No. 1.

A DIALOGUE BY WAY OF PREFACE.

SCENE-The Sanctnm. INTERLOCUTORS-Fuzbos and the Editor.

Fuzbos.-I agree with you, your title is excellently chosen, but a preface is nevertheless indispensable; without that, you will stand a great chance of finding yourself cut by the public, and your paper

uncut.

Editor.-Well then, what would you have me say? Fuzbos.-You should state your object, intentions, means and appliances to boot.

Editor.-My object and intentions are to be found in my Prospectus; my means and appliances will be seen in my pages.

Fuzbos.-Very good. Suppose, then, you were to usher in your work with a preface, replete with wit, humour, and originality.

Editor.-Your idea is excellent; could I secure the presence of the first two qualities, the public would readily admit the third. Mais ce ne'st que le premier pas qui coute. How shall I begin?

Fuzbos.-Let me see: "The March of Intellect." Editor.-Would bring my readers to a dead halt. Fuzbos.-Then try "The Spirit of Reform." Editor. The public would reject the bill, and lay the spirit.

Füzbos.-Well, then, profess-
Editor.-I hate professions.

Fuzbos.-Declare yourself free from the influence of the booksellers.

Editor. That my paper shall do for me.

Price 3d.

Fuzbos.-Introduce a few quotations. Editor.-One from Rabelais will answer every purpose. You remember how he closes his description of the Sileni: "l'habict ne faict le moyne; et tel est vestu dhabit monachal qui on dedans nest rien moins que moyne; eh tel est vestu de cappe hespaignolle qui, en son couraige, nullement affiert a Hespaigne. Cest pourquoy fault ouvrir le livre, et soigneusement peser ce que y est] deduyct. Lors congnoistrez que la drogue dedans contenue est bien daultre valeur que ne promettoyt la boyte. Cest a dire que les maitieres icy traictees ne sont tant folastres comme le tiltre au dessus pretendoyt."

Phusbos.-Very good; but you know you must touch upon your principles.

Editor. I have none. My rule of conduct is the rule of three

NO POLITICS, NO POLEMICS, NO PERSONALITIES.* Fuzbos.-Then close with something civil to the

public.

Editor.-No, I shall wait till the public have bought my paper and deserve it.

I'll

Fuzbos.-As you please, Sir; but as my suggestions have proved so little satisfactory. trouble you with no more. Remember, that at all events they were strictly confidential.

Editor. Of that I am perfectly aware; and as a proof of it, why I'll e'en follow the fashion of the day and print them.

[Exit Fuzbos in a fit of indignation, and enter Diabolus in a misfit of corducoys.]

That is to say, no party politics; we may occasionally indulge in holiday fashion-by letting off a few sportive squibs and jesting crackers-which will be charged with fun and not with malice,

THE GENIUS LOCI..

It was in the year 1829, and in the gloomy month of November, that the romance of modern days with which I am about to astound the reader, actually occurred, and in which I, unresistingly, laid no inconsiderable part.

On the evening in question, I had been engaged with a friend, at his chambers in Lincoln's Inn, in the unpleasant task of investigating a voluminous collection of papers connected with a suit in Chancery, into which I had been thrust "willy nilly" by a combination of untoward events. I was soon heartily tired of the job, rendered doubly disagreeable by the promise which it held out, of being a very unprofitable one; and my mind, which in the early part of the evening had been "perplexed in the extreme," by the almost unintelligible jargon, in which the various documents were set forth, had not been at all clarified, by the occasional glasses of wine, with which, at the instigation of my friendly and professional adviser, I had endeavoured to alleviate the dryness of my task, and to wash the dust of the long-unfolded parchments from my throat.

In this way had we been occupied, till, like Master Shallow, we heard "the chimes at midnight," an intimation of the time which afforded an excuse for my departure, of which I was not slow in availing myself. After a friendly good night, hopes of a pleasant walk, best wishes for the success of the Chancery suit, &c. I descended from the chambers of my friend, and prepared to sally forth. Nay, I did, though the rain, which was a highly respectable rain, at least by no means of a doubtful character, descended in one of those continuous and heavy showers, which are by meteorologists defined as the "true London particular." Those heavy showers are certainly beneficial to the metropolis; but one inconvenience attends their never-failing washing of the streets, and that is, their aptitude to wash the passengers at the same time.-But to proceed, there were two miles between myself and my pillow, so I was fain to set a bold face upon the matter, and start.-I did; heavily did the drops plash upon the pavement, and mournfully did their sound fall upon my ear.

