first moves stiffly on; the new machinery somewhat creaks, till the oil has had time to find its way into every part. There are difficulties about all beginnings; there are tremors, quiverings of hand and heart, lest the work should fail, splutterings of the new pen, a mixture of hope and dread, a sense of effort, a want of that warm easy motion, of that freer action which takes place when the "hand is in." The first speech of the actor, the first song of the singer, the first motion of the skater, the first stanza of the poet, the first enterprize of the merchant, are all of them tremulous affairs; the pulse beats with feverish haste; the brain labours to make the start, or the limbs tremble; and great is the anxiety concentrated on "the launch." And, good reader, do you think that Editors are of "sterner stuff" and of tougher texture than poet, skater, orator, or host, or that it is possible to begin a new Magazine in days like these, without feeling the difficulties of beginning, without some of those shower-bath feelings which oppress the trembling bather as he pulls the fatal string. Can an Editor, I ask, in a cold-blooded state of mind, start a "train" with a carriage full of "first-class" contributors under his charge and rush along the line of a new literary enterprize like this, as if he had been driving engines upon it all his life? Can he take up his pen and place the first spotless sheet of paper on his desk, on which are to be traced the first words for the Argus Public with its thousand eyes without some flutterings of heart, some trepidations, some anxiety as to the result? You little know, good reader, what editorial minds go through, how many laboured sentences of formal introduction have been begun and thrown aside, how many sheets have been torn and scattered at the editorial feet. Could you be introduced into the quiet room where these pages drew their breath, you would see the difficulty of beginning, as condemned "beginnings" crackled beneath your feet at every step. First you would find yourself treading on a crumpled commencement indited in some such terms as these, "Considering the present aspect of Periodical Literature, the large views of intellectual culture that are abroad, the increasing magnitude of the People's literary wants;" and then on another of this sort, "Impelled by the exigencies of the times we boldly unfurl our banner, prepared on the contested field of literature to draw the sword for truth, to advocate real progress, to strive for all that is honourable, beautiful and great;" ;" and on another, "Apologies imply distrust either of ourselves or of the cause we advocate. Without apology therefore, because without distrust, we enter on the task of endeavouring to add to the literary treasures of the day, confident of success." With such wrecks of introductions as these, with the torn leaves of "rejected addresses," the floor was whitened for many mornings to the housemaid's vexation and dismay. Well may she have wondered what "master was about" as she surveyed the tattered failures of his brain. Well, if it is difficult to begin, and if the first sounds of the trumpet are not the best, be it remembered "intelligent," or "able," or "gentle reader," that we are but clearing our throat, and hope bye and bye to give forth our thoughts with fuller and easier tones. At any rate we begin with hope, and we are able to turn to a goodly host of able coadjutors prepared to aid us in our task. And to speak a few words in sober earnest, we at least can dare to promise as much as this; that not a line containing lax or evil principles shall ever stain the pages of our Magazine; whether in our lighter or graver moods, we shall strive to remember the responsibilities of the Press, and besides avoiding evil principles and dangerous views, we shall hope to aid the elevation of the reader's mind, to raise some glow of generous desire, some high and noble thoughts, some kindly feelings, and a warm veneration for all things that are good and true. A FEW NOTES FOR MAY-DAY. ALTHOUGH Anthony Wood thought fit to designate John Aubrey "magotie headed," and many as well as old Anthony may think the epithet fitly chosen and well deserved, the few who have made acquaintance with his manuscript collections illustrative of the relationship of the folk-lore of England to that of bygone people and ancient times, will admit that when he speaks of our popular observances as remaines of Gentilism and Judaism, "magotie-headed" as he may be, he shews some method in his madness. For there can be little question that the customs and superstitions of England-our popular antiquities (to use Brand's epithet) our folk-lore, to use our own-bear such unmistakeable traces of their descent as clearly prove the wit and wisdom, in this instance at least, of the Wiltshire antiquary. Let us take for an illustration some popular observances peculiar to MAY-DAY. The merry month of May has in the very alliteration of its name a jovial old English sound, which smacks so strongly of the national character, that it goes hard to persuade one, but that the various customs and observances which mark its occurrence in the Shepherd's Kalendar must be native here. Yet it may well be doubted whether there be one from the May-pole, now, alas, almost universally o'erthrown, and the May-day dance, once that of the merry