BOLD as we are, we dare not push into the world a work like this without one word of preface or introduction ;—and yet, what is there we can say? That this Magazine is conducted by the Students of KING'S COLLEGE; that they have obtained, on the threshold of their task, the entire concurrence of that Principal, whose constant readiness to assist and improve them has gained for him so deserved a share of their affectionate esteem; that the respected Professors of the College, with uniform kindness, have lent consenting voices to the scheme;-all this is either expressed or implied on the cover of our Magazine. But this is not all that men expect of a new publication;there is a certain cant phrase,—an indispensable one,—that usually forms the pith and marrow of prefaces, and runs, in an apologetic strain, something thus :-"***** (the commencement is generally indistinct or unintelligible) “* *— it was in order to supply this very obvious deficiency that the present work was undertaken," &c. &c.—the rest being filled up with promises, the mere conception of which,leaving execution out of the question,-requires an imagination of the most powerful class. The value, however, of these promises is too well proved to remain any longer an "unknown quantity." Well! and where, then, is our apology?—where are our promises? In good sooth, we shall make none! Openly, with brazen front, we declare, that we came into the world to supply no deficiency; that the world might even, by some remote possibility, have contrived to drag on its existence, supposing we had never appeared. We write, good world, because it pleases us; and, as lovers of fair play, there is nothing we desire better than that you should read—because it pleases you. We make no pro mises, except to eschew all controversy, be it theological, political, or scandalous: for the rest, we will laugh when we please; we will sing when we please; we will be prosy when we can find no better mood; and, in the last case, hope we shall be patiently endured until the fit have passed away, promising, we forget ourselves,-believing, at least, that such fits, if ever they do occur, will be neither frequent nor of long duration. We invite all men, that are willing, to write in our Magazine, and measure their wits with ours;to all contributors within the College, to all who join us without its walls, we cry, with the shipmaster in the Tempest, "Fall to't yarely, or we run ourselves aground. Bestir! bestir!" Echo, for once sticking to her cue, repeats the word-"Bestir!" Thus much in general of our Magazine. Of the present number in particular,-of the new-born babe,—if it do not promise much, let us remind the observer that, as yet, it has had the benefit of no nursing; let him only take it in, cherish it, and give it kind encouragement; this done, it cannot but grow to lusty manhood, for its vital parts are healthy and sound, there is nothing sickly in its composition. To be candid, however, and to speak in plain sober terms, some apology is due for the credit of the writers in this month's portion. So quickly was the design of publishing conceived and acted upon, that four days only were allowed for preparing all that could appear;-old papers, written without a dream of publication, were given in; others hastily concocted; the chief demand on contributors was, that their subject should be devised and written upon, with or without digestion, certainly with-speed. A certain degree of crudity will, therefore, readily be pardoned. Thus, shortly, let us dismiss a temporary apology, and advance proudly onward on our course: "Fond we survey Hope's mild maternal face, Our bashful eyes still kindling as we view; Our wingy nerves to climb." THE KING'S COLLEGE MAGAZINE. JULY, 1841. ELLERTON CASTLE; A Romance. BY "FITZROY PIKE." CHAPTER THE FIRST. VILLAGE REVELS-A HERO AND A TREASURE-HUNTER-WITH A DECLARATION OF LOVE ON IMPROVED PRINCIPLES. MAN is, incontestibly, a holiday-loving animal; and, let but custom have sanctioned a periodical abstinence from labour on any particular occasion, so far from being slow to adopt the convenient "mos pro lege," he will resolutely oppose any encroachment upon the time-hallowed privilege. It was on this principle that the inhabitants of Ellerton village celebrated the eighth of August as a period of festivity; why or wherefore, none knew, none cared; such it had been from time immemorial, and such all were extremely willing that it should remain. Accordingly, on this anniversary of an unknown occurrence, and in the year of grace one thousand four hundred and fifteen, Ellerton green was, as usual on such occasions, crowded with happy holiday faces, with some of which it is our purpose soon to cultivate an acquaintance. Pause we here, however, for perspicuity's sake, to remind the historical reader of what he may already have perceived from the date assigned, that the period in which our narrative commences was about a year after the accession of Henry V. to the British throne, and but a short time previous to his invasion of that land of dull, dusty