up, at no inconsiderable expense, all the copies 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, criticizing 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 criticizing the “Lines to----.” How beautiful were the criticisms; and how beautiful was the critic! I would 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 day-dreams. 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 for 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), CENTER My dear Public, Your obliged and devoted servant, PEREGRINE COURTENAY. ABDICATION OF THE KING OF CLUBS.