I fancy the Imperator standing on the steps of the temple (erected by Titus) on the Mons Frumentarius, and addressing the citizens: “Quirites!” he says “in our campaign of six months, we have been engaged six times, and in each action have taken near upon a _hundred thousand prisoners_. Go to! What are other magazines compared to our magazine? (Sound, trumpeter!) What banner is there like that of Cornhill? You, philosopher yonder? (he shirks under his mantle). Do you know what it is to have a hundred and ten thousand readers? A hundred thousand readers? a hundred thousand _buyers_!’ (Cries of No!—Pooh! Yes, upon my honour! Oh, come! and murmurs of applause and derision)—‘I say more than a hundred thousand purchasers—and I believe _as much as a million_ readers! (Immense sensation.) To these have we said an unkind word? We have enemies; have we hit them an unkind blow? Have we sought to pursue party aims, to forward private jobs, to advance selfish schemes? The only persons to whom wittingly we have given pain are some who have volunteered for our corps—and of these volunteers we have had _thousands_[20] (Murmurs and grumbles.) What commander, citizens, could place all these men—could make officers of all these men? (cries of No—no! and laughter)—could say ‘I accept this recruit, though he is too short for our standard, because he is poor and has a mother at home who wants bread? could enrol this other, who is too weak to bear arms, because he says, ‘Look, sir, I shall be stronger anon.’ The leader of such an army as ours must select his men, not because they are good and virtuous, but because they are strong and capable. To these our ranks are ever open, and in addition to the warriors—who surround me—(the generals look proudly conscious)—I tell you, citizens, that I am in treaty with other and most tremendous champions, who will march by the side of our veterans to the achievement of fresh victories. Now, blow trumpets! Bang, ye gongs! and drummers, drub the thundering skins! Generals and chiefs, we go to sacrifice to the Gods.” Crowned with flowers, the captains enter the temple, the other magazines walking modestly behind them. The people huzza; and, in some instances, kneel and kiss the fringes of the robes of the warriors. The Philosopher puts up his shutters, and retires into his shop, deeply moved. In ancient times, Pliny (_apud_ Smith) relates it was the custom of the Imperator “to paint his whole body a bright red;” and, also, on ascending the Hill, to have some of the hostile chiefs led aside “to the adjoining prison, and put to death.” We propose to dispense with both these ceremonies. FOOTNOTES [20] The average of contributions has been for the last two months 100 a-week; and we beseech candidates to bear the above fact in mind, and consider that it is impossible to reply personally to all of them; or give special reasons why such and such an article is not suited to the Magazine.—ED. _C. H. M._