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respect for the name of Peregrine Courtenay, and be as ready with your Pounds, Shillings, and Pence, as I have always hitherto found you.

One word more. I have been much solicited to have my own Effigies stuck in the front of my work, done in an Editorial Attitude, with a Writing-desk before me, and a Pen behind my Ear : and I am aware that this is the custom of many Gentlemen whom I might be proud to imitate. Mr. Canning figures in front of "The Microcosm," and Dr. Peter Morris presents his goodly Physiognomy in the vanguard of "Peter's Letters." And I know what has often before been remarked, that when the Public sit down to the perusal of a work, it imports them much to be convinced whether the Writer thereof be plump or spare, fair or dark, of an open or a meditative countenance. Would any one feel an interest in the fate of Tom Thumb, who did not see a representation of the Hero courting inspection, and claiming, as it were, in propriâ persona, the applause to which his exploits entitle him? Would any one shudder with horror at the perilous Adventures of Munchausen, who could not count the scars with which they are engraven on the Baron's Physiognomy? In opposition to these weighty considerations, I have two motives which forcibly impel me to adopt a contrary line of conduct. In the first place, I am, as is known to all my acquaintance, most outrageously modest. I have been so from my cradle. Before I ever entered upon a Public capacity, a few copies of a Caricature came down to our Eton Bookseller, one of which contained a figure of a starved Poet. One of my friends carelessly discovered a resemblance between the said starved Poet and your humble Servant, the consequence of which was that Servant bought up, at no inconsiderable expense, all the copies your humble of the said Print, and committed them to the Flames. And now, if I were to see my own features prefixed to my own writings; if I were to imagine to myself your curiosity, my Public, criticising expression of countenance, as well as expression of thought, and lines of face as well as lines of metre, I could not endure it-I should faint!-yes! I should positively faint!

I have another reason-another very momentous one! I once heard a Lady criticising the "Lines to were the Criticisms! and how beautiful was the Critic! I would -." How beautiful have given the riches of Mexico for such a Review, and such a Reviewer! But to proceed with my story;-thus were the remarks wound up :-" Now do, Mr. Courtenay, tell me who is the Author!-what an interesting-looking man he must be!"

From that moment I have been enwrapt in most delightful daydreams. I have constantly said to myself," Peregrine, perhaps

at this moment bright eyes are looking on your effusion; and sweet voices are saying, "What a pretty young man Mr. Courtenay must be!"-And shall I publish my Picture, and give them the lie?--Oh, no! I will preserve to them the charity of their conjectures, and to myself the comfort of their opinion.

And now what rests for me, but to express my gratitude to all, who have assisted me by their advice or their support, and to beg, that if, in discharging my part to the best of my abilities, it has been my misfortune to give offence to any one of them, he will believe that I sinned not intentionally, and forgive me as well as he can?

I have also to return thanks to many Gentlemen who have honoured me by marks of individual kindness. It would be painful to me to leave this spot without assuring them, that in all places, and under all circumstances, I shall have a lively recollection of the attention they have shown me, and the interest they have expressed in my success.

But most of all, I have to speak my feelings to Him, who, at my earnest solicitations, undertook to bear an equal portion of my fatigues and my responsibility,-to Him, who has performed so diligently the labours which he entered upon so reluctantly,―to Him who has been the constant companion of my hopes and fears my good and ill fortune, to Him, who, by the assiduity of his own attention, and the Genius of the Contributors whose good offices he secured, has ensured the success of "The Etonian!"

I began this Letter in a light and jesting vein, but I find that I cannot keep it up. My departure from Eton and "The_Etonian" is really too serious a business for a jest or a gibe. I have felt my spirits sinking by little and little, until I have become downright melancholy. I shall make haste, therefore, to come to a conclusion. I have done, and I subscribe myself (for the last time),

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THE FIGURES WITHIN PARENTHESES MARK THE VARIATIONS WHICH
TOOK PLACE IN THE SECOND EDITION OF NO. 1.

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A Saturday Evening in the Country, Mr. Bellamy's Stanzas, 156.

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On the Writings of James Montgomery, To Hope, 296.

9.

The Lover's Song, 112.

Hora Paludanæ, No. II. 153.

Stanzas in Miss Harrison's Album, 154.
Stanzas, 186.

Hora Paludanæ, No. III. 187.

Bellamy's Fragments, and Parody from
Scott's "Allen-a-Dale," 316.

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