THE LION'S HEAD. To our Readers. THIS IS OUR BIRTH-DAY. For we, like other imperial units, must confess to a day of birth. Although the king never dies, yet he is born: So Editors, though they be shadowy as ghosts, and bear within them the seed of immortality and wisdom, yet are they sometimes reduced to their “ab initio," and must own to some origin, some source, like their inferiors the Ohio and the Missouri, Accordingly, we are this day three years of age. But, understand us, gentle readers:-In periodical literature there is no nonage, no lisping feeble immaturity. It springs at once to its full strength, like the rainbow,-like art. Its wisdom is, as it were, an intuition, and has no infancy. It changes, like the sky; but it always preserves its due elevation. On this day we bid a welcome once more to our friends and to the public. A probation of three years has established us, we believe, in the good opinions of many; and our last year has, we hope, confirmed us there, and acquired for us new friends and well wishers. We may venture to assert, that we have included in our past pages many Essays of first-rate merit. There have been displayed-wisdom, and wit, and humour,-true poetry and story, the knowledge of art and science, mingled, and (we trust) made agreeable. We may the less hesitate to ascribe to our papers these eminent qualities, and confer on them our own mark of approbation, since they are not productions of our own, but are referable to gentlemen of admitted talent, most of whom are well known, and some of whom enjoy a high and undoubted celebrity. From what we have done, our readers will be enabled in some degree to judge of what we intend to do. The conclusion of our Third Year has come upon us. We are not oppressed by the vanity arising from what we have accomplished: yet the consciousness of having striven to lead the public mind to proper objects, of having never pampered a vicious taste, nor fed the open ears of the curious with private slander, or unjust and malignant satire, may well afford us some satisfaction, while it generates in our readers a confidence in our designs for the time to come. For the future-we can, of course, speak only of what is probable and possible. We hope and expect to do much (even more than we have hitherto done), and this hope is backed by the strong support of our many literary friends, and our increasing acquaintance with the public. Having said thus much, we may now leave the argument in better hands, namely, in those of our Contributors; they will advocate, in less direct terms perhaps than we have done, but with more effect,-the subject to which we have once more thought it right to draw the attention of our friends and readers. Elia is dead!—at least so a Friend says; but if he be dead, we have seen him in one of those hours" when he is wont to walk;" and his ghostship has promised us very material assistance in our future Numbers. We were greatly tempted to put the Irish question to him of "Why did you die?"-But as we know how very unusual a thing it is for a gentleman to give his reasons for such a step, we resisted the temptation. Mercy on us!— we hope we are wrong, but we have our shadowy suspicions, that Elia, poor gentleman! has not been honestly dealt by. Mercutio was killed by one Will Shakspeare, a poacher, though his death was laid to other hands; -and Sir Roger De Coverley (a gentleman more near our own time) perished under very mysterious circumstances. We could lay our finger upon the very man we suspect as being guilty of Elia's death! Elia's ghost, however, cannot sleep in its grave, for it has been constantly with us since his death, and vows it must still write for its peace of mind. Indeed the first paper in our present Number is one of its grave consolations. The winter must be very hard,-as it was expected to be,-for honest Master Janus Weathercock has, in the present Number, "composed his decent head and breathed his last."-But we are acquainted with his tricks -and well know how subject he is to wilful trances and violent wakings. The newspapers told us the other day of a person who could counterfeit death to such a nicety, as to deceive even an undertaker:—now our Readers must not be surprised to find Janus get up, after his laying out, and go about his ordinary concerns. Depend upon it, Readers, he resembles the Spectator's sleeper at the Cock and Bottle-and is no more dead than we are! The Letters to a Young Man whose Education has been Neglected, are, as our readers will perceive, from the pen of one of their favourite writers. We are led to expect much valuable assistance in the course of the ensuing year from that Gentleman-and, like all communicative personages, we like to babble of our expectancies. A Paper upon The Marquis of Stafford's Gallery, will form No. III. of the Series upon the Great English Collections of Pictures. We are prevented by want of room (what an enemy to good articles this same want of room always is!) from inserting the first of a Collection of Papers, illustrative of the Domestic Manners, &c. of the inhabitants of Persia, Siberia, and Turkey, by a Gentleman (a member of the University of Cambridge,) who has been for many years resident in those Countries; but it is already set up (to use a printer's phrase) and will inform our very next Number. We beg also to say that we are set up (to use an Editor's phrase) with the rest of the Series. Peter Patricius Pickleherring is a fish rather to our taste. We did think well of the last paper we received-and we do think well of