The feast was high in the castle hall, For the baron is back again, He has finished my Third, and right jovial To-night are his merry men ; "And here's to that dolt of a porter," each cries, 66 Forby, good truth, that he came in disguise, EDITORIANA. Congratulations to thee, O reader, on another Fourth of June, welcome as ever, and not the less so that it possesses the additional charm of being ushered into the world in company with the Fifth Number of the Eton Bureau. Twin favourites, as ye are of the Eton world, you shine forth doubly bright, the one rescued from the threatened deluge of muddy water, the other from the illnatured predictions of malicious calumniators! O that we could bring beneath that evil eye, that would have blasted our success in its very birth, the heaps on heaps of letters, whose inanimate paper itself is almost stirred into life and eloquence from the important nature of its contents, threatening us with the contempt and derision of the whole literary world for this unwarrantable delay of No. V. Judge, reader, from the following selections, of the interest with which we are regarded by considerate friends. First, there is the mercenary gentleman, who kindly and humanely (not that he would presume to give advice to the Editor of the Eton Bureau! O no, not he!) suggests the prudence of getting out the new number immediately after the holidays, while the money lasts. As if people bad time for such intellectual amusements as writing or reading the Eton Bureau, amidst all the business, the head-ache, the cramming up dates, the excitement, the discussion among the knowing ones, the betting that beats the Derby, the false hopes, the prying into other people's mistakes, the fear of having made too bold a shot, and all the care that racks one's brains during that week of weeks, the Scholarship Examination. Another, forsooth, is facetious, and talks in Pindaric strain of our poesy not keeping pace with the swollen current of the Thames. Poor soul! the Navigation ditch of his wit was never guilty of flooding and spoiling his neighbour's "sata læta." A third favours us with a Ciceronian treatise De Procrastinatione; Alas for the orders of pens, ink, and paper! Surgenti-Genio-Philus writes nonsense about Aerial Transit, and getting up steam. But Ohe! jam thy patience, reader, must be nearly exhausted, and ours is. Before however we are accused of idleness, we would wish our criticising friends to picture to themselves their humble servant sitting in judicial grandeur condemning writings to utter oblivion, or consigning them to deathless fame by one shake of the cracked urn, or a nod like old Jupiter's, “ κυανέησιν ἐπ' ὀφρύσι.” Such is the overflowing genius of the poetical portion of our contributors, that the most exquisite patience is required to make any selection from the mass before us. * This locus conclamatus is yet left for some incipient Bentley to construe. To us it appears that the majesty of the cloud-compelling God is rather diminished by this expression, calling up, as it does, that unpleasant and degraded character, Blue Beard, accompanied by dim visions of Tittlebat Titmouse, Esq. Not that it is any the less applicable to an unfortunate Editor under the constant influence of blue devilment, and who may therefore be supposed to be considerably tinged with that colour. Would that correspondents had always a " Metius Judex" at their elbow! What a saving of time and trouble to us, and to them! We will just give an example or two at random. First we pitch on a trifle from a friend, who has been in an amatory mood, and would translate Catullus. "Let's live and love, my dearest maid, (looking through the key-hole, of course) "Nor care one straw for all that's said, By old men's cutting lies. Vide CAT. I. V. "Care one farthing" would have been a more literal, if not more poetical, translation of " unius assis.” "Cutting lies" is certainly strongly metaphorical, and an improvement on the original, which has only "rumores." Then comes a poetical sum, which we would recommend the author to send to the Fencing Room, about kisses. Here however he is at variance with the original. Catullus makes the number, 1000+ 100+ 1000 + 100 + 1000 + 100=3300; his translator gives 10,000 + x. 100+x. 1000-10,000+ (x + 10x) 100, x here representing, as it ought, an unknown quantity. The figure avğŋois is not forgotten by our friend; we can only hope his tailor does not write his bill in verse. As for the poor lady, she must have been fairly kissed to a mummy, yet after all this basiation, he has the coolness to suggest, (on his own account, too,) "Let thy lips Be all but joined to mine." "All but!" After what has gone before!! We however subjoin a stanza from the same translation, to shew that the writer only wants a little care to make his composition Р take a much higher rank than would be assigned to it by the readers of the foregoing lines. "Each eve beholds the setting sun, Each morn restores its light; But man, when once his course is run, Shall pass an endless night." We do not know whether the following translation of Vincent Bourne's "Rosa: ad Stellam," is by the same author, "The lover's gift, the maiden's toy, Behold the blushing rose, The flower (to maids a warning meet,) Remember, dear, the rose's fate, Remember, t'will be thine." A very voluminous MS., the "Loves of Polyphemus," has lately come to hand, 'tis the happiest illustration of the subject that could be invented, inasmuch as the production is in itself, "Monstrum ingens, cui lumen ademptum." A new version of " Oh, the poor Workhouse Boy!" by J. E. should certainly have been printed, if we thought Mr. Tr, or any of his associates of the Eton Board of Guardians, were included among our readers. We have yet room to give a specimen of a long poem, entitled "Wanderings in Etona's Halls," in which the reader is carried through all the Schools, and enlightened, more particularly in the Library, with the description of their uses. Thus breaks forth the bard, whilst enraptured he gazes on the "brazen show" around the bust: Where girt by lictor's rods, a brazen show, Oft does the birch within those walls resound, Grieved from his base, the Duke half turns to flight, Received fresh vigour from the Athenian maid, We cannot really allow this second "Vates Etonensis," to occupy any more of our paper, especially as he is not circumspect enough in his allusions to meet with the approbation of all; we have moreover numerous letters and jeux d'esprits to dispose of, from which we would select the following as a sample; Dear Sir, May I be permitted through the medium of your publication, to announce to my School-fellows, that in addition to the blue and brights of last half, a blue Brummel has also made its appearance in the Eton world. It may be questioned whether it reflects greater credit on |