NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. PROLOGUE TO VOLUME XCVII. 66 annus mirabilis ;" and a New WITH a New Year we begin a New Volume. Without pretending to the oracular skill of Zadkiel, that most learned of "Genethliacs," we may safely predict the quality of the Ninety-seventh Volume of the New Monthly; for the writers whose contributions have filled the pages of the Magazine for the last few years, have still the same ready pens for its service. A volume of the New Monthly may be likened unto a good dinner with three courses and a dessert, seeing that four removes are necessary to complete the literary as well as the substantial banquet. Like a practised maître d'hôtel, we also present our bill of fare, but with even more consideration for the tastes and appetites of our guests, since we offer them the contents of only one course at a time, with sufficient interval to get hungry again before the dishes are replaced. He who would confidently say what the year 1853 is to do for us, must make some bold guesses. The prophecy of Lear's Fool is no bad precedent. Let us take a few samples from his prediction. When priests are more in word than matter. Shakspeare had some suspicion of this being the case in 1605; what are we to say, two centuries and a half later? Between the "half-and-half" of Puseyism, the "heavy, steady Stingo" of the Establishment, and the "sharp, sour cider" of Dissent, we are more ballottés with "words" than edified by "matter." If "His Eminence" (as the Times' advertisement says) puts in his oar, we may be rowed over to an opposite shore, but the boatman's song will be very nearly to the same tune. When brewers mar their malt with water. They did this, if not in the reign of King Lear (though most likely it was a practice in his day) certainly in that of the Virgin Queen; but it is only charitable to suppose that the brewers of Elizabeth's day, knowing that the ladies then drank beer for breakfast, diluted it as much as possible in order to save their reputations. Our quarrel with the brewers of Queen Victoria's domination is, not so much that they "mar their malt with water," though they are adepts at any cunning infusion-(we will say nothing about Strychnine and Baron Justus Liebig, or Humuline, the newest name for Extract of Hops),-as that they don't enough know how to cut down a legitimate allowance of beer. Quart bottles were quart bottles, we will suppose, "when every rood of ground maintained its man," or, at all events, "black jacks" held no stinted measure; but, at the present time, "Bottledom"-has reached such a pitch of refinement, that if you get anything in a bottle of Jan.-VOL. XCVII. NO. CCCLXXXV. B Guinness but froth and disappointment, you are more of a philosopher and less of a victim than most British beer-drinkers. When nobles are their tailors' tutors. This is not the vice of the present generation, nor is it likely to be soon revived. Schneiderism went out with the Prince Regent and Brummell. A nobleman of the present day, who is oftener heard of in the Mechanics' lecture-room than at Almack's, has something better to do with his time than to waste it in the excision of coat wrinkles, and the curative process of fine-drawing. When every case in law is right. If 1853 produce this result, we shall have less occasion than we suppose for regretting the political change which has brought about the retirement of Lord St. Leonards, of whom we may say, as Dryden did of his great predecessor: In Israel's courts ne'er sat an Abethdin With more inquiring eyes and hands more clean. Swift of despatch and easy of access, -without the faults that marred the statesmanship of the first Earl of Shaftesbury. No squire in debt; and no poor knight. Alas for the applicants in the Irish court of "Encumbered Estates!" The "squires in debt" this year will be as plentiful, we fear, as ever;— "poor knights" are perhaps a rarer article than they were in the days of "bonny King Jamie," who made them, as fishermen salt herrings, by the thousand. When usurers tell their gold i' the field. This is more likely to happen in 1853 than in any other year since gold came into fashion-a long period to reckon. It is not the bullionmerchants of Cheapside, nor the bulls of the Stock Exchange who will count their gains on Primrose Hill or Blackheath; but the lucky ones of Australia, numbering a few usurers-("Some bastards, too," as Falconbridge says)-who, having no roof under which to house them, will weigh their nuggets at the Victoria diggings. But, for all this, the usurers will have no greater faith than heretofore in the honesty of their fellow-creatures, and-in Australia-no one can say that they are not right; lucky for society if Europe be equally free from suspicion. When such unbelievable occurrences, says Lear's Fool, come to pass, Then shall the realms of Albion Come to great-confusion. We have shown how many of these events may happen in 1853, and yet we do not despair of winning through it—and finding ourselves and our readers none the worse-if not a good deal the better-in 1854. For this result, we do not, however, exactly look to the great Political "Concert" which has just struck up. The new "Liberal-Conservative" Ministry is, doubtless, a very harmonious combination, but we cannot help comparing it to Sylvester Daggerwood's benefit, on which occasion, -"at the particular desire of several persons of distinction," the most eminent performers have " kindly consented" to waive all personal and professional jealousy, and appear in the several parts allotted them "for one night only." FROM WHICH IT MAY BE INFERRED THAT PERSEVERANCE IN A GOOD CAUSE WILL MEET ITS REWARD. A GOOD Old Inn was the Dunmow Flitch. None better in Essex. The house had known better days, and wealthier inmates-though not merrier, perhaps than it did, since it had come into the occupation of Jonas Nettlebed: "Jovial Jonas," as he called himself,-or "Friar Bacon," as some of his customers styled him and who, out of his exceeding love and respect for the time-honoured Custom of the Manor of Dunmow, had adopted the Flitch as his sign, and underneath the great gilded daub, supposed to represent a side of fatted bacon, that hung before his door, had caused these lines to be written: Painted in gold, The FLITCH behold, Of fam'd Dunmow the boast! Then here should call Fond couples all, And pledge it in a toast! This sign caused much laughter, and provoked much rustic wit, chiefly at the landlord's expense; but as it lured most of the jesters into the house, it perfectly answered its purpose. Though Jovial Jonas had prospered in his calling, which he richly NOTICE.