LONDON:

PRINTED BY W. W. MORGAN,

87 BARBICAN.

PREFACE.

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THERE was one strolling in a pleasant garden, and he apparently desired to find a part most meet for repose. There were varions grottoes into which he peeped. Each seemed to be dedicated to some tutelary deity, but not to the particular one for which he was in search. They were lit up with oil lamps, giving them a very poetical aspect, but he appeared to view the dimness with scorn, and passed on. At last he came to a cavern, most gorgeously decorated, and brilliantly illuminated. What a splendid discovery was gas, he said, and sauntered in. There appeared to be a kind of altar inside, on which was the semblance of a young bovine, carved in gold. Casting a loving glance at the glistening animal, and giving it a kind of reverential nod, the visitor laid himself down on a luxurious couch, and prepared to take a nap. He was an undersized, slight-made individual, with a large head. His features gave evidence of intellect, but not of poetry; of humanity, but subordinated to self love; No. 1 to be taken care of, and no desire to injure No. 2 if he does not stand in the way. The expression generally sneering, and not very pure; nevertheless, not destitute of a certain pleading compunction, signifying dissatisfaction with what was, and a half desire to do better. He soliloquised, "1800 to 1875, and all told. I am getting old, but, any way, have done good work in my time; whence the railway locomotive, electric telegraph, photography, emancipation of slaves, and so forth; posterity will reckon me worth a dozen of my ancestors." "Yes," said one who had noiselessly entered the grotto, "but did you erect the Pyramids or invent the mariner's compass? Did you discover the Copernican theory or the law of gravitation? You boast of intellect, in which of your seventy-five years was I born ?" It was a female figure that had flitted into the place, and now stood by the side of the self-praising Nineteenth Century. She was of rarest beauty, and her eyes shone with a subtle, mysterious light. Her features were fresh and youthful looking, but her garments, though graceful, were as of one who had trodden the earth for ages. She carried, in one hand, a banner, composed of sixty-four squares, coloured alternatively red and white. In her other hand she held a newly bound volume. "The ever young," said the first comer, "what might be your pleasure here ? would you worship at yon shrine ?" Caissa, for she it was, shrouded her eyes from the deified calf with aversion, and replied, "I wonder that, with your vaunted intellect, you can find no nobler object of worship." "Always the same old cant," answered the Nineteenth Century; "think you that I reverence the animal for himself? No, I want power and pleasure, and through gold obtain both. However, we shall not agree upon that matter; may I again ask to what I owe the honour of this visit ?" "I am come to make you a present. Let me beg your acceptance of this book." "Their name is legion," he said; "however, one more or less does not matter; what is it called ?" "It is," said Caissa, "the First Volume of THE CITY OF LONDON CHESS MAGAZINE, a journal devoted exclusively to my interests." "What, does that thing still go on? I know of a man who laid 10 to 1 that it would not last six months." ""Tis true; one of my votaries took the bet, and the rash layer of the odds has since had to pay up." "I also recollect some one writing with respect to its exclusive devotion to Chess, that it was a fad, only ridiculed by practical men.' "Practical men," replied she, "often, if not usually, sneer while the tree is growing, but show themselves ready enough to pluck the fruits of success.' "Ah, well," said the Nineteenth Century, taking the volume, and kissing the fair hand that proffered it," you are a well meaning kind of person, Caissa, and do very little harm on the earth; I wish your magazine every success, I am sure."

INDEX.

The City of London Chess Magazine.

OUR DEBUT.

WHEN Prospero set sail from his island, he was accompanied, on his voyage homewards, by favouring winds and calm waters, which good fortune he owed to the friendly offices of a certain sprite, who had power over the elements, and put them upon their best behaviour. Had it been otherwise, it is easy to imagine that the ex-wizard's philosophy might not have proved equal to the occasion, while Ferdinand and Miranda would have found their Chess playing-unless indeed they used a statu quo board-attended with serious difficulties. Our Ariel, while equally powerful, is, we trust, not less good-natured than the elfin friend of the Milanese duke: it is to the British Chess public that we entrust our fortunes, and hope not to do so in vain. Under such potent protection we shall not go down beneath the frowning skies of adverse criticism, nor be becalmed amidst the sluggish seas of apathy and indifference; while it will be our own fault if we strike against the sharp-edged rocks of uncharitable personalities, or unwise controversies. So, with sails unfurled, we now set out from the port of the City of London; and hope ere long to be riding safely at anchor in the haven of success. But it would not be reasonable to expect such good fortune without commensurate efforts on our own parts to obtain the same, Providence helps those only that help themselves, for which reason Jupiter refused to assist the supplicant who would not put his shoulder to the wheel; while Cromwell considered it indispensable that his soldiers, however prayerful, should keep their powder dry. Sowing must precede reaping; nor shall the harvestman gather in the golden grain unless the ploughman has previously laboured well. Consequently, we infer that the favour of the public will not drop like a ripe plum into our mouths, but must be earned by hard work on our part.

But it becomes us now to explain what are our plans, and upon what basis we have founded our hopes. The first point upon which we claim the support of the public is, that our Magazine will be devoted entirely to Chess; and we say this without any disparagement of our contemporary, the Westminster Papers, which, while it appeals

[February 1874.]

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