Chapter I: Peregrine of Clubs to George of England

MAY IT PLEASE YOUR MAJESTY,

I am your loyal subject, and an editor. I am induced to address you in print by three considerations. First, I am like yourself, a King; although my claim to the title is not quite so legitimate as your Majesty’s. Secondly, I am an author, and it is much the fashion with authors of the present day to indite letters to the Crown. Thirdly, I am enthusiastically fond of novelty in every shape; and I flatter myself I am going to strike one--a letter to the King, without an ounce of politics in its composition.

I am not going to offer my congratulations upon “glorious accession,” “recent successes,” or “the flourishing state of our manufactures;” neither am I going to present you with memorials relating to “excessive taxation,” “starving weavers,” or “Ilchester Gaol.” I am myself too tired of flattery and abuse to offer such insipid dishes to the palate of a brother monarch. No, Sire! I am about to offer you some observations upon that part of your Majesty’s dominions which falls more immediately under the notice of the King of Clubs--the Royal Foundation of Eton.

May it please your Majesty, I have been long a member of it, and I am sure that (_exceptis excipiendis_) you have not in any part of your sovereignty five hundred better disposed subjects than are to be met with in its “antique towers.” I shall not therefore be repulsed with harshness if I lay before you a few of the grievances, or the fancied grievances, under which we labour.

I think it was in the year 1814 that I first saw your Majesty at Frogmore. The Emperor of Russia was there, and the King of Prussia, and Blucher, and Platoff, and sundry other worthies, whom were I to attempt to enumerate the line would reach out “to the crack of doom.” One single individual of that illustrious body could have drawn all London to the Monument, if he had promised to exhibit himself in the gallery; and we, favoured alumni, had the privilege of staring by wholesale. I never shall forget the reception of those illustrious potentates. All voices were loud in hurras, all hats were waving in the air; and there was such a squeezing, and pushing, and shouting, and shaking of hands, and treading on toes, that I have often wondered how I escaped in safety from the perils into which my enthusiasm threw me.

Never shall I forget the soul-enlivening moment when your Majesty, stepping into the midst of our obstreperous group, proclaimed aloud, “A whole holiday for the Emperor of Russia.” (Cheering.) “A whole holiday for the King of Prussia,” (Renewed cheering.) “Now, my boys,” you said, with a good-humoured laugh that set Whiggism and awe at defiance, “I must add my mite”--and there was long, loud, reiterated, unanimous, heartfelt cheering. In that look of yours there were years of intimacy. The distinction which rank had placed between us seemed at once overturned; you raised us up to your own level, or rather you deigned to come down for a moment to ours. One could almost have imagined that you had been yourself an Etonian, that you had shared in our amusements, that you had tasted of our feelings!

It was a proud evening for Eton, but a troublesome one for those who made it so. The warmth of an English welcome is enough to overpower any one but an Englishman. Platoff swore he was more pestered by the Etonians than he had ever been by the French; and the kind old Blucher had his hand so cordially wrung that he was unable to lift his bottle for a week afterwards. To your Majesty the recollection of that evening must have been one of unmingled gratification. You had enjoyed that truly royal pleasure, which springs from the act of bestowing pleasure upon others; you had been applauded by Etonians, as the patron of Etonians ought to be; you purchased more than three hundred whole hearts at the price of only three whole holidays.

It would be needless, as it would be endless, to enumerate all the instances of Royal favour which since that time have been extended towards our Foundation; I have not room to give an extended narration of the cricketing at Frogmore, nor to describe your Majesty’s visit to our Triennial Montem. One subject, however, there is, the omission of which would be both irksome to myself and ungrateful to your Majesty. I mean the gracious liberality which gave to the school your lamented father had so constantly esteemed the permission to attend at his obsequies, and follow their patron to his grave. That unsolicited attention, and the delicate manner in which the notice of it was conveyed to us, live still in our hearts. They proved to us that you were aware of the loss we had sustained; they proved to us that by your munificence that loss would be alleviated or repaired.

Having thus performed what I conceived to be my duty, by expressing the sense we entertain of your Majesty’s bounty, let me call your attention to the situation in which we are now placed.

