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There was another victim to the reigning Fiend, concerning whom you may be interested, as he acted a disgusting part in this brief tale of woe. Cholera, in this case, was at least just. Palls, the coffin-maker, was shortly after taken ill and died, and I, The Ghoul, examined him.
Wait not along the shore, they will not come ;
O'er this white foam ;
No voice from these
Gone south, it may be, rudderless, astray,
This many a day,
To some far shore
For there are lands ye never recked of yet
Or these waves fret;
And loud winds die
They will not come ! for on the coral shore
No more, no more !
But long sweet rest,
Or if beneath far fathom depths of waves
Through ocean caves,
A dreaming deep
Then have they passed beyond the outer gate
They bid us wait,
Who only know That twixt their loves and ours the great seas ebb and
Ju Lilliput Land.
YESTERDAY I took a trip into Lilliput Land, and to-day I sit and weave my fancies about the little He and She I found there. They showed no fear of me; standing a little above my ankle, they bade me welcome, and politely dissembled the horror they must have felt at my coarse presence, which in Brobdingnag is reckoned somewhat too slender and delicate for beauty. She pounced upon my jewellery, and showed me her own-rings that would not go over the top of a lead pencil, bracelets that my thumb might span, diamond earrings as heavy as herself; yet she did all with an air of condescension and not of pride. How could one be proud who was six inches high, weighed three pounds and a half, and owned an income a trifle in excess of that of England's Prime Minister.
Her companion was not inquisitive, and talked little — a slight air of boredom distinguished him, and he gave one the impression of taking nothing au grand sérieux, not even the slap on the face that she for no apparent reason, and with a hearty good will, administered.
Dolls they were not, though I tried to persuade myself so; those fierce gusts of passion and avarice that shook her—those gentlemanly instincts in him that compelled my respect-could be simulated by no mere automatons. They interested me curiously, deeply; I felt a longing to take them up in my arms, and try and get at the soul and heart within—to find out what it was like, this minimised life, whether it beat like ours, and had the same scope but they did not want me, this King and Queen of Lilliput, and were miles above me in their sovreignty as they endured, but did not ask me to remain.
And yet I think of you to-day, poor wee souls, so great, so little ; for yours is indeed “a splendid mourning in purple for happiness ;." and you must fret your little lives out on a stage barren of healthy human joys-joys that are tasted of like
common air by the brothers and sisters that you have left in far-off lands, safe in the ingle nook 'twixt father and mother Do you ever think of them, I wonder, as you examine your cheque-books high as you, and wrap yourselves round in banknotes (as you may), when the nights are cold, and think of the feverish morrow, and of how your life, if big or little, is only to be lived once ?
I think I should like to see you say your prayers—and perhaps at breakfast, when having slept away your memory, you are only conscious of your triumphs.
It must be droll to see you sipping out of a doll's tea cup and tasting a morsel of toast that would not content a mouse, with, perhaps, the smallest cochin-china's egg before you, that your united efforts have not power to crack.
Do you squabble, I wonder as you sit together at your dolls' feasts, and help each other to big platefuls off a joint, the size of a shilling, or do you pledge each other in beakers the size of a child's thimble, and talk of a wedding that all Brobdingnag will crowd to see?
Somehow I do not think of you so—I dream that one of you you despises her pigmy comrade, and will fall in love with some stalwart fellow who could carry her safely in his strong breast if he willed—and you, little general, perhaps, in secret, you yearn for something as young and as pretty as yourself (for you are only eighteen, she is tweny-two), and will meet your fate in an apple-faced doll several sizes larger than yourself, who will protect and adorn you to your life's end.
. Farewell, poor, wee changelings, born a thousand years too late or too early—the lights are going out, your supper awaits you, and your couches are spread, — will you think of your mothers ere you sleep? For gold is heavy, but you are frailso frail—and you are all alone in the midst of a world that can only wonder at, not understand you. Good night, little Midges! Good night!
Mesdames-Messieurs—I make my Editorial bow to you, and unroll to.your gaze the menu for the year.
In Fiction I commence with a Serial, a Novelette, and a Short Story. A second Serial will soon appear, and a complete Tale be given with every number.
Under the head of Burlington Babble, a summary of Political, Scientific, Literary, Artistic, Musical, and Theatrical News will be given ; and, in February, will begin a Series of Humorous Tales, in verse, entitled Doggrel Ditties.
Pro bono Publico will be the title of a regular section of our Magazine, and under this heading will be included Sanitary Matters, Dietetics, Dress, Instructions as to the avoidance of Disease and Preservation of Health, hints as to what to eat, drink, and avoid, and notices of preparations which analysis and experience have proved to be valuable.
The prefix, Wives, Mothers, and Children, will be followed by papers which cannot fail to be of interest to all those who have the welfare of “sweet home” at heart.
The Moloch of Fashion will head a series of Articles which will explain to the public the evils arising from many of the thoughtless practices of the Fashionable World, and indicate the means best adapted to avoid or combat them.
Prizes will be given QUARTERLY for subjects superior to mere riddle-guessing; and the conditions of competition will be announced in our next number.
Papers on Scientific subjects, which will be dealt with in a popular and accurate manner, will form a regular feature in my programme.
Fashion, in its eccentric as well as its becoming form, will be dealt with each month.
In Flora's Domain, floricultural topics and hints as to Gardening, and new and rare sorts of Flowers, will be touched on from time to time. And now,
in the hands of the public—the only critic whose censure I fear, or whose praise I desire to win—I leave The “BURLINGTON," content to abide by that public's decision.
AUTHOR OF “COMIN' THRO' THE RYE."