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We have frequently been informed by kind friends, anxious both for our bodily and mental preservation, that the most sensible thing we possibly could do, would be finally to deposit at the Public's door the burthen of our Magazine. We have frequently been told, that none but those zoologically or metaphysically related to the family of long-ear, would ever have endured the weight. We are now about to follow the most excellent advice conveyed with the information above quoted, and feel that, during the performance of so highly sensible an action, we can say nothing sufficiently insane to make our friends believe that we are not by them converted into paragons of reason and good sense. For as no one might impeach the sound judgment of a man who could lay down the theory of the earth to demonstration, though he danced like a comet the meanwhile ; so do we, in laying down the King's College Magazine, know of nothing so eccentric that it shall shake the centre of our gravity. We do not scruple, therefore, to give passage to all and every the odd thoughts which we now behold merrily swimming in the ink

upon our new dipped pen.

And first, among the many graces that adorn our Magazine, there is one on which we dwell with most supreme content,

we allude to, its perfection. It were almost worth our while, if any doubt the fact, to invoke Aristotle as a witness on our side : perfect, completely perfect, he would tell us that it is, for it hath a beginning, a middle, and an end. These elements most humbly do we submit to the close attention of the student of the human mind. At the beginning was a Prologue, written in the harmony of a delightful concert; Hope, as a principal performer, therein played a solo, and Energy flourished about the little white-washed ruler, batôn hight. In the middle, in the preface, that is, to the first volume, writ at the conclusion of that very immortal demiwork, a new prima donna, Triumph, made her first appearance, but was previously announced in bills. She sang a bravura to the public, and then translated her performances to a convenient spot behind the scenes. Now comes the crowning work, the End ; this preface—the last concert of the series of three, and, with consideration to our own selves be it recorded, it consisteth in the braying of a donkey. We hope we have not been oblivious of our self-respect; but if the animal alluded to be the only one that could have borne the burthen which it now deposits, it is the only one that can have an indefeasible right to breathe satisfaction when its labours are at an end.

When first our Maga made its entry on the world we gave a reason for that entrance, and it was--because it pleased us. The same good reason do we offer now; the same must serve to excuse its exit. We have succeeded, it is true, but that hath caused us no surprise: we knew we must—and why not then continue ? Simply, we will not.

We asked no excuse for our appearance; what need we, then, one for our departure? But we retract the donkey. Lively Fancies first called forth this Magazine: it is they who have been carrying it about, until at length that which was commenced as a pleasure, grew, as usual, into a business; and at last became a toil; the Fancies, then, of course rebelled,--and now they throw the burthen down. So soon as recreation becomes business, let the game be changed.

But these same Fancies,—these same sporting Jacks, that, while they have been carrying their Green about, have been endeavouring to entice men to follow in their course, have not, we think, been injudicious in the selection of a path whereon to roam. They have led a merry dance over many a flowery field: now and then they may be pardoned if they have thought right to cross the dusty common road; for ourselves, we think they have not favoured it too much. In sooth, we have all tripped merrily along, and if those who have danced with us have been as happy in our company as we in theirs, the frolic has not been a dull one. Now, however, we turn soberly aside into the world's high road, with its carts and its horses ; for we have seen a pretty spot to which the road appears to lead, and wish to reach it.

For the rest, we had one or two things serious to say ; but why be serious ? Are we not talking of our gambols ? True it is, of gambols that must end directly; but when the players separate only by their own consent, by ancient rule the game ends merrily.


Nov. 28, 1842.

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