expectations, or extorting your shilling out of your breeches pocket on false pretences. Blessed is the man who expects nothing, for he will not be disappointed. If you have expected any thing, blame yourself for the disappointment, for we have not given any reason whatever for your aspirations.

For this, you may be assured, we have reasons good. One of the principal of which is, that we do not well know, in our own mind, what is to be the exact line we mean to adopt. We shall just float down the stream as merrily and as carelessly as we can, writing straight a-head whatever enters our cerebrum, or cerebellum, or whatever other part and portion of us is endowed with the thinking faculty. Vogue la galere tant qu'elle pourra voguer! If we be wise one month, we shall be foolish the next three-if stupid, as we rather imagine we are this month, better days will dawn upon the intellectual faculties of our readers in the next. Against one thing shall we wage warwar, fierce, turbulent, no-quarter-giving -against HUMBUG. That elderly gen tleman shall have no favour in our eyes; no matter in what harlequin jacket he may think proper to array himself. Whether he appear rigged out as patriot or critic--saint or sinner-wit or ass, it is all one; we shall most unrelentingly expose him whenever he happens to fall in our way.

As for Balaam, a word, for the invention of which the Rev. Mr. North, of Edinburgh, cannot be sufficiently extolled; it is entirely out of the question, but that we must have our natural share of that. Like the atmosphere, it surrounds all periodical works; we cannot breathe but we suck it in. And why not? Is there any act of parliament against any man's writing nonsense, and that too of the most conspicuous kind? Forbid it, Heaven! It would be a most suicidal act, if any such existed, for it would cut the throats of nine-tenths of the proceedings of our lords and masters in the houses above and below. But though thus perfectly convinced of the intense necessity of Balaam, yet we shall most decidedly discharge from our pages all such matter as is avowedly and unblushingly so. Avaunt, therefore, Commercial Reports, Agricultural ditto, Medical ditto. Away with Lists of Bankruptcies, Promotions, Preferments, with announcements of Births, Deaths, and Marriages; with Provincial Occurrences, whether arranged geographically in

the style of Sir Richard Phillips, or after the good dame-school process of the al phabet, as is the mode of Cyrus Redding, Commander-in-chief of the small text of Colburn, Saunders, and Ottley's Magazine. Those who are concerned in farming, buying, or selling, or speculating--those who are looking after the loaves and fishes, the shoulder-knots and epaulettes, the coifs and wigs, the lawn-sleeves, or shovel-hats, of this world, do not need the slow-coming, snail-pace, once-a-month, heavy waggon of a magazine, to inform them of what guides or regulates these momentous matters, when they have the bang-upfour-in-hand fly-a-way, smacking and dashing on every side of them in the shape of newspapers, brimful of such intelligence, morning and evening. The births, marriages, and deaths of those whom it most concerns us to know about, are ticketed and labelled in their own appropriate repositories, as peerages, baronetages, &c. except the deaths of men conspicuous in their generation for mind in any of its varieties, who, indeed, rarely appear in the above receptacles, and they have their peculiar mummy-cases, in the shape of quarto, octavo, or duodecimo memoirs, published by mourning friends, in honour of the deceased, and out of compliment to the coin of the bibliopolists. As for provincial affairs, synopses of intelligence, or by whatever other name the stupid things are called, what do we, living in the polite regions of Smithfield, care about such barbarian matters ? What do we want to know, for instance that the wiseacres of Wisbeach were deep in deliberation on the propriety of building a bridge at Long Sutton Wash?-A fact stated in all the glory of leaded brevier in the two hundred and eighty-sixth page of the forty-second number of the New Monthly Magazine? By abstaining from such stuff, we save our readers-a thing, good readers! not to be despised-the expense of at least sixteen, perhaps, twenty additional pages.

As for politics, however,—but we reserve our resolves on that bead, deep buried in the profundity of our own ample bosoms.

Now, we had no more notion of writing any thing like a prospectus, when we began this essay of ours, than we had of going with Captain Parry to flirt with Iligluik, the Eskimaux belle-and yet we have written one after a sort.

After a sort we may say, for we own we never had any chance of shining in the art of prospectuses. If any lady or gentleman wish to see a prospectus, let him or her read over the modest and pathetic appeal to the public, lately set afloat by Mr. Mc Dermot, of the European-the New Old European, we mean - in which every thing is superb. He assures you, that he is himself clever-his artieles clever-his men clever-his tout ensemble clever. He informs you that he has chosen himself editor, in consequence of the vast talents he found that he had displayed in writing some metaphysics for the playhouse, which he had the rare merit of reading-and promises that he will, every month, give you a chapter, on a fresh poet, and fix his place for ever in the literature of the country. There's a conspicuous Celt for you! We doubt if there be a finer at the door of any snuff-shop in the metropolis.