I looked up to see if there were signs of the shower ceasing, but Aquarius was in the ascendant. -I ran through Serle Street, to St. Clement's church, in hopes of securing a coach, but they seemed to have secured themselves by retiring. "Does your 'onor vant a coach," exclaimed a waterman from a doorway.-"Yes," said I." There arn't none on the stand." "I can see that well enough,” replied I; "but is there any public house open hereabouts."-"No; but your 'onor cant be dry such a night as this."-Twas true enough; and I turned from my shelter, and looked down Holywell Street, as well as the mist covered lamps would let me, in hopes of discovering some poor devil in the same unlucky plight; but that consolation was denied me. Not a watchman was to be seen (in those days there were watchmen upon the face of the earth); in short, the whole street was dreary, dark, and desolate. Not one of those kind Samaritans, or Israelites, who dwell in it apparently for the purpose of clothing the naked, and taking in the stranger, being there, to volunteer one of the many dozen of coats which they would have forced me into some hours previously.

Just at the corner of Wych Street however, I saw some one approaching towards me,-I was a little astonished at the immense size of the unhappy wight whom I was destined to encounter on such a night, but more when I perceived by the air with which he turned from me, and retraced his steps towards Catharine Street, that he was either walking for his amusement, or uncertain as to his movements.

Surprize was the feeling with which the first glimpse of him inspired me; but the sensation which I experienced, when my nearer approach made me fully acquainted with his stupendous proportions, language cannot describe. Such of my readers as remember the caricature of Louis XVIII. as an elephant, may form some slight notion of my worthy pre-cursor.

I forgot all my misfortunes in my speculations upon this man mountain, who paced before me, slowly and gravely, as befitted a man of his weight. He was like myself, without an umbrella, no doubt because he had been unable to find one large enough. His costume was of a sober hue, and down his back, which like the Strand, must have been widened at a considerable expense, there hung what might pass for either a pigtail or a bell-rope, according to the fancy of the spectator. This appendage to his collar, and ye Gods what a collar! my fat friend kept incessantly switching

Backwards and forwards

As a gentleman switches his cane."

A slight stoop in his figure, which served to show that he was built upon Sir Robert Seppings' principle, and to indicate, that time, if it had added to his breadth, had somewhat robbed him of his length, together with the sighs, which ever and anon escaped from him, like paviors groans, or the puffs of an asthmatic bellows, combined to interest me in his behalf, and a hundred speculations concerning him, arose in my mind. Poor gentleman, he seemed to be disturbed in his mind, somewhat seemed to furnish him with bitter meditation,

"Intent he seemed;

And pondering future things of wondrous weight" Who was he? Some great man by his figure.-Was it the Duke of Buckingham-It was little likely that his Grace should be perambulating the Strand at such an hour, in such a night. Was it Theodore Hook? If so, it was an enlarged edition; besides, Hook had too much wit to encounter such weather. Could it possibly be Washington Irving's Stout Gentleman, come up from Derby? No, he carried an umbrella, and got into a coach. My friend, did not the one, and could not the other! I determined to pass him, and catch a glimpse of his countenance. I was about to do so, when we were opposite Wellington Street, but he crossed the carriage way, and made towards Waterloo Bridge. A horrible suspicion now flashed across my mind, that the unhappy gentleman was either in love or in debt, and meditated putting an end to himself, and his troubles, by drowning. It was my duty to prevent this, if I could; and I determined to make the attempt, recollecting, that if his weight was against me, "that fat was prone to float." However, on arriving at the bridge, my fears were allayed; whether he could not get through the toll gate, or had changed his mind, matters but little, he returned. Well," said I," I am determined to get a sight of his phiz, and put an end to the adventure." Every thing promised a favorable issue to my attempt; I passed him, as he walked between me and the lamp. I stared full at him, and at that very moment, asif overcome by his feelings, he covered his face with a pocket handkerchief, about the size of a moderate table cloth, and I was once more doomed to disappointment. Vexed, harrassed, and wet through, I stepped into the passage, which then led to the pit of the Lyceum, to collect myself, and gain my breath, before continuing my steps homewards. In a minute the entrance was blocked up by the Leviathan, who, unconscious of the presence of a listener, poured forth to the wind his lamentation for the proposed downfal of Exeter Change, "which (he sighed) it grieved him to the

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'Twas thus the Norman Bastard spoke unto his nobles all: "Right well ye know, long time ago, within this council-hall, "How Saxon Harold, Godwin's son, plighted his oath to me, "And swore to be my vassal, in love and loyalty; "He swore it on the relics of those who never lied,

"With me to go, through eal and woe, when good king Edward died;

“And now-give ear, my lords-that monarch's soul has flown, "And he-God wot-the crown has got, which is, of right,

mine own.

