May 21.-Many thanks to an ingenious Correpondent for his voluminous translation of Tasso's "Gierusalemme Liberata." I can positively afford room for no more than the following description of Armida from Canto IV.

XXVIII.

Few suns had shone and set, or ere she came
Where the Frank tents were bleaching in the gale
Around the towers of Salem, nor had fame
Been silent, far and wide was spread the tale;
And as when in broad day some meteor flame
Is seen above the astonish'd world to sail,
The Camp is rous'd; all eye to see the Dame,
All ear to know the whence, the why she came.
XXIX.

No mien so noble, and no form so fair,
Could Argos, or e'en Cyprus, boast of yore;
The glowing ringlets of her golden hair
Shone through the elegant white veil she wore,
Hid, but transparent, as the sunbeams are
By fleecy clouds when faintly shrouded o'er :
Or, was her veil thrown back, those ringlets shone
As bright and glorious as a noontide Sun.

XXX.

The wanton breeze, that mid her soft locks play'd,
Added more curls to those which Nature wove;
With downcast looks she stood, as if afraid
She might too lavish of her beauties prove;

Her cheeks were of the ivory, inlaid

With roses, and the blended colours strove

As rivals for the mastery-her mouth

Was roseate, with breath sweet as the sweet South.

XXXI.

Her bosom next disclos'd its spotless snows,

From whence the fires of Love abroad are shed;
Part only of her breasts the tunic shows,

Young, soft, and tender, and o'er part is spread—
Envious; and yet that envy only knows

To stay the eyes, the amorous thought hath sped
Beneath the surface, and within is flown,

Far from content with outward charms alone.

XXXII.

E'en as the Sun's warm ray will penetrate
Water or crystal, and yet not divide,
Thus the free thoughts an entrance will await,
Although the vest that entrance hath denied ;
And sacrilegiously they contemplate

The scenes which fancy pictures far and wide,
And then describe them to the warm desires,
And with new fuel feed the living fires.

May 26-Received the following, amongst other more valuable contributions, from our old friend W.

Woman and Hope! I love the two,
Though bards and sages flout them;
They're tiresome oft, and oft untrue,

But who could live without them?

May 28.-A friend informs me that the expression of Scaliger, relative to one of the Odes of Horace, was not the King of Persia, as I have erroneously put forth, but "rex Tarraconensis." Another friend informs me, on Lady Morgan's authority, that the King in question was "the King of Naples."

"Strange that such difference should be,

"Twixt Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee!"

My dear Critics, what does it signify to you or me, whether Scaliger's Hyperbole lighted upon Rex Persicus, or Rex Tarraconensis, the King of Naples, or the King of Clubs ?

May 29.-Bless me! Here is a Corpus Poetarum rushing in. I shall never get through the serried phalanx. I must make a desperate sally! First have at you Mr. "Remove!"-there; you are an inoffensive and well-disposed gentleman, so I will not hurt you. Aha! "Nestor!" I will not hurt you either, old friend!—you are too old. Holloa, good "Vindex," with your " Address to Lord Liverpool," you come with a threatening aspect indeed; there! I have brought him down; I have flung our tenth Resolution at him. What-" Senex here? Oh! you are in a passion because I would not insert your " Letter to the Boys.' I'll just sharpen a "Private Correspondence," and fling it at you.-He runs. "Judex too-you are enraged because I have not enough serious stuff.-You make home-thrusts indeed! Where is No. IV.? It must be my shield! Murder! Here is the Editor of the "Apis Matina," with an Epic on the Fall of Palmyra in his hand. I must send my "Aristotle" at him.-There! I have overturned him in a twinkling. Ha! ha! there is Mr. Cin the way, with the sword of Hypercriticism. I think I won't run!-the weapon is very blunt. There is somebody in the rear of the battle, looking most kindly severe: what has he to say? He says, "We are all losing our time; we shall repent this at Cambridge." That was a hard hit; but take care, Sir! It shall go hard with you if any of the Club are Wranglers!-Bless me! here is" Bos," roaring that "there is no merit in The Etonian !' It won't live fifty years!" I'll shoot him in the head!-No! that's invulnerable! Stay a minute, Sir;-I must load with the new Number!

KNIGHT AND DREDGE, CASTLE-STREET;

AND JOHN WARREN, OLD BOND-STREET, LONDON. SOLD ALSO BY MR. WILLIAMS, AND MR. INGALTON, ETON; MESSRS. DEIGHTON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE; MESSRS. MUNDAY AND SLATTER, OXFORD.

Price 28.

CHARLES KNIGHT, PRINTER, CASTLE-STREET, WIND SOR,

The Tenth and Last Number will be Published on

Election Saturday, the 28th instant.

New Editions of Nos. II. and III, are in the Press.

ETONIAN.

No. IX.

The King of Clubs.

Saturni, 230 die Junii, 1821.

THE Club met according to custom; but there was little or no business to be transacted, and there was a Melancholy apparent in every face, which checked every attempt at Humour. It will not be difficult to account for this depression of spirits, when it is remembered that the existence of the King of Clubs is drawing to its close. Another brief Month, and the crowned head and sceptred hand will return from their exalted station to their original obscurity; the King of Clubs will die, and the Gambling-House will be the receptacle of his body." Sic transit gloria mundi."

The Members chewed the cud, and drank the Punch in silence; they had almost emptied the bowl, when Mr. GOLIGHTLY, dipping his ladle somewhat deeper than usual, brought up a small piece of paper from the bottom. It was opened, and read by the President; and, as I have nothing else to insert, I am ordered to present to the Public the

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE PUNCH-BOWL.

"Autobiography is very much in fashion at the present day. Mr. Cobbett writes Autobiography, and Mr. Hunt writes Autobiography; why then should Criticism turn up her nose at the Autobiography of a Punch-bowl?

"I was made on the 20th of October 1820; and was pronounced, by an admiring Public, a fine Bowl. Everybody found something to commend in me; some liked my sweetness, and some my acidity

some praised me because I was strong enough, and some because I

was not too strong. There were few tasters who did not look forward with pleasure to a second draught.

"In a short time the usual vicissitudes of popular favour afflicted me. People began to find in me a hundred faults, of which they had not so much as dreamed before. I was too sour, and too noisy, and too heavy; I inspired nothing but puns and quibbles; every fume I sent forth savoured of Satire; every cap I filled tasted of Absurdity. It was said, that I made young heads giddy, and disrespectful to their su