-The Author reserves the copyright of this Tale in France, and the right of publishing a French Translation of the work; as provided by the Treaty. deserved to do, seeing that he brewed the best ale in Essex; the one grand wish of his life was still ungratified. This was possession of the Flitch-not metaphorically, but literally. He coveted the prize more than any worldly honour, and though often disappointed, he had not given up the expectation of gaining it. Hitherto, he had not been able to take the Oath prescribed by the Charter, which was rather strict in its conditions, requiring that any married couple claiming the Flitch should swear that they had lived together in perfect amity for a Twelvemonth and a Day, and never for a single moment, whether sleeping or waking, in bed or at board, had repented them of their choice, or wished themselves asunder. This was more than Jonas could conscientiously affirm of any of his unions. Any, we say, for he had been thrice married, and in each instance the match was so ill-assorted that both parties often sighed for freedom from their fetters. Jonas's first wife was a shrew, and never allowed him a moment's peace; his second was soft-spoken enough, but a sad flirt, who drove him nearly distracted with jealousy; and his third cared more about the bottle than she did about him. Nothing daunted, and animated by the same ambition as before, Jonas married again, in the full belief that this time his effort would be crowned with success. And the odds seemed now rather more in his favour, for his fourth wife, Nelly, was not only by far the prettiest of the bunch, but very amiable, and well-conducted, and apparently very much attached to him. Moreover, Nelly Nettlebed was as anxious to gain the Flitch as her husband; and that was something. The worst that could be said of her was that she was a little disposed to coquetry, and liked flattery; "but this," Jonas said, "was quite natural in a pretty young woman." As to her personal graces, he had been known to sum them up thus: "There is not too much of Nelly-not half so much as there was of my last wife, Chloe, but, what there is, is good, and of the right sort. Her eyes are brighter than my first wife's-Kate-you recollect Kate's black eyes, eh, neighbour?-and her waist is trimmer, and her ankles neater than Jane's my second-you remember Jenny, neighbour-a fine woman, but rather too free in her manners-in short, Nelly's worth 'em all three put together. I'm a lucky man, neighbour-by the marry maskins! I am. I envy no man his wife-not even you-and I care not if any man envies me, seeing I'm now as sure of the Flitch as I am that my name's Jonas-Jovial Jonas-ha! ha! I mean to claim it when the time of probation is over. So look out for rare doings, neighbourrare doings-ho! ho!" The village chum to whom these remarks were addressed, though he agreed with the uxorious landlord in his estimate of his wife's beauty, was by no means so sure that Jonas would win the prize. However, he kept his thoughts to himself, and merely nodded his head, as if in assent. He was married himself, and knew the difficulties and dangers of the case. The claimant of the Flitch in expectation, was by no means an illlooking little fellow-in his own opinion. We are compelled to qualify the description in this way, for most people thought him too short, too stout, too red in the gills, too puffy, too snub-nosed-too anything you please-except too handsome. But Jonas viewed his own figure and face in the glass in a very different light, and thought himself an extremely personable little man. He was rather a lady-killer too; persuading himself that the sex doted upon him-and he had some show of reason for the belief, since he had obtained four wives; but other explanations of his good luck had been given. Howbeit, he took con siderable pains in the adornment of his person; wore flowered waistcoats, and coats of showy colour; was particular about the tie of his wig, and the nice sit of his hose. Nor could any innkeeper boast a whiter apron than he. In a conspicuous part of the house, placed there for the edification of his guests for he knew it by heart himself and fairly copied out and framed, was the Oath, administered to the claimants of the Flitch, which had always hitherto appeared so formidable to him, but which he now hoped to be able to pronounce, without any omission, or the slightest mental reservation. And as this singular formula will be frequently referred to in the course of our story, it may be here recited in full. sure. The Oath. You shall swear by Custom of Confession, For this is our Custom of Dunmow well known:- No Brawls. No Regrets. No Transgressions. Constant Love and Devotion. Twelve Honeyed Moons; and One Day over, to make all The conditions were so hard, and so little applicable to the cases of married folk in general, and those of Dunmow in particular, that they were never accepted. An old custom this delivery of the Flitch; so old that the date of its institution is lost. Thus much only is known about it. The earliest claim on record was made in the seventh year of the reign of Edward the Fourth, and the guerdon of rare conjugal love and truth was bestowed upon Steven Samuel and his wife by the good Prior of the Convent of Our Lady at Dunmow. Twice again in monkish times was the prize won at long intervals indeed, for the second application occurred in the reign of Henry the Sixth, and the third at the commencement of the Eighth Harry's rule. But the good old custom was continued long after the dissolution of the monasteries; in fact, it could not be dispensed with, being part of the manorial tenure. Part of the venerable fabric, which had once sheltered the old Augustine canons and their superior, was |