milk-maids, now monopolized by the sweeps, both unquestionably descended from the Floralia of ancient Rome, down to the Beltane festival, yet observed at both extremities of this island, which may not fairly be designated as "remaines of Gentilism." Let us borrow from a contemporary two curious examples of this Beltane Festival in proof of this. In "Notes and Queries" for March 19th, we read the following description of what takes place in Scotland at the Festival of Baal. "The late Lady Baird, of Ferntower, in Perthshire, told me that, every year at 'Beltane' (or the first of May), a number of men and women assembled at an ancient druidical circle of stones on her property, near Crieff. They light a fire in the centre; each person puts a bit of oat-cake into a shepherd's bonnet; they all sit down and draw blindfold a piece of cake from the bonnet. One piece has been previously blackened, and whoever gets that piece has to jump through the fire in the centre of the circle and to pay a forfeit. This is, in fact, a part of the ancient worship of Baal, and the person on whom the lot fell was formerly burnt as a sacrifice: now, the passing through the fire represents that, and the payment of the forfeit redeems the victim. It is curious that staunch Presbyterians, as the people of that part of Perthshire now are, should unknowingly keep up the observations of a great heathen festival." And in the number of that paper for April 9th, we are furnished with a yet more curious illustration from the west of England. "Beltane in Devonshire.-Seeing that the ancient superstition of the Beltane fire is still preserved in Scotland, and is lighted on the 1st of May, the origin of which is supposed to be an annual sacrifice to Baal, I am induced to state that a custom, evidently derived from the same source, is, or was a few years since, annually observed in the wild parts of Devonshire. At the village of Holne, situated on one of the Spurs of Dartmoor, is a field of about two acres, the property of the parish, and called the Ploy (Play) Field. In the centre of this stands a granite pillar (Menhir) six or seven feet high. On May morning, before daybreak, the young men of the village assemble there, and then proceed to the Moor, where they select a ram lamb (doubtless with the consent of the owner), and after running it down, bring it in triumph to the Ploy Field, fasten it to the pillar, cut its throat, and then roast it whole, skin, wool, &c. At mid-day a struggle takes place, at the risk of cut hands, for a slice, it being supposed to confer luck for the ensuing year on the fortunate devourer. As an act of gallantry, in high esteem among the females, the young men sometimes fight their way through the crowd to get a slice for their chosen amongst the young women, all of whom, in their best dresses, attend the Ram Feast, as it is called. Dancing, wrestling, and other games, assisted by copious libations of cider during the afternoon, prolong the festivity till nightfall. The time, the place (looking east), the mystic pillar, and the ram, surely bear some evidence in favour of the Ram Feast being a sacrifice to Baal." Few readers will be inclined to dispute that these are genuine remaines of Gentilisme. Few who know the ancient Rabbinical tradition that at the marriage of Adam and Eve in Paradise the Creator and the angels danced for joy with the sun, moon, and stars, will fail to recognise in the beautiful old English belief that the sun dances on Easter day, one of old Aubrey's remaines of Judaism. Yet while it is indeed matter for grave speculation how these ancient systems have contrived for so long a period to exercise their influence over our manners, customs, and popular beliefs, we can discern among these latter but few traces of the milder and more sanctifying influence of Christianity. When the Flemish peasant on the first of May marks the lintel of his door with the sign of the cross for good luck, one feels strongly that in this instance the sacred symbol only supplies the place of the once popular Drudenfuss, or Pentalpha; but May-day in these islands once exhibited so graceful a combination of the Christian and the popular festival, that we cannot bring these short notes to a fitter close than by here placing it upon record. In the village of Charlton-on-Ötmoor, Oxfordshire, it is the custom on May-day to decorate a wooden cross with flowers. and evergreens, and carry it in procession round the village, after which it is placed on the roodloft in the church, in the position of the ancient holy-rood, where it remains until the following year, when the same ceremony is repeated. This roodloft or screen is represented in the Glossary of Architecture, with the cross of flowers and evergreens upon it. This seems to be another relic of the ancient custom of Maying mentioned by Chaucer as a pastime of the court in his time, and in which Henry VIII. and Queen Katherine, and afterwards James I. and his court also joined; going out very early in the morning to collect May boughs, and returning by sunrise. The well-known custom of singing a hymn at sunrise on May morning from the top of the lofty tower of Magdalen college, Oxford, appears to be connected with the same tradition; to which Milton also probably alludes in the following beautiful song on May morning: "Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, |