But even he is eclipsed by the coming glories of the European Review; to be edited in Bayswater, and published by Pouchée, in Covent-Garden Market. This is truly the prince of all possible prospectus-writing. It starts well. It is the European Review, or MIND, AND ITS PRODUCTIONS IN BRITAIN, FRANCE, ITALY, GERMANY, &c. -which, &c. means all nations in the world. In this is to be found "all the intellect of the continent as it were in deposit." A pretty pawn-broking phrase, which is corroborated by the assertion that "the most distinguished men of Europe have pledged to it their genius." Statesmen best acquainted with the court, the cabinet, and the country, are to write its politics-and its literature is to exhibit the sum total of intellectual and social advancement, during the gradual progress of the year. There is to be in it no pedantry, no dryness, no want of talent, discrimination, nor courage, as in all other books. Nothing can be more beautiful than the naïve simplicity with which the capacity of executing all these fine things is taken for granted-or than the noble jolter. headed manner in which the editor divides all arts and sciences for the better conduct of his five-shilling deposit for the pledged genius of Europe. The arrangement of Bacon, he ob serves, though admirable for the time in which he lived, is full of errors--the table of D'Alembert, even after the lapse of some centuries, (D'Alembert

lived and died in the next century to Bacon,) was but a copy of Bacon's. And, under those circumstances, he proposes his arrangement. It is oracular and mystic. It puts us in mind of an orphic rhapsody on the prima stamina of the universe.

General Enumeration of the Bayswater Review's intended Contents.

"PRINCIPLES of all things-ELEMENTS which these principles originate -BEINGS which these elements formORGANS which these being's developeWANTS which these organs experience -SIGNS which these wants excite-SoCIETIES which these signs produceCOUNTRIES which these societies inhabit -EARTH which these countries compose-PLANETARY SYSTEM to which this earth belongs."

Which general arrangement is followed by a minute sub-division into half a hundred heads, according to which hydra, the great critics of Europe will regulate this immortal work!

After this he need hardly have told us, that universal conclusiveness is the first characteristic of his forthcoming Review. We fear, however, it will never appear at all-we fear it, we say, for it holds forth all the promise of being the most splendid of butts.

-

But we are wasting our time.Therefore, no longer we'll keep you a waiting,

Filling our columns with prefaces dull; Let's rather drink, without further debating, Success to our new Magazine, the John Bull.

Join in the toast we are merrily drinking, Heaping your glasses, we charge you, brim-full;

We don't allow any scrupulous shrinking, When we drink to our new Magazine, the John Bull.

Long may it flourish, all humbug despising, Laughing at blockhead, ass, goose, and aum-scull;

Honouring talent, good fellowship prizing, So success to our new Magazine the John Bull.

What, then, shall we begin with?— Why any thing. Here is a lump of a story from Ireland-So let us, in the name of Boeotia, begin with that. Both Blackwood's and Colburn's last Magazines began with Irish affairs, and as it is evidently voted that they should be the regular bores of all good society, why should not we too open with number one of a dull series of

Introductory.

I do not remember where I saw it remarked, but I certainly have seen it somewhere, that the natives of the Gothic race, actuated by a spirit of union, went steadily forward to their great object of subjugating countries and founding kingdoms; while the Celts, fierce and disunited to the last, were no sooner established any where, than they turned their arms on one another in savage civil war, and were consequently driven by external foes gradually into the holes and corners of Europe, the mountains of Biscay, the fastnesses of Bretagne, the highlands of Scotland, the hills of Wales, the morasses and forests of Ireland. There has been, 1 know, much disputation, much ink-shed, and I believe some blood-shed, as to the filiation and the superior claims of their races. I feel little interest in the quarrel, but assuming the hypothesis, which makes the aborigines of Ireland Celtic, the character of pugnacity is fully borne out by their proceedings. There is, as we all know, one grand feud of Protestant and Roman catholic, dividing the population into two great classes. It is only the representative of the feud between English and Irish-mere; and had the reformation chanced to have taken a different course, had England remained in the pale of the Romish church, the quarrel would be just going on in the same way as it is now. Indeed, it is probable, that the mob of Ireland would be at present ultra Protestant.

