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THE STRAND MAGAZINE.

Umbrella." This last, the sole survivor, was started on its career about 1849. Lewis Carroll wrote all the articles, and drew all the pictures himself, and I think everyone will agree that for a boy of seventeen to have produced them is a proof that he was already gifted with very remarkable talent.

The frontispiece, here reproduced, was no doubt suggested in part by Leech's well-known design for the outside page of Punch; but the introduction of the umbrella as a protection against the horrid little imps that would disturb the old gentleman's peace of mind is very clever and original. The magazine was ushered in with a blare of trumpets, so to speak, in the shape―how is one to avoid a mixed metaphor here?―of the following preface:―

"We venture once more before the public, hoping to receive the same indulgence and support which has been hitherto bestowed upon our editorial efforts. Our success in former magazines has been decided: each has been more admired than its predecessor, and the last, the 'Comet'―(the editor wisely ignores the 'Rosebud,' 'Star,' and 'Will-o'the-Wisp,' which were more or less unsuccessful) has been so universally believed to be the ne plus ultra of magazines, that we believe the only thing that can put an end to the delusion will be the issue of the 'Umbrella.' We now in full confidence enter on our present duties.―Editor."

A serial story, "The Walking-Stick of Destiny," ran through the "Umbrella." It was a tale of the good, old-fashioned sort, full of blood and horror; two of the most important characters were a bold, bad baron, who killed his man in the first chapter, and a magician, up whose flowing locks spiders used to crawl, and who used to mix "three drops of everything" together, after the receipt of the celebrated Martin Wagner, in order to make the cup of death. "Ye Fatalle Cheyse" also depends upon the mediæval point of view for its interest; the last four stanzas with their accompanying illustrations have been photographed from the original.

YE FATALLE CHEYSE.

I.

Ytte was a mirke an dreiry cave,
Weet scroggis[1] owr ytte creepe,
Gurgles withyn ye flowan wave
Throw channel braid and deip.

II.

Never withyn that dreir recesse
Wes sene ye lyghte of daye,
Quhat bode azont[2] yt's mirkinesse[3]
Nane kend an nane mote saye.

  1. Bushes
  2. Beyond
  3. Darkness.