“This species (if it may call itself a species), I, myself, in right of the sublime critical character with which the sensible Men of our house have invested me, have christen’d Jack-Pudding Humour. To define it were utterly impracticable. However, thus much may be said of it, that it is made up of ill-breeding and ill-nature, and discovers a remarkable want of classical reading, and a relish for authors of true taste. It treats of subjects of a vague nature, and is (beside its Jack-pudding affinity) of a mere Jack-lanthorn nature, neither here nor there; in short, it is a topsy-turvy, rhapsodic, miscellaneous method of writing. But, to come to the point. What I would recommend to you is to leave off scribbling, and sit down seriously to sewing. “Why, Madam, you are nothing more than a bankrupt in beauty, a mere discarded toast! I assure you, Mrs Student, you have no more chance of getting reputation by your pen than you had of getting a husband by your person.--Yours, “FRANK FIZZ-PUFF.” Whether this letter really caused the good lady to take up sewing in earnest it is impossible to say, but the fact remains that she was no more seen in _The Student_--not even to the extent of an indignant feminine outburst against Mr Fizz-Puff. Among the “never before” printed verses which the editor secured for his columns were some written by Sir Walter Raleigh at Winchester in 1603, as he lay under sentence of death. They were printed from a manuscript with due care to preserve the spelling exactly as it was. The editor, however, was in ignorance of the fact that they had already been published in 1608 in the second edition of Davison’s _Poetical Rhapsody_. “Goe, soul, the bodyes gueste, Upon a thankless arrante, Fear not to touche the beste, The truth shall be thy warrante. Goe, since I needs must dye, And give them all the lye. “Goe, tell the court it glowse, And shines like painted woode; Goe, tell the church it shows What’s good, but does no good. If court and church replye Give court and church the lye.” The moribund knight pursued his muse to the thirteenth verse, giving everybody and everything the lie. The editor of _The Student_, undoubtedly with the idea of pandering to all tastes, was careful to place these verses in between a translation of a Latin epigram-- “I stole from sweet Gumming two kisses in play, But she from myself stole myself quite away; I grieve not I play’d, tho’ so cruel the sport; I’m more pleas’d than griev’d at the hurt.” and an epistle in verse to Lord Cobham, written by Congrave, while in the very near neighbourhood, was-- “THE HERMAPHRODITE. “_From the Latin_