But besides this feud, there are a thousand others, incident to a demi-civilized state of society. In almost every parish, there is a hereditary quarrel handed down from time immemorial, between families of names of discordant barbarity. Driscoll fights Sweeney; Slattery is pitched against Shaughnessy; Con

nell is ready to hoist cudgel against Scully, all over the land. If you seek the cause of dispute, you may be told that Scully's grandfather had murdered Connell's grand-uncle, or ravished his grandmother; but most probably you will be answered, that nobody knows why they fight, but it is an old fashion of the families, which it would be a shame to give up. Among the higher classes, the national disposition is of course curbed by the forms of polished society; but even there, it is visible in the extra number of duels, the fierce contentions at public dinners, the angry personal denunciations in speeches and pamphlets, which are almost peculiar to Ireland. Even the labourers in the same vineyard cannot agree to carry on the work in harmony. So long ago as the days of the martyr Charles, Ormond strenuously advised that the Roman Catholics should be allowed to meet, because he asserted, from his own long experience of them, that they could not come together without quarrelling, and his assertion was verified by the result. In our time, the Catholic body was shaken to its centre, by a division about the policy of allowing the crown a control over the nomination of their prelates, or, as it was called, the Veto. The more moderate party, anxious principally for the acquisition of civil rights, were willing to grant it: the more zealous, including the chief orators of the sect, the priests, and consequently the mob, clamoured that it would be an invasion of the unity of the church, and an abomination not to be tolerated. There was an immensity of angry discussions on the subject, and the Vetoists and Anti-Vetoists hated for the moment one another more cordially than they did the common enemy.

The Veto Row.

It was during the heat and fervour of this feeling, that an aggregate meeting was called in the city of ; the

object of which was, to petition Parliament for the removal of the remaining enactments of the penal code. In that rich and populous city, the upper classes of the Roman Catholics were almost without exception Vetoists; the mob, as I have already said, were there, as everywhere else, enlisted warmly on the other

side. The Vetoists had formed a local board, from which this meeting emanated. It was, therefore, expected that they would have had every thing their own way. A gentleman of immense wealth, and considerable talents, was chosen for the chair; the resolutions intended to be prepared, were carefully and cleverly written, with what appeared to them a due mixture of firmness and moderation and the most respectable men of the party were primed with speeches, intended, by an innocent deception, to pass for extempore. No difficulty was apprehended. But alas, as in true love, so in politics, the current can seldom be got to run smooth. The mob leaders had determined that Vetoism should not be the order of the day. This determination, however, they kept in a great measure to themselves. Their resolutions were composed in secret conclave, by the select few; the newspapers in their pay, uttered only indistinct murmurs; the priest from the altar muttered merely vague insinuations of the dangers of the church. Underhand, every thing was organized with a skill invigorated by fiery zeal, and rendered dexterous by continual practice. The Vetoists knew nothing about it, and went on with their preparations. They provided a spacious building capable of containing some hundreds, for they knew enough of the state of public feeling not to trust themselves to an exhibition al fresco, and they determined on filling it exclusively with their friends. When the day arrived, they succeeded in this object, and the meeting, with scarce any exception, was composed of partizans of Vetoism.

The business of the day had begun. The chair was taken; the opening speech, dwelling on the grievances under which the Catholics laboured, their undeviating loyalty, their devotion to the laws, their determination to act as peaceable members of society, without resorting to any agitating measures, and other similar topics, was making; when a horrible clamour outside interrupted all the proceedings. It was a jubilant shout, raised by the mob, which had gathered in some thousands about the place of meeting, on the arrival of a priest, whose intense zeal in the cause, and powers of popular eloquence, had made him a great favourite with the rabble. He was not long idle. "What," said he, "is the meaning of all this? Who are these people, who have taken it upon them to re

present this populous and important city? Is there a man among them whom you would trust? I vow to Heaven, not one. No, I repeat it-not one!" The cry was echoed by the crowd. "No! No!" they roared forth-" not one! down with them, down with them." "Patience, my friends," said the speaker; "Patience! let us have no violence. Is it to be endured, that they, corrupt fawners on our oppressors, lickspittle lacqueys to the ascendancy men, whose game they are playing, are to pass milk-and-water resolutions, bowing down before our tyrants, and begging with cap in hand for the indisputable rights to which, as men, as Irishmen, we are entitled? Not it." Again arose the echo. "Not it—not it," was shouted by a thousand voices. "Turn them out-knock them to the devil." "Wait awhile, my friends," continued the priest, "wait awhile. You know Counsellor is in town; he told me that the moment he could get out of court, where he is this instant defending a poor man, of whom the Orange magistracy are anxious to make a victim, he would be here." This was ben trovato. The generosity of the popular barrister, rescuing a poor man from the fangs of ravenous orangism, was irresistible. It raised him fifty degrees in the estimation of the auditory; to whom the priest said nothing of the three guineas, which the generous lawyer pocketed on the occasion.