Eton is a soil which has been used to the sun of Royal patronage, and, if that invigorating heat is withheld, what can be expected but that the earth should be unproductive, and that its plants should fade? This is a most comfortable doctrine, inasmuch as it enables us to set down to your Majesty’s account all the degeneracy which modern Eton is said to exhibit. The remedy is as obvious as the evil. Pay us a visit! Are our cricketers weak in the arm? Your patronage shall add vigour to their sinews! Are our poets weak in the head? Your encouragement shall give new life to their hippocrene! Are our alumni diminishing in numbers? Beneath your influence recruits shall tumble in like locusts! Are they diminishing in stature? They shall grow like mustard beneath a Royal smile.

This, however, is all theory and speculation. There are many who will attribute our degeneracy to other causes, and many who will deny that there is any degeneracy in the case at all. I am now going to mention a specific grievance, the existence of which no one can deny, and to which your Majesty alone can apply a remedy. During the life of your father we enjoyed three annual holidays, under the denomination of “King’s visits;” and the enjoyment of them had become so much a thing of course, that few were aware upon how short a tenure we held our blessings. They are gone! We have no “King’s visits,” because your Majesty has never visited Eton.

It seems to be pretty well determined that your Majesty, sooner or later, will visit some place or other. Some recommend a visit to Hanover, some recommend a visit to Ireland--I recommend a visit to Eton. It will be less troublesome, less expensive, and less formal, than either of its rival proposals. It will be soonest begun, and it will be the soonest over. It would be without a hundred inconveniences which would wait upon your two other journeys. At Eton, you would not be bothered by counts and courtiers; you would not be stifled with Phelims and Patricks; you would not he pestered with German addresses, as at Hanover; and you would not have to dine with the Mayor and Corporation, as at Dublin.

The time of your visit I will not presume to point out. If you happen to come on the fourth of this month, you will find certain illicit proceedings going on, which I cannot in this place describe. I can tell you, however, that we shall have a splendid show, and a band that shall play “God save the King,” _ad infinitum_. If you prefer being present at our public speeches, as your Majesty’s father occasionally was, you will hear much embryo oratory and see much sawing of the air.

To be serious--may it please your Majesty, I think you ought to come to Eton. Let us have due notice of the honour intended us, and you shall be received in a style worthy both of us and of you. Come, and by your coming disperse over the face of Etona her wonted smile: paste another bright leaf into her annals: give a new excitement to her talents, her studies, and her amusements. You need not come in state: you must not depart in a hurry: bring to us as many smiles, and as few lords, as you please: above all, drive away for an hour the formality of dress and manner which public life enjoins; come to us provided with an English heart, and dressed in the Windsor uniform.

On Windsor Bridge you shall be met by the Fellows with “God save the King,” and, as you step into College, you shall be saluted by my friend the Captain with a Latin address. This shall not detain you longer than three minutes and a half; and Sir Benjamin Bloomfield shall hold the watch. You will then be conducted to all the lions of the College, amongst which you will feel particularly interested in the new library established last month, and you will probably put a small donation into the hands of Mr. Hawkins, the Treasurer. After your peregrinations you will have the option of taking a cold collation with the Provost, or a hot beefsteak with the King of Clubs. If you prefer the former, my duty for the day is over; but if, as I prognosticate, your choice falls upon the latter, the talents of Mr. Rowley shall be forthwith put in requisition. We will give your Majesty a real English dinner, and a hearty welcome. I will not present my book unless your Majesty desires it, and your Majesty shall not be required to knight any of the Club, unless you would condescend to confirm the title of my worthy friend Sir Thomas. We will be very merry, may it please your Majesty, and we will have your Majesty’s favourite punch, if your Majesty will give us the recipe. Mr. Oakley shall be driven from the Club-room, and we will make our furious Whig, Sir Francis, sing loyal staves in honour of the occasion. If this does not bring you to Eton, I don’t know what will--that’s all.

In the evening your Majesty shall return to--bless my soul, I had forgotten the holidays. But your own good-nature will prompt you. I have finished my epistle, and--may it please your Majesty.

(Signed) PEREGRINE.