the present one. If P. P. P. will favour our Publishers with a call, and introduce himsel. (we know no other way), they will make his mind easy on the subject to which he alludes in his letter. Our other unknown Contributors must-perturbed spirits as they are, rest until the next Number for our replies to them. THE London Magazine. JANUARY, 1823. REJOICINGS UPON THE NEW YEAR'S COMING OF AGE. THE Old Year being dead, and the New Year coming of age, which he does, by Calendar Law, as soon as the breath is out of the old gentleman's body, nothing would serve the young spark but he must give a dinner upon the occasion, to which all the Days in the year were invited. "The Festivals, whom he deputed as his Stewards, were mightily taken with the notion. They had been engaged time out of mind, they said, in providing mirth and good cheer for mortals below; and it was time they should have a taste of their own bounty. It was stiffly debated among them, whether the Fasts should be admitted. Some said, the appearance of such lean, starved guests, with their mortified faces, would pervert the ends of the meeting. But the objection was overruled by Christmas Day, who had a design upon Ash Wednesday (as you shall hear), and a mighty desire to see how the old Domine would behave himself in his cups. Only the Vigils were requested to come with their lanterns, to light the gentlefolks home at night. All the Days came to their day. Covers were provided for three hundred and sixty-five guests at the principal table; with an occasional knife and fork at the side-board for the Twenty-Ninth of February. I should have told you, that cards of invitation had been issued. The carriers were the Hours; twelve litJAN. 1823. tle, merry, whirligig foot-pages, as you should desire to see, that went all round, and found out the persons invited well enough, with the exception of Easter Day, Shrove Tuesday, and a few such Moveables, who had lately shifted their quarters. Well, they all met at last, foul Days, fine Days, all sorts of Days, and a rare din they made of it. There was nothing but, Hail! fellow Day, well met-brother Day-sister Day,-only Lady Day kept a little on the aloof, and seemed somewhat scornful. Yet some said, Twelfth Day cut her out and out, for she came in a tiffany suit, white and gold, like a Queen on a frost-cake, all royal, glittering, and Epiphanous. The rest came, some in green, some in white-but old Lent and his family were not yet out of mourning. Rainy Days came in, dripping; and sunshiny Days helped them to change their stockings. Wedding Day was there in his marriage finery, a little the worse for wear; Pay Day came late, as he always does; and Doomsday sent word he might be expected. April Fool (as my young lord's jester) took upon himself to marshal the guests, and wild work he made with it. It would have posed old Erra Pater to have found out any given Day in the year, to erect a scheme upon-good Days, bad Days, were so shuffled together, to the confounding of all sober horoscopy, B He had stuck the Twenty First of June next to the Twenty Second of December, and the former looked like a Maypole siding a marrow-bone. Ash Wednesday got wedged in (as was concerted) betwixt Christmas and Lord Mayor's Days. Lord! how he laid about him! Nothing but barons of beef and turkeys would go down with him-to the great greasing and detriment of his new sackcloth bib and tucker. And still Christmas Day was at his elbow, plying him with the wassail-bowl, till he roared, and hiccup'd, and protested there was no faith in dried ling, but commended it to the devil for a sour, windy, acrimonious, censorious, hypo-crit-crit-critical mess, and no dish for a gentleman. Then he dipt his fist into the middle of the great custard that stood before his left-hand neighbour, and daubed his hungry beard all over with it, till you would have taken him for the Last Day in December, it so hung in icicles. At another part of the table, Shrove Tuesday was helping the Second of September to some cock broth,— which courtesy the latter returned with the delicate thigh of a hen pheasant so there was no love lost for that matter. The Last of Lent was spunging upon Shrovetide's pancakes; which April Fool perceiving, told him he did well, for pancakes were proper to a good fry-day. In another part, a hubbub arose about the Thirtieth of January, who, it seems, being a sour puritanic character, that thought nobody's meat good or sanctified enough for him, had smuggled into the room a calves' head, which he had had cooked at home for that purpose, thinking to feast thereon incontinently; but as it lay in the dish, March Manyweathers, who is a very fine lady, and subject to the megrims, suddenly screamed out there was a "human head in the platter," and raved about Herodias' daughter to that degree, that the obnoxious viand was obliged to be removed; nor did she recover her stomach till she had gulped down a Restorative, copfected of Oak Apple, which the merry Twenty Ninth of May always carries about with him for that purpose. The King's health being called for after this, a notable dispute arose between the Twelfth of August (a zea lous old Whig gentlewoman), and the Twenty Third of April (a newfangled lady of the Tory stamp), as to which of them should have the honour to propose it. August grew hot upon the matter, affirming time out of mind the prescriptive right to have lain with her, till her rival had basely supplanted her; whom she represented as little better than a kept mistress, who went about in fine clothes, while