily engaged in settling the fashion of their costume for the approaching gala; in receiving a visit from an elder brother, or a young Oxonian, formerly of Eton, who has arrived post to take sock with him, and enjoy the approaching festivities. Here a venerable domestic, whose silver locks are the truest emblem of his trusty services, arrives with the favorite pony to convey home the infant heir and hope of some noble house.

Now is Garraway as lively as my lord mayor's steward at a Guildhall feast-day; and the active note of preparation for the good things of this world rings through the oaken chambers of the Christopher. Not even the sanctum sanctorum is forgotten, where, in times long past, I have quaffed my jug of Bulstrode, "in cool grot," removed from the scorching heat of a July day, and enjoyed many a good joke, secure from the prying observations of the domine. One, and one only, class of persons wear a sorrowful face upon these joyous occasions, and these are the confectioners and fruitresses of Eton; with them, election Saturday and busy Monday are like the herald to a Jewish black fast, or a stock exchange holiday: they may as well sport their oaks (to use an Oxford phrase) till the return of the oppidans to school, for they seldom see the colour of a customer's cash till the, to them, happy period arrives.

On the succeeding days the examinations of the collegers proceed regularly; then follows the election of new candidates, and the severe trial of those who stand for King's. These scholastic arrangements generally conclude on the Wednesday night, or Thursday morning, and then Pleasure mounts her variegated car, and drives wherever Fancy may direct. Formerly I find seven or eight scholars went to King's;{*} but in consequence of the fellows of Eton holding pluralities, the means are impoverished, and the number consequently reduced to two or three: this is the more to be regretted, on account of the very severe and irrecoverable disappointment the scholars experience in losing their election, merely on account of age; as at nineteen they are superannuated, and cannot afterwards receive any essential benefit from the college.

Not the blue waves of the Engia, covered with the gay feluccas of the Greeks, and spreading their glittering streamers in the sun; nor the more lovely

* This noble seminary of learning was founded by Hen. VI. in

1440. Its establishment was then on a limited scale; it has

long since been enlarged, and now consists of a provost,

vice-provost, six fellows, two schoolmasters, with their

assistants, seventy scholars, seven clerks, and ten

choristers, besides various inferior officers and servants.

The annual election of scholars to King's College,

Cambridge, takes place about the end of July, or the

beginning of August, when the twelve senior scholars are put

on the roll to succeed, but they are not removed till

vacancies occur; the average number of which is about nine

in two years. At nineteen years of age the scholars are

superannuated. Eton sends, also, two scholars to Merton

College, Oxford, where they are denominated post-masters,

and has likewise a few exhibitions of twenty-one guineas

each for its superannuated scholars. The scholars elected to

King's succeed to fellowships at three years' standing.

Adriatic, swelling her translucent bosom to the gentle motion of the gondolier, and bearing on her surface the splendid cars and magnificent pageant of the Doge of Venice, marrying her waters to the sea, can to an English bosom yield half the delight the grand aquatic Eton gala affords; where, decked in every costume fancy can devise, may be seen the noble youth of Britain, her rising statesmen, warriors, and judges, the future guardians of her liberties, wealth, and commerce, all vying with each other in loyal devotion to celebrate the sovereign's natal day.{*} Then doth thy silvery bosom, father Thames, present a spectacle truly delightful; a transparent mirror, studded with gems and stars and splendid pageantry, reflecting a thousand brilliant variegated hues; while, upon thy flowery margin, the loveliest daughters of the land press the green velvet of luxuriant nature, outrivalling in charms of colour, form, and beauty, the rose, the lily, and the graceful pine. There too may be seen the accomplished and the gay youth labouring for pleasure at the healthful oar, while with experienced skill the expert helmsman directs through all thy fragrant windings the trim bark to victory. The race determined, the bright star of eve, outrivalled by the pyrotechnic artiste, hides his diminished head. Now sallies forth the gay Oxonian from the Christopher, ripe with the rare Falernian of mine host, to have his frolic gambol with old friends. Pale Luna, through her misty veil, smiles at these harmless pleasantries, and lends the merry group her aid to smuggle signs, alter names, and play off a thousand fantastic vagaries; while the Eton Townsman, robed in