roads called, at first probably by some bitingly-sarcastic personage, “La belle France." The village of Ellerton was pretty, and enjoyed, moreover, the advantage of a pleasant situation. Had not our hero and heroine fortunately existed at a period very remote from the present time, we should, in mentioning their rural home, have been compelled to add to the outskirts of the picture a chain of Chinese villas, and picturesque red and white brick fancy cottages, with ornamental avenues of brick wall, besides a sprinkling of those grotesque huts and grottos erected by the tasteful inmates of the said villas for the purpose of improving the very countryfied and common appearance which "nature unadorned" would otherwise have presented. But taste in those days was more barbarous than in this age of refinement, and Ellerton village was simply surrounded with its gently swelling hills, which glided so imperceptibly one into the other, that it would have been difficult to determine at what point the descent, on the one hand, ceased, and from whence the ascent, on the opposite side, could claim its commencement. At their summit, these hills were thickly wooded, and clothed with foliage of various kinds, which extended for some distance down their sides, becoming gradually less dense until every vestige of it was gone, excepting here and there a few scattered shrubs, leaving a gentle slope of close, green turf, which soon became almost level, and then again ascended the adjacent hills until it was once more buried beneath the trees. On one of these slopes the little village was built; and its strawthatched roofs, peeping above the fruit-trees with which the gardens were stocked, the pointed spire of the village church, with, now and then, the thin blue smoke of a wood fire, rising until it was lost in the still bluer expanse of heaven, were the first objects that would have encountered one who looked down into the valley from above. A clear stream broke its way through the turf below, and danced merrily by the village, where the trunk of an old oak, lopped of its branches, formed a rude bridge for the convenience of the little community. On the other side, the brook skirted the village green, which, small as it was,-for the valley admitted not of much level ground,-was yet amply sufficient to contain all the inhabitants of Ellerton for fifty years to come, though the population should increase never so rapidly. Half way up the hill which supported the village, and standing out from the shade of large, clustering elms, were the ruins of Ellerton Castle. These ruins were recent; indeed, the mere children of the village could call to mind the night when the castle was wrapt in flames, together with the mysterious circumstances previous to that occurrence. Turning from the scene of this melancholy catastrophe, let us join the happy crowd that thronged the green on the day with which our story commences. Here a juggler, having engaged the attention of a little knot of villagers, all, like the rest, in gayest attire, is almost as much pleased with the undisguised amazement that his performances excite as with the more solid marks of favour they succeed in eliciting. Near him, a select band of the village youths are vieing to outstrip each other in speed; each eager to obtain from the hands of the fair mistress of the sports, for they too have their Queen of Beauty,—the humble but glorious prize to be awarded. - The fair dispenser of these coveted favours is not yet on the green; her admirers cannot but excuse her absence, whilst they anxiously await her arrival. Meanwhile the sports do not flag; wrestling and leaping have each their votaries, and a wandering minstrel, who has struck up a merry song, arrests the attention of all idlers. But by far the greatest attraction on the green was centred in the archery ground, as a small part was called, set apart for the practice of that science throughout the year. On this occasion the most strenuous efforts were put forth, not by the youth only, for men whose hairs were already sprinkled with grey, and even boys, joined in the contest. The strength of the British army lay, at that time, principally in its archers; archery was the prop of the state, and, as such, it was fostered to the utmost by legislative enactments: between the ages of twelve and sixty the practice of archery was a duty imposed by law upon the common people. Football, quoits, and similar games, although often indulged in, were, nevertheless, unlawful; no amusement being permitted that could in any way interfere with what, in those times of war, was the grand object of a peasant's life—the perfecting him into an excellent archer. No wonder, then, that the archery prize was an object of such zealous emulation; no wonder that few who possessed the slightest claim to a hope could be found willing to resign it without a struggle. Many were the speculations hazarded as to who would be the fortunate bowman; and in the multitude of opinions none stood more favourably than Edward Heringford. He had already been |