she (the legitimate BIRTHDAY) had scarcely a rag, &c. April Fool, being made mediator, confirmed the right in the strongest form of words to the appellant, but decided for peace' sake that the exercise of it should remain with the present possessor. At the same time, he slily rounded the first lady in the ear, that an action might lie against the Crown for bi-geny. It beginning to grow a little duskish, Candlemas lustily bawled out for lights, which was opposed by all the Days, who protested against burning day-light. Then fair water was handed round in silver ewers, and the same lady was observed to take an unusual time in washing herself. May Day, with that sweetness which is peculiar to her, in a neat speech proposing the health of the founder, crowned her goblet (and by her example the rest of the company) with garlands. This being done, the lordly New Year from the upper end of the table, in a cordial but somewhat lofty tone, returned thanks. He felt proud on an occasion of meeting so many of his worthy father's late tenants, promised to improve their farms, and at the same time to abate (if any thing was found unreasonable) in their rents. At the mention of this, the four Quarter Days involuntarily looked at each other, and smiled; April Fool whistled to an old tune of "New Brooms;" and a surly old rebel at the farther end of the table (who was discovered to be no other than the Fifth of November), muttered out, distinctly enough to be heard by the whole company, words to this effect, that, "when the old one is gone, he is a fool that looks for a better." Which rudeness of his the guests resenting, unanimously voted his expulsion; and the male-content was thrust out neck and heels into the cellar, as the properest place for such a boutefeu and firebrand as he Order being restored-the young lord (who, to say truth, had been a little ruffled, and put beside his oratory) in as few, and yet as obliging words as possible, assured them of entire welcome; and, with a graceful turn, singling out poor Twenty Ninth of February, that had sate all this while mum-chance at the side-board, begged to couple his health with that of the good company before him-which he drank accordingly; observing, that he had not seen his honest face any time these four years, with a number of endearing expressions besides. At the same time, removing the solitary Day from the forlorn seat which had been assigned him, he stationed him at his own board, somewhere between the Greek Calends and Latter Lammas. Ash Wednesday, being now called upon for a song, with his eyes fast stuck in his head, and as well as the Canary he had swallowed would give him leave, struck up a Carol, which Christmas Day had taught him for the nonce; and was followed by the latter, who gave "Miserere" in fine style, hitting off the mumping tones and lengthened drawl of Old Mortification with infinite humour. April Fool swore they had exchanged conditions: but Good Friday was observed to look extremely grave; and Sunday held her fan before her face, that she might not be seen to smile. Shrove-tide, Lord Mayor's Day, and April Fool, next joined in a glee Which is the properest day to drink? in which all the Days chiming in, made a merry burden. They next fell to quibbles and conundrums. The question being proposed, who had the greatest number of followers-the Quarter Days said, there could be no question as to that; for they had all the creditors in the world dogging their heels. But April Fool gave it in favour of the Forty Days before Easter; because the debtors in all cases out-numbered the creditors, and they kept lent all the year. All this while, Valentine's Day kept courting pretty May, who sate next him, slipping amorous billets-doux under the table, till the Dog Days stitution,) began to be jealous, and to (who are naturally of a warm conbark and rage exceedingly. April Fool, who likes a bit of sport above to the lady besides, as being but a measure, and had some pretensions cousin once removed,-clapped and halloo'd them on; and as fast as their indignation cooled, those mad wags, the Ember Days, were at it with their bellows, to blow it into a flame; and all was in a ferment: till old Madam Septuagesima (who boasts herself the Mother of the Days) wisely diverted the conversation with a tedious tale of the lovers which she could reckon when she was young; and of one Master Rogation Day in particular, who was for ever putting the question to her, but she kept him at a distance, as the chronicle would tell-by which I apprehend meant the Almanack. rambled on to the Days that were gone, the good old Days, and so to the Days before the Flood-which plainly showed her old head to be little better than crazed and doited. she Then she for their cloaks and great coats, and Day being ended, the Days called took their leaves. Lord Mayor's Day Day in a deep black Fog, that wrapt went off in a Mist, as usual; Shortest the little gentleman all round like a hedge-hog. Two Vigils-so watchmen are called in heaven-saw Christused to the business before. Another mas Day safe home-they had been the Eve of St. Christopher-seeing Vigil-a stout, sturdy patrole, called Ash Wednesday in a condition little better than he should be, e'en whipt fashion, and Old Mortification went him over his shoulders, pick-a-back floating home, singing On the bat's back do I fly, and a number of old snatches besides, but Valentine and pretty May took their departure together in one of the prettiest silvery twilights a Lover's Day would wish to set in. ELIA'S GHOST, |