* The grand aquatic gala, which terminates the week's festi-

vities at Eton, and concludes the water excursions for the

season, was originally fixed in honour of his late majesty's

birthday, and would have been altered to the period of his

successor's, but the time would not accord, the twelfth day

of August being vacation.

peaceful slumber, dreams not of the change his house has undergone, and wakes to find a double transformation; his Angel vanished, or exchanged for the rude semblance of an Oxford Bear, with a cognomen thereto appended, as foreign to his family nomenclature "as he to Hercules." In the morning the dames are wailing the loss of their polished knockers; and the barber-surgeon mourns the absence of his obtrusive pole. The optician's glasses have been removed to the door of some prying domine; and the large tin cocked hat has been seized by some midnight giant, who has also claimed old Crispin's three-leagued boot. The golden fish has leaped into the Thames. The landlord of the Lamb bleats loudly for his fleece. The grocer cares not a fig for the loss of his sugar-loaves, but laughs, and takes it as a currant joke. Old Duplicate is resolved to have his balls restored with interest; and the lady mother of the black doll is quite pale in the face with sorrow for the loss of her child. Mine host of the vine looks as sour as his own grapes, before they were fresh gilded; and spruce master Pigtail, the tobacconist, complains that his large roll of real Virginia has been chopped into short cut. But these are by far the least tormenting jokes. That good-humoured Cad, Jem Miller, finds the honorary distinction of private tutor added to his name. Dame——s, an irreproachable spinster of forty, discovers that of Mr. Probe, man-midwife, appended to her own. Mr. Primefit, the Eton Stultz, is changed into Botch, the cobbler. Diodorus Drowsy, D.D., of Windsor, is re-christened Diggory Drenchall, common brewer; and the amiable Mrs. Margaret Sweet, the Eton pastry-cook and confectioner, finds her name united in bands of brass with Mr. Benjamin Bittertart, the baker. The celebrated Christopher Caustic, Esq., surgeon, has the mortification to find his Esculapian dormitory decorated with the sign-board of Mr. Slaughtercalf, a German butcher; while his handsome brass pestle and mortar, with the gilt Galen's head annexed, have been waggishly transferred to the house of some Eton Dickey Gossip, barber and dentist. Mr. Index, the bookseller, changes names with old Frank Finis, the sexton. The elegant door plate of Miss Caroline Cypher, spinster, is placed on the right side of Nicodemus

Number, B.A., and fellow of Eton, with this note annexed: "New rule of Addition, according to Cocker." Old Amen, the parish clerk, is united to Miss Bridget Silence, the pew opener; and Theophilus White, M.D. changes place with Mr. Sable, the undertaker. But we shall become too grave if we proceed deeper with this subject. There is no end to the whimsical alterations and ludicrous changes that take place upon these occasions, when scarce a sign or door plate in Eton escapes some pantomimic transformation.*

* Representations to the masters or authorities are scarcely

ever necessary to redress these whimsical grievances, as the

injured parties are always remunerated. The next day the

spoils and trophies are arranged in due form in a certain

snug sanctum sanctorum, the cellar of a favorite inn, well

known by the name of the Oppidan's Museum; for a view of which see the sketch made on the spot by my friend Bob Transit. Here the merry wags are to be found in council, holding a court of claims, to which all the tradesmen who have suffered any loss are successively summoned; and after pointing out from among the motley collection the article they claim, and the price it originally cost, they are handsomely remunerated, or the sign replaced. The good people of Eton generally choose the former, as it not only enable them to sport a new sign, but to put a little profit upon the cost price of the old one. The trophies thus acquired are then packed up in hampers, and despatched to Oxford, where they are on similar occasions not unfrequently displayed, or hung up, in lieu of some well-known sign, such as the Mitre, &c. which has been removed during the night.

The following jeu-d'esprits issued upon the interference of the authorities at the conclusion of the last Election. The "dance of thirty sovereigns" is an allusion to the fine imposed, which was given to the poor.

