Thus the spark of Affection, all pure, all bright,
Though cruel afar from these arms you roam,
In this bosom shall burn with unfading light,

And O! may it light thee, dear Wanderer!-home!"

Nov. 25.--Walked up to our Publisher's.-Played "the Devil" for half an hour.-Mr. C. K. remarkably sanguine.---Sale of N° II. very good. N. B. Found a "character" for Golightly's "Eve of Publication."Took him. Coming down met Miss me_dead.---Mem. The Lady thinks we satirized her under the name of Emily. (Vide N° II. p. 174.) Emily is a Beauty.--Everybody thinks Miss

-Cut

sat

for the picture.--Four o'clock.-Lounged at the Clubroom.--Hodgson made a bad pun.--He and Gerard were discussing the faces of rival Beauties.---" Why, my dear Hodgson," quoth Gerard, "Laura is so tonish."--" "Yes," quoth the Secretary, "but her two sisters astonish."Couldn't smile for the life of me.

Called at my tailor's.--Inquired whose coat he was making;-" Mr. Peregrine Courtenay's."-" Why, Mr. Reeves!" I exclaimed, "I can never get into such a coat as this."--"You!" says the man, "you're not Peregrine Courtenay!" Shakspeare's "Go to! you are not Cassius!" burlesqued by another Brute.--This is abominable.---I begin to doubt my own existence.

Nov. 26.--Heard of the death of poor Morton.---If ever man died of love it was Edward Morton.---The lady to whom he became early attached was married to another;---Morton was present at the marriage, and was never seen to smile afterwards.---The lady, it is said, was unhappy in her union, and did not survive it many years.--Morton died some time ago at Corfu.---A portrait of the lady was found in his portfolio, wrapped up in the following lines::--

I.

I saw thee wedded-thou didst go
Within the sacred aile,

Thy young cheek in a blushing glow,
Betwixt a tear and smile.

Thy heart was glad in maiden glee,
But he it loved so fervently

Was faithless all the while;

I hate him for the vow he spoke—
I hate him for the vow he broke.

11.

I hid the love that could not die,
Its doubts, and hopes, and fears,
And buried all my misery

In secrecy and tears;

And days pass'd on, and thou didst prove

The pang of unrequited love,

E'en in thine early years;

And thou didst die, so fair and good!

In silence and in solitude'

III.

While thou wert living, I did hide
Affection's secret pains ;

I'd not have shock'd thy modest pride
For all the world contains ;

But thou hast perish'd, and the fire
That, often check'd, could ne'er expire,
Again unhidden reigns :

It is no crime to speak my vow,

For ah! thou canst not hear it now.

IV.

Thou sleepest 'neath thy lowly stone,
That dark and dreamless sleep;
And he, thy loved and chosen one-
Why goes he not to weep?

He does not kneel where I have knelt,
He cannot feel what I have felt,

The anguish still and deep,

The painful thoughts of what has been,
The canker-worm that is not seen.

V.

But I-as o'er the dark blue wave
Unconsciously I ride,

My thoughts are hovering o'er thy grave,
My soul is by thy side.

There is one voice that wails thee yet,
One heart that cannot e'er forget
The visions that have died;

And aye thy form is buried there-
A doubt, an anguish,-a despair!

Nov. 27.--Held a drawing-room this day. Gerard wrote the following invitation for the occasion; but the deuce a Deity attended. Gerard wanted to bring down some Goddesses from Drury-lane, but Martin Sterling was against it. After all, we had so many Christian Goddesses, that the Heathen ones were not missed.

Hither haste, ye Gods and Goddesses,
In your sprucest robes and bodices !
From Olympus, and from Ide,
And from every spot beside,
Where you drive aërial dillies
Over marigolds and lilies,

Hither on this jocund day,

To the levee haste away.

Bacchus, come and bring with thee

Merry topers frank and free,*

Pholus, with his pimpled head,

Bitias with his nose of red,

* This related to the dinner which followed.-W. RowLey.

Hilaris, that toasts the lasses,

In champagne and half-pint glasses :
Leave behind that roaring fellow,
Comus, ever mad and mellow;
If you bring that thirsty elf,
Deuce a drop you'll get yourself.

Momus come! and convoy down,
From thy fav'rite haunt, the town,
While the morn is bright and sunny;
All that's gay and all that 's funny;
Convoy calculating cits,

Would-be bucks, and would-be wits;
Aged dames, with rouge and dress,
Imitating loveliness;

Ruby nose, and wrinkled chin,

Eyes that stare, and mouths that grin ;*
But thou need'st not bring to us
Ever-punning Asinus,

If that lively blockhead's jest
Gives its sharp and pungent zest
To our meat and to our wine,
Momus none will laugh at thine.

Venus, queen of darts and flames,
Bring with thee thy fairest dames;
Lydia, beautifully shy,

Chloe, with her roguish eye,

Caroline, whose auburn tresses
Zephyr wantonly caresses,

Laura, with her neck of snow,

Ellen, playful as the roe;

Bring mine own enchanting fair,

Grace and passion in her air,

Bring her with thee !-I forget thee!
Envy, Venus! will not let thee!

Nov. 28.---Read over Hodgson's report of yesterday's proceedings; approved of it, and sent it to press. N. B, Mr. H. is apt to be facetious, and puts puns in the mouths of his fellow-members, of which they were never guilty. He might derive a useful lesson or two from Oakley's "Objections to other Men's Wit.”

* "Thoughts that breathe and words that burn."

Mem.--To publish them the first opportunity. Talked politics with Sir Francis.--Had a letter from Burton--the following is an extract :

"Miss Anne Parsons was married last Monday. The papers say she is very accomplished. Thereby hangs a tale. I was introduced to her some weeks ago, and my friend informed me that the lady was a great poetess, a great musician, and understood all modern languages except one. Now, you know, Courtenay, I only speak one language, and I suppose that is the one with which Anne is unacquainted."

Mem.--Martin must write a paper recommending the study of English to all accomplished ladies.

Ex

I did not

Received a few rhymes fram Patrick O'Connor. tracted one stanza for the sake of the pun. suspect Pat of any thing so classical.

TO TOBACCO.

Come, whate'er may be thy form,
Bring thy leaves, or stem, or root,

Come, my shiv'ring palate warm,
Leave the shrine of Lundy Foot!

Come thou choicest, primest thing!
lo! Bacche! let me sing!

Four o'clock till five.---Sat in my elbow-chair, something between sleeping and waking.

Meditated on N° I. N° II. N° III. and No IV.--Scribbled the fol

lowing

Epilogue to No. I.

Fellow Etonians! all who view

With kindness Numbers One and Two ;
Belles who have called "Godiva" rash,
Or wept upon the "Lines to

Look partially on No III.,

The latest labour of P. C.;

Let merry laugh and cheering smile

Our voluntary taste beguile.