But, by the splendour of his name, who reigns for evermore, "And the holy love of the saints above, by whose blest bones he swore,

"The perjured man shall rue the day when first, by madness driven,

"He dared to brave the Norman sword, and the bolt of outraged Heaven!

"Said I not well my noble mates?" He ceased, and through the hall

A shout there ran from man to man-a shout from each and all;

And anger gleamed in faces seamed by many a ghastly scar; And vaunts were heard, and curses deep, from fierce tongues thundering-"War."

Twelve moons have waxed-twelve moons have waned-a fleet is on the sea!

Four hundred gallant vessels have cleared St. Valeri !— A thousand more bring arms good store, steeds, archers, mailclad men,

Sharp swords, long lances, shields of proof-well were they wanted then!

But one swift ship has distanced all-like arrow from the bow,

Or eagle dropping sheer from heaven, upon his prey below,She shoots along before the throng-a goodly freight has sheDuke William and his barons, the pride of Normandy!

It is the eve of battle. Upon that fatal field

Where, ere the morrow's sun had set, a nation's fate was sealed,

Two mighty armies bivouack.-Within the Norman line,
Full many a pilgrimage is vowed unto the Holy Shrine,

And many a stubborn knee is bent, and many a bloody hand Takes from the priest the sacrament; meantime the Saxon band

With jest, and song, and plenteous cheer, and many a merry tale,

Beside their blazing watchfires stretched, quaff off the nutbrown ale.

Duke William leads the vanguard, his stately steed upon,'Twas bred in Andalusian meads, 'twas reared in Arragon ; His steel poitrel-his glancing selle-are decked in costly→→→ What nostrils wide!--What starting veins -What symmetry of limb!

A child may span his fetlock !--black, black as night is he, Save one foam-flake on his tossing neck, like spray upon the sea! {

His rider too!-the monks who knew what Grecian legends told, Swore that he rode, like Leda's son, the demi-god of old!.

Ha ha! ye vaunting foreigners! ye thought to win the fight At one swoop with the uplifted sword, and with the arm of might!

"We are the Norman chivalry-Who shall abide our shock?" But now ye find your angry waves but break upon the rock! Before the foe, down, down they go, like leaves before the gale!

Shivered is lance, helm, shield, and sword, and crushed the ringing mail

Beneath the huge two-handed axe: foiled, they retreat again Renew the fight—again give back, the gates are choked with '. slain!

Thus stood the doubtful battle,-to Harold half inclined When, wise as brave, the subtle Duke thus communed with his mind.

"The lion who has missed its spring, once foiled, is foiled for aye,

But I since valour plays me false-by fraud must win the day."

He gives the word-they turn to flight-flushed with trium phant joy

The Saxons quit their barricades, all eager to destroy !
Their hands grasp firm the ponderous axe-when, at a signal

given,

Back drive the Norman's fiery fast as the winged bolt of

heaven!

Steed upon steed, in order close, and man succeeding man, William pours down his thousands upon theeir reeling van; Odo and stern Fitzosborne have charged them flank and rear Yet hemmed within on every side, they have no thought of fear!

Right well ye sons of Hengist ye guard your old renown! But all in vain-Oh! sight of pain-Harold and Gurth are down!

Deepens the din !—the foes press in-they make their entrance good!

The Pope's broad banner proudly waves where England's banner stood!

Weep daughters of a bleeding race-weep, weep, and rend your hair!

A master's foot is on your neck!-his yoke is hard to bear! Quenched are your dear domestic hearths at early even-tide! The accents of your native tongue are ruthlessly denied! Your free-born souls bow down beneath a brutal stranger's jeer!

Your homes are made a wilderness-that he may hunt the deer! Hushed is the laugh-gone is the glee-your attributes of yore! Alas! for 66 merry England," the merry land no more!

THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD.

(A Series of Papers from Foreign Sources.).

THE REPUBLIC OF BABIN.

Pszonka, chief of a village named Babin, in the palatinate of Lublin, set on foot a literary and satirical society, consisting of those friends most distinguished for the probity of their lives, and the vivacity of their character. Of these the principals were Pszonka himself and Pierre Kaszonski, another man of authority in Lublin. These two friends were in such request that no fête or family party took place in their vicinity where they were not invited. "The mere name of the village of Babin," says the historian Sarnicki, "dissipated sorrow and ennui, for it recalled Pszonka and that joyous spirit which had every where procured him friends.' This "Club" which met at Babin, chose as the object of its satire, all the faulty actions of the great. To add to its éclat, Pszonka conceived the idea, which was eagerly embraced, of assuming the name of "the Republic of Babin," and of modelling it on that of Poland, choosing a King, Paladins, Castellans, Archbishops, &c. in short all the titles which existed in the real Republic. At first his friends divided amongst themselves these several offices, thus to give a consistence to their Government. The Founder contented himself with the rank of Prefect, and Kaszowski with that of Grand Chancellor. The number of these offices were illimitable, and the members of the new Republic distributed them so liberally, that there was not one of them who possessed not some dignity or other. To give pungency to their satire, they bestowed their titular honours on those who were its object-the great-and who were of course strangers to the club itself. In this case, they always had an eye to

individual defects, and took care to confer their titles on those whose characters and qualities were the most opposed to them, and who were the worst calculated to fill such offices in a real Republic.

If any one for instance, in the National Assemblies spoke of matters entirely out of his beat, and which concerned him not, he forthwith received the dignity of " Archbishop of the Republic of Babin," by an appointment duly drawn under the seal of this merry Government. Did another advance a fact which put to trial the credulity of his hearers-he instantly was installed "Chancellor of Babin." Did a third make a public and unreasonable parade of courage- he was created" Chevalier of Babin," or perhaps "Commander in Chief of the Republic." The individual, again, who spoke disrespectfully of Religion, was hailed as "Grand Inquisitor." And so well did these witty friends avail themselves of passing events, that no one holding at all a conspicuous place, could screen his faults from their pleasantries. At the same time their satire was quite impartial; the guilty alone were affected by it, and they were thus restrained from offending by the dread of public ridicule. Indeed this method of waging war with vice could not but be an advantage to the country at large; for even if it failed to correct, it at least forced men to look at themselves, and not afford a bad example to youth.

This society soon became renowned far and wide for its talent of turning into ridicule all that was mischevious to the country. Its éclat was the greater, that none could accuse it of employing calumny, or even of admitting a member who was capable of so doing. Each individual before admission was required to give evidence of a nicety of feeling, of a cultivated understanding, and a correct judgement both of things and men. It contained within its bosom the first personages of the land: Paladins, Ministers, and Archbishops: so that when it was necessary to punish a culprit of the real Republic, the offender could not complain of receiving his mock office from the hands of one as high in Poland as in Babin-and thus the chastisement was the more salutary.

Sigismund Augustus, under whom the two Republics shone with the brightest lustre, was a wit, a liberal, and a foe to sorrow. He delighted to hear of the proceedings of the Republic of Babin, and one day when surrounded by many of its members-amongst whom was Pszonka himself, he enquired if they had a King among them? "No Sire" answered Pszonka," while you live we should not dream of choosing one; reign in the Republic of Babin, as you reign in that of Poland." The King received this answer with a smile, and so far from being offended, showed on the contrary his satisfaction with the Prefect, and thus disarmed the resentment of many who had themselves suffered under the decrees of the Republic.

This association appears to me to deserve the circulation I am now giving it, on account of the great power which it exercised over the national feeling, and the manners of the sixteenth century. The youths who occupied the first rank in public affairs trembled before its tribunal, and used every effort to escape its attacks. Thus it was that the "Republic," which at a hasty glance appeared frivolous, proved of real service to the state, by chastening vice, and held a beneficial influence over the conduct of Senators, Councillors, and Deputies.

All the historians of the 16th and 17th centuries, speak in terms of the highest eulogium of the Institution of Babin. It disappeared at length amidst that suite of misfortunes common to the whole of unhappy Poland,