Here another orator presented him-* self; he was a man of gigantic stature, a noticeable fellow of thews and sinews, who was ever prominent in promoting a row. Why then," said he, "it will be a pretty joke, to bring the counsellor here when all is over. The fellows inside are as cunning as foxes, and will pass their vagabond resolutions now in double quick time. The sneaking rascals will print them in the papers, as the proceedings of the Catholics of the city, and the d-d orangemen will chuckle at having nicked us. Who will back me in collaring the turnspit in the chair inside, and shaking the liver out of him?" A unanimous burst of approbation assured the speaker that he would not be deserted in his laudable attempt. A grim smile passed over the murky countenance of the priest, on seeing that what he desired was thus to be accomplished without compromising him. He put in, however, a faint caveat in favour of moderation, which was drowned in the tumult of the now excited mob. A

desperate rush was made at the gates of the building, which those inside had hastily closed when they perceived the violence of the crowd; and a simultaneous attack was directed on all sides at the windows. In a moment, the doors were torn from the hinges, and the multitude rushed forward to dislodge the former Occupants. They, alarmed even for life, fled as well as they could through a large window in the rear; or, mingling with the invaders, gave up the contest. At the side-windows, where the narrowness of the entrance gave the minority some chance of contending against superior numbers, the Vetoists shewed fight, and in some instances they succeeded in making their ground good. But the rush through the door overpowered them, and their partial success did them no farther service than to secure them an additional sallyport or two of retreat. The scene of tumult was vivid. In every corner was miscellaneous fighting, and the house rang with the cries of rage, exultation, or pain; with buzzas, yells, oaths, and execrations. Black eyes, bloody noses, and broken bones, were there in plentiful abundance; happily, however, no lives were lost. The struggle did not last two minutes; a panic had seized the Vetoists, and sauve qui peut was soon the order of the day. The benches, platforms, hustings, and all the paraphernalia of public meetings, which they had erected, were torn down, and converted into weapons of offence against themselves; and the brawny orator, who had led forward the rabble, and done the cause some service in the fistic war, which ensued, rising upon the shoulders of his tumultuous associates, was proceeding to put his threat of collaring the chairman into execution. That gentleman had kept his seat unmoved during the disturbance, and now seeing the utter discomfiture of the project of his friends, had recourse to the only manoeuvre that could at all get him out of the scrape,with even the appearance of decency. He rose, and by gestures, for no voice could be heard in the deafening clamour which raged around, supplicated for a hearing. Angry as the mob was, and flown with the insolence of victory over their superiors, his personal character and influonce had considerable weight with their leaders, and a well understood signal from them lulled the multitude, after some indignant cries of contempt and hatred, into an unwilling silence. He

took advantage of the pause, to declaré the meeting adjourned, and made a hasty retreat through the window behind him, amid cries of "no, no, no adjournment; shame, shame," mixed with the most truculent hootings, and garnished by a flight of missiles, the fragments of the broken furniture. He escaped comparatively unhurt, rallied about a couple of hundred of his friends at a considerable distance from the scene of contest; marched them to a tavern, passed unregarded resolutions, and unavailing protests, and retired home to ruminate on the absurdity of men, who think of proposing half measures to an unreflecting populace.

Speeching and Chairing.

Meanwhile the victors were subsiding into order. Silence was obtained, and, after some difficulty, a gentleman was found hardy enough to preside. In order to accommodate all parties, a spacious breach was made in the wall, and in the opening was placed the chair. By it was hastily thrown up a platform, on which the orators were to exhibit, so as to be heard by the crowd within and without. The arch-demagogue, the prime attraction of the day, did not however arrive for an hour, and the time was filled up by provincial performers, who tumbled through their periods for the diversion of the audience. These, however, kept carefully aloof from the grand common-places of the party, which were reserved for the chief ornament of the scene. When their prattle was getting generally voted tedious, a shout from the extremity of the crowd an nounced the arrival of the counsellor, and a lane was instantly made for his passage to the platform. He sprung up in a moment, and stood bare-headed and erect in the middle of applauding thousands. His cheek was pallid, but his eyes beamed with intense excitement. He looked round with a slow and steady glance, and threw back his ample shoulders to give full force to the words he was about to utter. His whole demeanour marked him a practised artist in addressing such a crowd as was around him. He bowed once or twice carelessly, and waved impatiently with his hand to check the thunders of applause. Loud and long did that thunder continue, nor was it checked by any other consideration than that it was hindering their champion from speaking. When the anxious ex