A Ladder Dance.

A moving golden Fish.

The Fall of Grapes, during a heavy storm.

The Cock'd Hat Combat.

A March to the Workhouse.

Bird-cage Duett, by Messrs. C***** and B****.

A public Breakfast, with a dance by thirty sovereigns.

Glee—"When shall we three meet again."

The Barber's Hornpipe, by the learned D****.

The Turk's Head Revel.

Saint Christopher's March.

The Committee in Danger.

The Cloisters, Eton

HERBERT STOCKHORE, THE MONTEM POET LAUREATE. A SKETCH FROM THE LIFE,

As he appeared in the Montent Procession of May, 1823.

BY BERNARD BLACKMANTLE, AND ROBERT TRANSIT

Bending beneath a weight of time,

And crippled as his Montem ode,

We found the humble son of rhyme

Busy beside the public road.

Nor laurel'd wreath or harp had he,

To deck his brow or touch the note

That wakes the soul to sympathy.

His face was piteous as his coat,

'Twas motley strange; e'en nature's self,

In wild, eccentric, playful mood,

Had, for her pastime, form'd the elf,

A being scarcely understood—

Half idiot, harmless; yet a gleam

Of sense, and whim, and shrewdness, broke

The current of his wildest stream;

And pity sigh'd as madness spoke.

Lavater, Lawrence, Camper, here

Philosophy new light had caught:

Judged by your doctrines 'twould appear

The facial line denoted thought.{1}

But say, what system e'er shall trace

By scalp or visage mental worth?

The ideot's form, the maniac's face,

Are shared alike by all on earth.

"Comparative Anatomy—"

If, Stockhore, 'twas to thee apply'd,

'Twould set the doubting Gallist free,

And Spurzheim's idle tales deride.

But hence with visionary scheme,

Though Bell, or Abernethy, write;

Be Herbert Stockhore all my theme,

The laureate's praises I indite;

He erst who sung in Montem's praise,

And, Thespis like, from out his cart

Recited his extempore lays,

On Eton's sons, in costume smart,

Who told of captains bold and grand,

Lieutenants, marshals, seeking salt; Of colonels, majors, cap in hand, Who bade e'en majesty to halt; 1 It is hardly possible to conceive a more intelligent, venerable looking head, than poor Herbert Stockhore presents; a fine capacious forehead, rising like a promontory of knowledge, from a bold outline of countenance, every feature decisive, breathing serenity and thoughtfulness, with here and there a few straggling locks of silvery gray, which, like the time-discoloured moss upon some ancient battlements, are the true emblems of antiquity: the eye alone is generally dull and sunken in the visage, but during his temporary gleams of sanity, or fancied flights of poetical inspiration, it is unusually bright and animated. According to professor Camper, I should think the facial line would make an angle of eighty or ninety degrees; and, judging upon the principles laid down by Lavater, poor Herbert might pass for a Solon. Of his bumps, or phrenological protuberances, I did not take particular notice, but I have no doubt they would be found, upon examination, equally illustrative of such visionary systems.

Told how the ensign nobly waved

The colours on the famous hill;

And names from dull oblivion saved,

Who ne'er the niche of fame can fill:

Who, like to Campbell, lends his name.{2}

To many a whim he ne'er did write;

When witty scholars, to their shame,

'Gainst masters hurl a satire trite.{3}

But fare thee well, Ad Montem's bard,{4}

Farewell, my mem'ry's early friend

2 The author of "the Pleasures of Hope," and the editor of

the New Monthly; but-"Tardè, quo credita lodunt, credimus." 3 It has long been the custom at Eton, particularly during Montem, to give Herbert Stockhore the credit of many a satirical whim, which he, poor fellow, could as easily have penned as to have written a Greek ode. These squibs are sometimes very humorous, and are purposely written in doggrel verse to escape detection by the masters, who are not unfrequently the principal porsons alluded to. 4 The following laughable production was sold by poor Herbert Stockhore during the last Montem: we hardly think we need apologise for introducing this specimen of his muse: any account of Eton characteristics must have been held deficient without it.