which were very successful at the time, but which it is now almost impossible to trace out and collect. One, which I believe I remember pretty accurately, was:— ON SEEING THE SPEAKER ASLEEP IN HIS CHAIR IN ONE OF THE DEBATES OF THE FIRST REFORMED PARLIAMENT. Sleep, Mr. Speaker, 'tis surely fair If you mayn't in your bed, that you should in your chair. Tory and Radical, Aye and No; Talking by night, and talking by day. Sleep, Mr. Speaker; sleep while you may. Sleep, Mr. Speaker: slumber lies Light and brief on a Speaker's eyes. Fielden or Finn in a minute or two Some disorderly thing will do; Riot will chase repose away. Sleep, Mr. Speaker, sleep while you may. Sleep, Mr. Speaker. Sweet to men Is the sleep that cometh but now and then, Sleep, Mr. Speaker, Harvey will soon Of the House on a question of sixteen pence. Sleep, Mr. Speaker, and dream of the time, When loyalty was not quite a crime, When Grant was a pupil in Canning's school, And Palmerston fancied Wood a fool. Lord, how principles pass away! Sleep, Mr. Speaker, sleep while you may. Both at Cambridge and Eton (the two places of his education) Praed was highly distinguished as a scholar and a poet. I shall here speak only of his literary achievements while at Eton. He there was the editor and principal writer of "The Etonian," the most brilliant of the numerous periodicals which have from time to time been conducted by students at the school. My last quotation (the last of the numerous ones contained in these pages) shall be from Praed's spirited description of the procession or rather "the race" of Eton boats by water, and Eton cavaliers and pedestrians by land, to Surly Hall on the evening of Election Saturday. This was the last poem that Praed wrote while at Eton, and its concluding lines have found and yet will find an echo in many a heart. The sun hath shed a mellower beam, For shepherd or for sonneteer; The sun unheeded may decline, Glad voices have a sweeter tone; For, in our calendar of bliss, We have no hour so gay as this, When the kind hearts and brilliant eyes Stay, Pegasus, and let me ask, Pray, reader, were you ever here Just at this season of the year? To hear us row, and see us row, And cry,-"How fast them boys does go!" If fate would lift him to the earth, The boats put off!-throughout the crowd The tumult thickens; wide and loud The din re-echoes; man and horse Plunge onward in their mingled course. Our real Etonian Cavalry; They start in such a pretty trim, And such sweet scorn of life and limb. I must confess I never found A horse much worse for being sound; I think, to look genteel and neat, Well have they done! I make no question I and my Muse,-my Muse and I, And get to Surly Hall in time To make a Supper, and a Rhyme. * Hark! hark! a mellow'd note Over the water seem'd to float ! Hark! the note repeated! A sweet, and soft, and soothing strain, On the blue waters seated. Hark to the tremulous tones that flow, And touch a thousand pleasant strings, Of Triumph, and Pride, and Hope, and Joy, And young Imaginings! The note is near, the Voice comes clear, With a feeling of delight; And as the gladdening sounds we hear, One moment, and ye see Where, fluttering quick, as the breezes blow, Backwards and forwards, to and fro; Bright with the beam of retiring day, Old Eton's flag, on its watery way Moves on triumphantly; But what, that Ancient Poets have told, Of Amphitrite's Car of Gold With the Nymphs behind, aud the Nymphs before, And the Nerid's song, and the Triton's roar, Could equal half the pride, That heralds the Monarch's plashing oar, Over the swelling tide? And look!-they land, those gallant crews, With their jackets light, and their bellying trews; Yet e'en on this triumphant day One thought of grief will rise; And though I bid my fancy play, And jest, and laugh through all the lay, Yet sadness still will have her way, And burst the vain disguise ! Yes! when the pageant shall have past, I shall have look'd upon my last; I shall not e'er behold again Our pullers' unremitted strain; Nor listen to the charming cry Of contest or of victory, That speaks what those young bosoms feel, As keel is pressing fast on keel; Oh! bright these glories still shall be, But they shall never dawn for me. 504 EMINENT ETONIANS NOW LIVING. I have purposely avoided giving any account in these two last Chapters of the general progress of the School in modern times, or of its present system. Etonians do not require it, and I could not make the subject intelligible to non-Etonians without going into details too minute and prolix for these pages. Suffice it to say, that Eton has continued to flourish, and never stood higher than she does now. I will only allude to three recent events ;— the munificent foundation of a Divinity and Classical Scholarship by his Grace the Duke of Newcastle in 1829, whereby a great stimulus was given to increased study throughout the School; the erection of new buildings for the accommodation of the Collegers, and the great ameliorations of their condition, which were effected in 1844; and to the recent institution by His Royal Highness Prince Albert of a prize for proficiency in modern languages. If the province of the Memoir-writer were not limited to the biographies of the dead, I should now be very far from the conclusion of my work. Living Etonians are eminent in every rank of life, in every profession, in every department of literature and science. I will only name a few, but the list might be prolonged through several pages. Eton claims as her sons the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bishops of Winchester and Lichfield, the Duke of Wellington, Lord Denman, Lord Stanley, Lord Ellenborough, Lord Carlisle, Lord Lyttelton, and many more of the most eminent members of the British Peerage. Among the names of her most distinguished Commoners of the present day, that most readily occur to the memory, are those of Sir Stratford Canning, Mr. Justice Coleridge, Mr. Gladstone, Hallam, Milman, Moultrie, Mr. Justice Patteson, and Vice-Chancellor Shadwell. With heartfelt gratitude and pride I look on the time-honoured walls where so much of the worth of four centuries has been nurtured; and in confidence, as well as in sincerity, I repeat the old wish that so many lips have uttered, and which will be fervently breathed by so many thousands more, FLOREAT ETONA! BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. |